Ray Thomas is Dead. No, He's Outside, Looking In

In October of 1972, at the age of eleven, my brothers and I rode the MTA to Boston Garden for what would be my first real rock concert; The Moody Blues. (If memory serves, we did not ride the MTA home, but our father picked us up at an appointed time and place.)

Our seats (courtesy of Dad, who worked for the Moody's distributor, London Records), were third row, slightly to the left of center, right in front of flautist/singer, Ray Thomas. At one point, while introducing a song, Ray paused, asking "What album was this on?" I shouted the answer up at him (probably the catalog number too). Ray looked down, surprised that the answer came from probably the youngest person in the crowd, then realized I was right, and finished up the intro.

Over the years I saw the classic Moody's perform several times in Boston, then again in the come-back tours in Los Angeles (and, most recently, Justin Hayward solo in Napa).

While I don't necessarily still listen to their music as often as other favorites from over the years, all of their albums continue to hold memories and meaning. Justin's songwriting won me over as a devoted fan forever, but it was Ray's songs, like Dear Diary and Legend of a Mind, that first pulled me in as a child.

And today, at the age of 76, Ray Thomas has died, "suddenly at his home in Surrey, England. No cause of death was announced."

Ray Thomas is dead
No, no, no, no
He's outside
Looking in

The Moody Blues, on tour, 1970