Finale Furioso: When Musicians Die Weird

There are some guitarists who play the instrument.
And then there are the rare few who become it.

Terry Kath was one of those rare few.

Long before Chicago became a household name for soft rock ballads and prom night slow dances, it was a wild, gritty, horn-blasting rock band—and Terry Kath was its thundering heart. His guitar tone? Raw, roaring, full of chaos and beauty. His voice? Soulful, deep, and soaked in blues. His solos on songs like “25 or 6 to 4” and “Introduction” weren’t just performances—they were storms, full of fire and feeling.

Even Jimi Hendrix, after watching him play, was said to have told Chicago, “Your guitarist is better than me.” That wasn’t hyperbole. That was respect.

But Terry wasn’t just a freakishly talented guitarist—he was a warm, funny, deeply human soul. He could light up a room with his presence, and he often did. Sadly, he also had a reckless streak, one that made him feel immortal.

On January 23, 1978, after a day of drinking and hanging out with friends, Terry began showing off his guns—something he reportedly did more often than his bandmates were comfortable with. He removed the magazine from a 9mm pistol, showed everyone it was empty, and pulled the trigger… forgetting there was a round still in the chamber. He died instantly.

He was only 31.

The world didn’t just lose a guitarist that day—we lost a man who could have redefined rock history if he’d had more time. He had so much music left in him, so many solos left unplayed, so much soul left to pour into the world.

If you’ve never heard him, go listen. Not to Chicago’s greatest hits, but to the deep cuts. Listen to “Make Me Smile,” “Introduction,” “Poem 58,” “Oh, Thank You Great Spirit.” Hear the way he wrestled with every note like it owed him money.

Terry Kath didn’t get the legacy he deserved. But to those who know… he was a giant.

We still hear you, Terry.
And we still miss you.