But today, there is no day or night
Today, there is no dark or light
Today, there is no black or white
Only shades of grey.

By today’s standards, Davy Jones would’ve never made the finals on American Idol. In his prime, Jones more than likely would’ve never attained popularity equal to Gilbert O’Sullivan had it not been for his tenure in the Monkees. Let’s face it, he wasn’t an outstanding singer and he sort of stuck out like a sore thumb when he tried to keep up with the antics of Mickey, Peter, and Mike. He was a Monkee because he was cute, could carry a tune, was the only group member to hail from the land of Beatles, and rounded out the foursome.

And yet.

The Monkees, in my opinion, are more than purveyors of the AM nostalgia of my youth. My eldest sister begged our mother to drive us to the Giantway to purchase their albums on the day of their respective release. She would bring each album home, and we’d listen to them over and over again. My preference was for the songs featuring Mickey or Mike on vocals as the more saccharine songs were always crooned by Davy. Having written that, however, my toes still tap whenever I hear Davy sing “A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You,” “Daydream Believer,” “Cuddly Toy,” and “Shades of Grey” whenever the songs are played today on classic radio or my iPod – where the Monkees are shuffled along with such contemporaries as the Buffalo Springfield, the Byrds, the Beatles, Paul Revere and the Raiders, the Zombies, the Turtles, and … well, you get it.

I firmly contend that the Monkees never received their critical due as definitive performers of songs written by the top tunesmiths of their day (Boyce and Hart, King and Goffin, Neil Diamond, Harry Nilsson) as well as some pretty nifty songs written by Nesmith and Tork. And try to tell this writer that Mickey’s vocal on “I’m Not Your Stepping Stone” didn’t lay the groundwork for thousands of copycat garage/punk singers, or Mike’s sweet country croon on “You Just May Be the One” didn’t inspire the Nudie suit L.A. musical mafia that followed in its wake.

Davy Jones of the Monkees died February 29 of a heart attack.

So, I guess the takeaway is that even the (arguably) least-talented member of a group should never be underestimated, and the band’s work in its entirety should be judged as a collaborative effort. Imagine the Beatles without Ringo, Pink Floyd without Nick Mason, or (I promise I’ll stop picking on drummers) the Grateful Dead without Bob Weir. Taking nothing away from these talented individuals, they still benefited from being small components of a greater musical whole while continuing to define their respective groups’ identities. Thanks for the musical memories, Davy Jones.