So I came back from an otherwise enjoyable SoCal vacation (too much money spent at Ikea, but it's all good) to some sad news.

Johnny Cunningham died on Monday night.

Who's Johnny Cunningham? Well, he was perhaps the greatest Scottish fiddler of modern times as well as a producer, composer, writer, etc. If all of that weren't enough, and even if he weren't all of those other things, he was an incredibly warm and friendly person as well as one of the funniest personalities I've ever had the privelege of witnessing on-stage and meeting.

He was also something of a friend of our family's. On every swing through town, he'd call my mom and, when possible, they and/or my sister and/or (very rarely) me would get together for the day or for a dinner.

The New York Times link above is a good summation of his life and career, and notably borrows liberally from an article my mom wrote for the magazine Dirty Linen some years ago after a lengthy interview she conducted with him.

His viewing and wake were well attended, and if this page is any indication, there are thousands upon thousands of others whose lives were touched just as deeply.

He may have been young (only 46), but in his time he made an impressive impact on music and the world around him. The world was richer for his presence and is poorer for his passing.