Straight from what I imagine to be the fortress-like confines of "Iron Mountain" — a deep storage facility located mysteriously, according to one of my colleagues, "somewhere in New Jersey" — comes the kind of tape that is typically retrieved and appreciated anew only in times of death. Sadly, that is the archival gem we present to you today.

Last week, we said goodbye to an American icon, one whose heyday pre-dated MTV but whose impact could be felt on the channel as recently as last year. In his 2005 video for "Touch The Sky," Kanye West paid homage to legendary daredevil, [article id="1575514"]Evel Knievel[/article], who in the 1960s, '70s and '80s wowed audiences worldwide with death-defying stunts that often succeeded and sometimes did not. Those sometimes resulted in nearly 40 broken bones over the course of a career that was celebrated in New York on the night of April 26, 1994.

Evel himself was the headliner, hosting a slightly bizarre multi-media meditation on the stunts that made him famous. Addressing several hundred hipsters at an East Village club that's long since closed, he spoke of the philosophy that allowed him, time and again, to fly in the face of death, usually atop a motorcycle.

"I've always said it's far better to take a chance in life and to win a victory or suffer defeat, even if you're checkered by failure, than it is to live in a grey twilight and never know a victory or defeat because you never had the chance or the guts to try either."

Admittedly, though, the bigger draw on that spring night some 14 years ago was Evel's unlikely opening act, a quirky singer-songwriter from California named Beck. My boss was convinced that this kid had nailed it with "Loser," a slacker-anthem for the ages, tailor-made for the Gen-X set.

At the time, Beck hadn't yet spoken to MTV — and by the end of that night, he still hadn't. His refusal of our rather enthusiastic interview request wasn't really all that surprising at the time: After all, this was the height of Alternative Nation, three weeks after Kurt Cobain's suicide. In a time long before there was no shame in an artist leasing songs for use in commercials, there was a certain honor in refusing to speak to "the man," and we rather grudgingly respected his "cred."

Evel did too, believing in a slightly ambiguous and sort of esoteric way that he and the musician, 30-plus years his junior, attracted a similar crowd. "The young people that are here, judging from their attitude, I think are people that care, and have a sense about themselves, and that are real good-thinking, strong-thinking, good, moral human beings," he said.

And so it was, a pre-"Iconoclast" coming together of two cultural forces, one just taking off, and another, who after more than a few crash-landings, was now taking the time to simply enjoy the ride.