Rob Craven, the songwriter, guitarist, and singer who gave us Existential Jukebox, on June 4, 2020 vanished into the invisible realm that he didn’t entirely believe was real – sometimes yes, sometimes no way.  (Recall his lyric, “There’s a real kind of heaven/ That awaits you at your wake.”)  Rob always roller-coastered like that, sometimes walking on air, sometimes standing at the precipice.  Sometimes he lost all hope in humankind, and sometimes he overflowed with love for all beings on earth.  No wonder he used so many means of numbing himself – he felt life keenly, whether it was ecstasy or intense pain.  Those who knew him over the decades could see that his heart just kept growing, even as his soul never stopped being tortured – for his was the soul of an artist.

(I believe he would laugh heartily and humbly at that, but would also feel the truth of it.)

In 2017, he asked me to write up a press release for Existential Jukebox with the angle “Man saved by music.”  The interview was conducted via phone, and I sent him what follows below.  I prefer to share this story instead of an obituary because it comes from a time when he felt truly alive, as if he’d been pulled back from the grave.  Music extended his life for another three years after that press release, pulling him back out of periodic bouts of depression and poor health.  The magic doesn’t work forever, though.  Even as he was working on a new musical endeavor, this time the music couldn’t save him. He died without warning – that is, if one doesn’t consider the several years of hospice and health crises a warning. The way he had beat the odds for so long was part of the thrill, part of his mystique, and now part of his legend.

To his relatives and friends, his absence is like a black hole almost as intense as his whirling presence was.  One of his last Facebook posts read, “Hold on and don't give up! Peace & love.”

Robert Dale Craven: you are missed.

“Music Saved My Life”

 [2017 press release]

    How near death do you have to come before you can say you’ve been saved from it?  Is stumbling three blocks to the ER while pausing every ten feet to gasp for air close enough?  How about spending six years under hospice care?

     Rob Craven has experienced this and more, but his nearness to death was more than physical.  His friends knew him to be preoccupied with the darker side of life as far back as his early 20s.  As artists and musicians often do, he explored inner realms with all manner of mind-altering aid, a journey that through the years took its toll with worsening health and emotional instability.  His legendary bouts of depression became more frequent when his marriage ended.  But that was nothing compared to the unbearable grief of losing his 29-year-old son Ian in 2005, followed in just a few years by the death of his remaining child Marley, a daughter who was only 27. 

     Who could recover from such tragedy?  All that kept Rob alive in those dark years were visits from his grandson Bobby, his good friend Gary, and his compassionate ex-wife-nurse Janet.  Despite their help, he was barely living:  housebound, requiring oxygen, purposeless, and without hope.

     But one January day in 2016, his silent snow-dome of despair was breached by a simple phone call.  An enthusiastic fellow musician, Mike Styer, wanted to discuss the album he was in the middle of recording.  As Mike filled him in on the details of the sessions at Studio L and the gratifying attention that his producer Rick Witkowski was giving to the project, Rob’s passion for music reignited.  He began recalling his many originals, imagining what a talented producer like Rick could do with them, wondering if he might have the wherewithal to stand up and sing these tunes one more time, to organize a project as energy-intensive as recording an album.  When he went to sleep that night, he knew he had work to do the next day, and he could hardly wait to get started.  He was back from the dead.

     By the end of January he had scheduled his first session and began making excursions from his home in Cuyahoga Falls to Studio L in Weirton, WV.  By the next January he was approving the final mix-down of the 11 tunes on Existential Jukebox, an eclectic compilation of the best of Craven: rock, blues, folk, and reggae.  He is joined on the album by lifelong music friends, also from the tristate area:  Rick Call, Janet Craven, Bob Hildebrand, Stew Moore, John Perrendo, Gary Ryan, Karen Shell, and Mike Styer.  Tying it all together are Witkowski’s skills as both musician and producer.

     Meanwhile, Rob turned his passion towards marketing.  He began releasing singles from the album through ReverbNation and advertising to a fan base on Facebook that soon reached the 5,000-number limit.  This October [2017], Existential Jukebox is being announced in dozens of paper and online magazines.  Continuing health struggles require that he postpone a release concert* this fall, but he’s still hopeful that the same energy that has driven him this far will soon buoy him back to the stage. 

     Hard copies of Existential Jukebox are available from hassamarra.com and Akron’s Little Record Shop.  Digital copies are available from Amazon, Spotify, and itunes.

*The CD release concert finally happened in Kent Ohio on August 16, 2018, and included Rick Witkowski, Mike Styer, Ray Morgan, Lou Contumelio, Rick Call, and me.

A memorial service is scheduled for Saturday, July 18th at noon at the Toronto gazebo on Third Street.  Attendees will be required to wear masks, to keep six feet apart, and are asked to bring their own chairs.

You can also read about Rob’s Existential Jukebox album, and one of my favorite songs from the CD, She’ll Come Around.