Keith Moon's DEATH Mystery Finally Solved! (it isn't good) скачать в хорошем качестве

Keith Moon's DEATH Mystery Finally Solved! (it isn't good)

On September 7th, 1978, the world’s greatest rock and roll drummer, Keith Moon, was found dead in a London flat owned by his friend, the singer Harry Nilsson. It wasn't just a tragedy; it was a terrifying echo. It was the exact same flat, and some claim the exact same bed, where singer Cass Elliot of The Mamas & the Papas had died just four years earlier. But the truth of Moon's final hours, involving a rumored desperate plea to Paul McCartney and a handful of pills, is far more shocking than any curse. The first person to realize something was terribly wrong was Moon’s 21-year-old girlfriend, Annette Walter-Lax. She awoke in the late afternoon to find Moon cold and unresponsive in the bedroom of Flat 12, 9 Curzon Place. The frantic 999 call, the arrival of paramedics, and the immediate declaration of death ignited a media firestorm that dwarfed the gossip from four years prior. The rock and roll circus had officially reached its tragic end, and the questions began immediately. How could this happen? To understand Keith Moon’s death, you must first understand his life, which was a performance of pure, maniacal chaos. This was "Moon the Loon," the man who famously blew up his drum kit on live American television, narrowly avoiding impaling his bandmate Pete Townshend with shrapnel. He was the chaotic engine of The Who, a brilliant, frantic drummer who lived in a state of permanent childhood. But beneath it all was a man running from something dark. His antics went far beyond the typical rockstar cliché of throwing a TV into a swimming pool. Keith Moon perfected the art of hotel destruction on a level that was, frankly, pathological. We’re talking about flushing explosives down toilets to systematically destroy the plumbing of entire hotel floors, running up tabs that would bankrupt a small company. His 21st birthday party at a Holiday Inn was legendary, with Keith claiming it ended with him driving a Lincoln Continental into the hotel pool and blowing out his front teeth. What’s your favorite over-the-top rockstar story? Let us know in the comments. But in 1970, the party turned into a nightmare from which he would never wake up. While trying to escape an angry mob of pub-goers in his Bentley, Moon accidentally ran over and killed his own friend and bodyguard, Neil Boland. Moon was cleared of all charges—it was ruled an accidental death—but his friends say he was never the same. He was plagued by survivor's guilt and night terrors, a dark secret that fueled his self-destruction for the rest of his life. Moon’s spiral was cheered on by his famous friends, and he was a core member of the infamous "Hollywood Vampires" drinking club in Los Angeles. Presided over by Alice Cooper, the club's "mission" was to out-drink everyone, and its members included John Lennon, Ringo Starr, and Harry Nilsson. This wasn't just a friendship circle; it was a collective of enablers, with Moon and Lennon famously embarking on the "Lost Weekend," a legendary 18-month bender that nearly destroyed them both. And that brings us back to the flat's owner, Harry Nilsson. Today, Nilsson is best remembered for his angelic voice on tracks like "Everybody's Talkin', and in the 70s, he was a notorious partier and a central figure in the London scene. The Mayfair flat at 9 Curzon Place was his personal "crash pad," a luxurious epicenter for visiting rock royalty. It was a place of legendary parties and non-stop excess, bankrolled by Nilsson's songwriting royalties. In 1974, Nilsson’s close friend "Mama" Cass Elliot was staying at the flat after a series of triumphant sold-out shows. She was found dead in the bedroom at just 32 years old. Immediately, a cruel and entirely false rumor spread that she had choked to death on a ham sandwich. The coroner's report was clear: she died of heart failure. But the media lie stuck, and the flat, once a party palace, was now stained by tragedy. Harry Nilsson was utterly devastated and horrified by Cass's death. He was convinced the flat was profoundly cursed and immediately fled back to America, refusing to rent it out. He couldn't even bear to step foot inside the room where his friend had died. He wanted to sell it, but its new, dark reputation made it impossible. The flat sat empty, a monument to a tragedy. So why, in God's name, was Keith Moon living there? The answer is the story's greatest, most tragic irony. In 1978, Moon was broke, out of control, and desperately needed a place to get clean in London. Pete Townshend and The Who's manager begged a reluctant Nilsson to let Moon stay there, arguing it was a secure, "safe" apartment, away from his usual dealers and drinking dens. Nilsson finally, and fatally, agreed. If you're finding this story as fascinating as we are, do us a favor and please hit that Like and subscribe buttons.