The jury has finally reached a verdict and Phil Spector is guilty of second degree murder. By most accounts, he was not a good man: driven by demons and haunted by a family history of mental instability, the stories of his manipulations and eccentricities compile a very strong narrative for his eventual comeuppance. Yet, there still seems to be something missing in this, the final nail in both his and Lana Clarkson's coffin. While I think that Spector is guilty of much, and in the case for which he was tried, of something, I still have reasonable doubt as to how Clarkson's final hour played out and what, exactly, Phil's part in that gunshot was. The details do not matter to the victim when the outcome is death but the difference between manslaughter and murder mean everything for the defendant although, given Phil's litigious history, his appeals may mean that he, himself, dies before he ever spends a day in prison.
His legacy, of course, will live on regardless of these events. When I received a text telling me that the jury was about to announce it's verdict, an odd bit of timing found me listening to Shivaree's beautiful cover of "Paradise", a song Phil recorded with the Ronettes in 1965 and then left to languish while the kids at Red Bird made a classic Shangri-Las track with it. Ambrosia Parsley and company create a wide open oasis on their version with only the tympani passing judgement on her fantasy.
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