Death of a man who could play in time

It's in lousy taste and more than a little arseholish, I know, but I wouldn't be true to myself if I didn't take advantage of the short gap between deaths to mention that an awful lot of these "iconic, genius" figures who are currently dying were actually total journeymen who held down roles competently in mid-table entertainment outfits.  I mean, Levon Helm?  Yes, important role on two or three (and clsoer to two than three) records that solidly fill out the middle of everyone's top 200.  But if you had said "of course, Levon Helm is one of the towering figures of popular music in the twentieth century" three months ago, people would have looked at you funny.  Similarly, Donald "Duck" Dunn was a good bass player and wrote an instructional book which I still use and like, but I would very much invite any of the people who referred to his "unique and characteristic groove" to do a blind listening test between MGs records which he did and didn't play on.

It's the first-of-the-gang-to-die syndrome again, as it was with Hitchens.  When people wax elegiac about these figures, they're basically writing about their own impending death.  Actuarially, the bulge in mortality of sixties dudes which started with my dad and will presumably end with Paul McCartney (married, vegetarian diet, keeps active - the annuity industry is going to get hosed on that one) is going to peak over the next four or five years, so at some point soon we are going to be having a new iconic figure who defined our childhood more or less every week.

Update: I of course bloody knew that within a minute of me putting that up, another beloved-but-forgotten-about entertainer would die, making me look callous.  Donna Summer.