Yesterday marked nine years and eleven months since the phenomenal young singer, songwriter, and musician Christina Grimmie was murdered by a deranged man after a concert in Orlando, Florida. He then turned his gun on himself, leaving behind no clear indication of a motive or anything to suggest the tortured thought process that led him to the concert that night armed with two Glock 9mm semiautomatic pistols, two rounds of replacement ammunition, and a hunting knife. He had more than enough to carry out a mass shooting, but Christina was, apparently, his primary target. The evil in this tragedy is clouded in obscurity. Several TV "true crime" shows have tried to speculate on the details based on hearsay (regarding his internet-based obsession with Christina Grimmie) and the theories of psychiatrists about stalkers and shooters and the dangers of being a "celebrity." Marcus Grimmie, Christina's brother and guitarist, said they had never seen the man before. Nor was there any evidence of (or warning signs from) anyone treating Christina strangely or harassing or threatening her through comments or interactions on the internet. From the point of view of the shooter, very little is really known of his dark and sad story.
Yet the darkness of this lethal aggression was inches away from the shining light of a gratuitous love. Christina was shot once in the head and twice in the chest at point blank range. In the end, this violence needed no clever strategy to find its target. She came forward with arms wide open, ready to offer a welcoming hug at her meet-and-greet to an approaching man who seemed troubled and shy. It was clear that she didn't know him, but there were always new people at her concerts who had watched and heard her sing on YouTube and on television in the Spring 2014 season of The Voice. They had experienced the warmth and encouragement and personal affirmation that Christina offered through her presence on the internet.
Christina wanted to meet all of these people. Her meet-and-greets were not reserved for VIPs and they didn't cost money. She and Marcus would stay at the venue until she met everyone who wanted to meet her, and she took time to listen to their stories and encourage them one-on-one, face-to-face. She called her fans "frands" (friend-fans) which might sound naive, overly sentimental or even false if someone else did it, but — for some reason — it was totally authentic and real coming from Christina. Her capacity to "connect with" young people all over the world through YouTube and her other social media platforms was (and still is) utterly unique.She had a gift for making “virtual” communication into something real. Her music stood out, of course. Nevertheless, what she did went beyond the expression of her own musical talent. But her wider “influence” is hard to explain. Christina's personal approach in videos and livestreams had nothing flashy or obviously special about it. She was a normal kid and then a young adult — goofy, funny, sometimes awkward (but with a wonderful sense of humor about herself), passionate about her music, boy-crazy, chocolate-loving, full of life — but there was nothing about her that would strike a casual watcher as extraordinary. She had no "influencer tricks," no weird cultish "charisma," no emotionally manipulative techniques. Yet she gained an enormous YouTube following long before the "influencer culture" took off. Her channel exceeded three million subscribers and her videos were viewed by tens of millions of people all over the world. (Today, the most prominent “Team Grimmie” Facebook Group has members from 99 different countries!)
Christina never endorsed or sold corporate products in her videos (no one did in those days). She promoted her concerts and her recorded music on iTunes, but in her own inimitable way. She wanted to share her music, so she let people know what was available or happening. She certainly had an earnest enthusiasm for her live shows and recorded music, but when she promoted them she usually mixed in some goofy humor, self-parody, and funny or ironic facial expressions. Then she would have a good laugh at herself, with the awareness that she was “laughing with” the hundreds of thousands (sometimes millions) of people “watching” on the other side of the screen. She was, after all, someone who gave away for free so much of her incredible musical talent through her weekly videos posted to her YouTube channel. She also asked her frands to vote for her in contests, and was effusive with gratitude when she won many of those contests. She drew the people who supported her music into a kind of “collaboration” with her in her efforts to build her music career. And she shared her success as if it belonged to everyone in “Team Grimmie.” She saw them as playing an essential part in a common musical and media endeavor, even though her amazing voice was uniquely her own, pouring out from her overflowing heart.
