But the legacy they leave behind will forever live in our ears, as well as our hearts.

We live in very peculiar times. Painfully peculiar times.

Many of our favorite singers, songwriters, musicians and rock stars have fallen on the wayside of late. The artists we grew up listening to, the ones who inspired us and looked up to in hero worship; the ones who somehow changed our lives and some of whom saved our life — one by one, they’re fading away. Our heroes fall, never to be heard from again, their music silenced by the march of time. But the legacy they leave behind will forever live in our ears, as well as our hearts.

People grow old — they age, they pass. It’s human nature, the natural, or at times unnatural, evolution of man. Not more than a week ago, American rock star Eddie Money, a beloved 80s singer, passed away on the heels of the untimely demise of Ric Ocasek, the singer and guitarist for the iconic 80s band The Cars.

British musician David Bowie displayed on a screen behind some dummies wearing some of his costumes at the exhibition at Martin-Gropius-Bau museum in Berlin. AFP

These seemingly timeless and immortal souls who have shared a wealth of music and good vibes with us for decades are suddenly gone, leaving us grieving their loss; and though their music will live on, we carry on with the pain of never seeing them performing live in the flesh, ever again.

A dear Aunt I grew up with was a diehard fan of the King of Rock and Roll, Elvis Presley. She had old magazines, pocketbook biographies, LP records and watched him whenever they showed his specials on TV. She was a fan. I also remember how grief-stricken she was in 1978, when the King passed on. It’s as if a part of her died along with him. I’m sure she’s bumped into him in Rock N’ Roll Heaven, bless their souls.

It’s like that for some people. The artist and the music consume them and become part of their life. At times, it becomes their life. The consumer becomes the consumed. Such is when an artist weaves magic and inexplicably touches you like no other did, or ever will. Like the first time you hear the Beatles. Or the Rolling Stones. Or Nirvana. Or The Cars, whose singer passed on over a week ago.

CARS lead singer, songwriter and rhythm guitarist Rick Ocasek. AFP

I grew up with the music of The Cars. It was 1978 and they stuck out like a sore thumb at the height of Disco mania. Here was a band that came along while everyone was boogie-oogie-oogie-ing in their bellbottoms and crayon shoes. A band with raw guitars and drums, quirky keyboards and this unworldly baritone vocal that sang about rejection, remorse and letting the good times roll. It was just what I needed.

Amidst a sea of repetitive tug-tug disco beats came this band that spoke to me; not a scream, more like a loud summons that caught my ears, magnetized and tugged at me. While my peers waded in the pool of disco mainstream, I ventured into the deep end and drowned myself in the music of bands with (then) strange names like The Police, Joe Jackson and The Cars. A siren had gone off in my head, it was a calling.

KING of Rock and Roll, Elvis Presley. AFP

I guess it’s like that for anyone hearing something new, something fresh for the first time. I’m certain whoever has heard “My Best Friend’s Girl” when it first came out knows exactly what I’m talking about. For those who don’t, there lies the beauty of the music you missed the first time around. You can always go back and listen to it. Sadly though, the Cars permanently parked it in 1988, with members pursuing solo careers, most notably Ocasek and Ben Orr until the latter’s demise from cancer in 2000 and just recently, Ocasek’s.

About a week after, yet another iconic American singer, Eddie Money, passed on. The troubled yet talented singer succumbed to cancer at 70. Money may not have been as well-known as Ocasek, but his loss is felt nonetheless. Of late, I feel as if a lot of our heroes from our generation are passing on, one after the other, and with no one taking their place.

David Bowie. Prince. Glenn Frey (of the Eagles). Singer Maurice White (of Earth, Wind & Fire) and Keith Emerson (of Emerson, Lake & Palmer). A stellar lineup, all but gone — and all in 2016 alone. Who will take up the cudgels of making the music that will inspire this generation and the others to come? Will it be the Adam Levines or Justin Biebers or even Bruno Mars? Many have surmised that music nowadays has lost its essence, its soul, reduced to mere blips and beats and redundant synthetic squonks over irritating computer generated fingersnaps. Is this now the age of the lost art of songwriting?

Who are to be the Carole Kings, the Elton Johns and the Pete Townshends of this generation? The artists who write the music that turns heads, cocks ears and turns us on to the music? The kind of music made by artists who change the lives of people. Artists that are sorely needed in this day and age. Surely, there are the underrated, unheard of artists we have yet to discover, lurking in the shadows, creating genius that’s just waiting to be found.

“TWO Tickets to Paradise” singer Eddie Money. AFP

I believe there are those huddled in their rooms, writing their music, rendering their soul in notes and words, in the darkness of their basement, hatching plans, creating songs that will one day see the light of day and inspire multitudes and define a new era of great music. Until then, all we can do is wait. And hope.