Joe Cocker: 1944-2014

I don't know if I can say anything about Joe Cocker, who died yesterday of lung cancer at 70, that hasn't already been said - including anything already said by me, as I wrote about his first two albums on this blog.  But I'll try.

Cocker was the greatest British blues-rock singer of all time.  Period.  Only Roger Chapman comes close to his greatness, and the vocal excursions of Rod Stewart are day trips in comparison to Cocker's grand expeditions.  Cocker's barroom growl allowed him to find the essence and the pure soul of just about any song he ever committed to disc.  I wrote earlier this year how his most notable flaw was indulging his talent on songs that, from a composition standpoint, weren't up to snuff.  But in some ways that was endearing; Cocker was able to find value in even the most pedestrian material, and he could turn a song that was merely okay into a good record.  Would "When The Night Comes,"  which Bryan Adams wrote with his songwriting partner Jim Vallance and noted hack Diane Warren, have sounded as good as it did when Cocker sang it had they given the song to someone else?  Doubtful.  And when Cocker  had a solidly written song to work with - the Beatles' "With a Little Help From My Friends," Leon Russell's  "Delta Lady," or Leonard Cohen's "Bird On a Wire" - he created a masterpiece recording beyond belief and beyond the reach of his peers.   

The recent deaths of British bassists Glenn Cornick of Jethro Tull and Jack Bruce of Cream, both of whom were that bass the music was once all about, were devastating enough, but Cocker's death only amplifies how the sun is slowly setting on British rock.  There's a new kid from the mother country, Sam Smith, who aspires to be a blues-rock singer in the tradition of Cocker.  All the power to him.  But with Cocker's star shooting across the sky even as Smith's rises, we're only reminded of what big shoes Smith and others have to fill.  R.I.P. :-(