The recent loss of Rock & Roll icons, David Johansen, Roberta Flack and John Sykes, alongside the declining health of household names, Phil Collins and Steven Tyler, make one wonder if the genre’s preoccupation with ‘twilight’ manifests in the lives of its greatest stars
This year has already delivered many a punch in the gut for music lovers. David Johansen, the snarl behind the New York Dolls, is gone at 75. Roberta Flack’s voice was immortal, but her body wasn’t. The list continues – Leo Dan, Wayne Osmond, Brenton Wood, Peter Yarrow, John Sykes, Garth Hudson. Each loss reminds us of Rock’s turbulent position on the edge of gloom.
Were these just ‘ordinary tragedies’ of life or something deeper?
Were the songs warnings?
Take a look at Rock’s underbelly. Doom, addiction, madness, death – they weren’t aesthetic choices as much as woven into the fabric of its most powerful anthems.
David Johansen howled through Personality Crisis, a song that feels, in hindsight, eerily prophetic – “Well, now you’re tryin’ to be something / Now you got to do something,” – a warning about the cost of wearing too many faces, of losing yourself to the act.
The ’70s and ’80s were drenched in excess. A generation of artistes lived their lyrics – Jim Morrison whispered about The End and walked straight into it. Bon Scott belted out Highway to Hell, and was found dead in his car. Even Ozzy Osbourne, the Prince of Darkness, is battling a body that’s giving out after decades of living by the very themes he sang of.
Sharath Narayan, a musician himself, sees it as inevitable. “Rock music has always been about pushing limits, testing the darkness inside. The problem is, some of those shadows don’t let go.”
Fiction that blends with reality
There’s something insidious about living somewhere that romanticises self-destruction. Kashmir-based artiste Faheem Abdullah says, “The more you pour pain into your music, the more people relate. But when the pain becomes your brand, your survival starts feeling like a betrayal of the art.”
Look at the wreckage left behind. Phil Collins is ailing, Elton John is winding down, and Steven Tyler’s voice — once a juggernaut — is now as fragile as glass. Liam Payne, a product of a different Rock era, fell to his death last year, and we still don’t have the full story.
Peekay, contemporary indie artiste, feels “There’s always been this idea that suffering makes great art. We feed into that myth. We watch the rise, and we’re addicted to the fall.”
An avoidable destiny?
Rishabh Kant, composer, believes Rock’s mythology plays a dangerous role. “We’ve built legends around those who didn’t survive, turning them into doomed heroes. But that doesn’t mean this cycle has to continue.”
There’s something in that. Rock’s wild days led to some of the most exhilarating music ever made but also to a trail of burned-out voices and wrecked bodies. The darkness, the warning signs – they weren’t just stories. They were scripts. And for many, they played out exactly as written. The question is: Can Rock’s next era break the cycle? Or will it keep singing itself into an early grave?
