Maybe, quite possibly, rock music's most endearingly iconic cult figures, Alex Chilton passed away suddenly yesterday of an apparent heart attack at 59.
He had his biggest hit as member of the Box Tops at 16 with "The Letter", which I remember hearing as a kid of 9 or 10, and went on to form one of rock's most influential and commercially neglected bands, Big Star.
Big Star represents everything that makes aspiring rock writers get all moist around the loins - commercial failure, lush and elegant melodic instincts, the band's enduring influence on the jangle-guitar indie rock of the 80's and 90's. Chilton gave the mainstream world a compellingly enduring single in the sixties, and a relatively obscure but stalwart and respected actual rock band in the seventies. Few rock artists could claim such a gracefully schizoid career. It's a fine thing that Chilton had lived long enough to enjoy the recognition for Big Star, they had a show planned at SXSW tomorrow night, but a tragedy that he he didn't even make it to 60.
I'd say I'm at a point where it seems that dying at 59 seems young.
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