I can't explain the deep humanity of her media presence. It doesn't necessarily strike one immediately, and indeed it is easy to miss it if one isn't paying attention. It penetrates the flow of adolescent (and later young adult) chatter, with all its jokes and “free association” — the kind of talk that older adults tend to ignore. But this powerful humanity is real. There is a gentle, unobtrusive but profoundly attractive goodness that pervades her conversation, her gestures, her gaze, and the whole way she “carries herself.”
At some point in the course of watching her videos, one begins to realize that, for Christina, the person on the other side of the screen matters more to her than her own ego. She has a strong personality, but it always expresses itself as giving and as receiving-with-gratitude. Christina’s YouTube videos are a treasure the likes of which will never be repeated; they are an important part of her own legacy, and also a piece of the history of media from which we still have much to learn even as the current technology continues to develop. Christina employed media in pioneering ways in the 2010s, but without losing the sense of her own human personhood or of the human persons she sought to engage. Her media presence "opened up a space" where young people (including lonely, troubled young people, and also people of all ages from all over the world) felt welcomed, engaged, and appreciated.
There are a few notable consistencies: Christina never spoke badly about anyone. She never used coarse language. Occasionally — with utter sincerity and without any agenda — she would make reference to the fact that she lived her whole life for Jesus Christ, that she loved Him, that everything was for Jesus. No sermons. When she said it, she was making reference to a fact and to a Someone who was as real to her as her mother or father. She didn't talk much about Jesus (and never artificially) but her relationship with Him was evident by the way she treated everyone else.
Christina loved her frands. Of course, every performer says that about their fans (usually sincerely). But Christina was singularly and ardently devoted to her frands. She poured herself out for them, to inspire them, mentor them, affirm their dignity, encourage them to live generously. She gave her time and attention (online and in person) to those who reached out to her. But there was nothing emotionally unbalanced about her efforts to care for her frands. She wasn't seeking self-validation by trying to get young people to feel like they needed her. Rather she was a wellspring of attentiveness and gratitude for everyone, even while she had her own focus on the work of developing and sharing her special musical talent. She was full of freshness and a sense of wonder, as if she were on an adventure toward something greater than herself and she wanted to bring everyone with her. The only way I can think of to express this is to say that she was living her life as a vocation. People enjoyed the amazing music, the fun, the youthful vitality, the goofiness, and her unique integration of wise innocence and badassery that made her compassionate toward people and bold in front of every challenge she faced. And while she never "pushed religion," she made no secret of the One she loved and sought in her singing, her relationships, her aspirations, her frands... in everything.I have been studying communications media technology for nearly 20 years. I have watched more videos than I can remember and pondered extensively the philosophical implications of how media technology facilitates and/or hinders human interaction; and — more fundamentally — I have tried to understand what kinds of encounters take place through media, especially two-way audiovisual communications media. I have written a few tentative pieces on the subject, but it's all changing so quickly that it's difficult to "stay current" with the particulars of rapid and ongoing technological expansion.
One thing hasn't changed: I have still never seen anything like Christina Grimmie.
Part of that, of course, is that she had what was arguably the greatest singing voice of her generation, combined with a remarkable musical creativity. But it was more than that. It was this mysterious love, giving herself with a persistence that "mastered" the medium and shaped it to her message, which was that every person is unique, precious, and worthy of love. And she risked her love — on the screen, on stage, and in meeting people. Every person was welcomed, even — finally — the terribly disturbed young man who (unknown to her) was hiding two guns under his jacket.
Over the past ten years, many people have continued to discover her through the legacy of her videos and her music. These "gifts of herself" remain, and they continue to astonish us, inspire us, make us laugh, and weep. She still moves our hearts and reminds us what it means to be human. She still helps us to keep going. And now — ten years later — she inspires us to dare to believe with a stronger confidence and conviction that there is something greater than the "sting" of death.









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