Among the rash of musical deaths recently, one threatened to be overlooked. Bobby Charles, the Louisiana songwriter and singer, passed away on Thursday the 14th after collapsing at his home.

Even the few obituaries that appeared said more about the great songs he wrote for Fats Domino and Bill Haley rather than his own recordings — which, admittedly, were few. Standing head and shoulders above the rest is his self-titled album from 1972. It’s a roots-rock classic, leading off with a loose-limbed funky joint called “Street People” that the Band would have appreciated. (They actually did appreciate it; both Rick Danko and Music from Big Pink producer John Simon worked on the record.)

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When a musician dies, especially one who seemed to buy into the rock & roll lifestyle as much as Jay Reatard did, it’s easy to focus on the external factors of his life: the fights with bandmates, the unruly gigs, the weirdness, the manic behavior, the cause of death — all the things that might distract you from seeing that Reatard was a seriously good songwriter and recordmaker. Sure, his live show was fun, but digging into his records you got the whole deal; good-time rockers, thoughtful near-ballads, songs that dealt with mortality, depression and uncertainty, songs that made you want to tear stuff up.

What was most interesting to me was that Reatard was figuring out a way to grow up on record without growing old, sacrificing a little bit of noise for a more restrained approach but doing it in a way that was just as powerful and intense. Listening to these songs now, you can only feel sadness that we won’t ever be able to hear where he might have ended up.

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It’s hard to believe Rowland S. Howard was only 50 when he tragically passed away last week from liver cancer. He seemed like he’d been around forever and would possibly live forever. Maybe it was his vampiric looks, or maybe it was the unique and indelible sound of his guitar playing. Most tributes to Howard focus on his time spent in the Birthday Party, and that makes sense since the band was so dramatic and influential. For me, though, his best work came with a band he fronted in the late ’80s/early ’90s called These Immortal Souls. With Howard’s biting guitar, his morose vocals that wept cracked soul, and Epic Soundtracks‘ epic drumming leading the way, the two albums the band released have become lost classics. With all the drama of old mate Nick Cave’s work but none of the overblown grandeur, the music These Immortal Souls created was harrowingly bleak yet somehow uplifting in an odd way.

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Three Lobed Recordings issued a statement over the weekend that Philadelphia-based acoustic guitarist Jack Rose passed away over the weekend of a heart attack; he was 38 years old. Rose was self-taught and made a name for himself originally as the guitarist in the band Pelt in the 1990s, but eventually went his own way. Of the new brand of American acoustic guitarists, Rose was different. He had not only absorbed the styles of players such as Robbie Basho and John Fahey, as have others since the early part of the 21st century, but was obsessed with traditional ragtime, blues, country, and jazz styles from the 1920s through the early 1940s and incorporated them into a physical but fluid style on six-string, 12-string, and lap-steel guitars that also employed formal Indian classical music.

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Comedian Soupy Sales, who died last Thursday at the age of 83, was a fixture on TV during the ’60s and ’70s known for his trademark of getting blasted in the face with custard pie. Mostly though he was just funny, which is enough to remember him for. Sales had lots of connections to the world of music too: He was signed to Reprise and Motown, he was was a huge jazz fan who incorporated lots of the style into his show, he appeared on Hullabaloo in the mid-60s and he made a bunch of novelty records. One of them, “Do the Mouse,” almost was a hit despite being pretty awful (in a good way). He also had two sons, Hunt and Tony, who played with Iggy and Bowie. Let’s take a minute to pay tribute to Sales with some videos …

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In 2005, I reviewed an album by a great roots and rockabilly band The Two Timin’ Three. As sometimes happens to music writers, I lost track of the band. In 2007, I heard a few tracks posted on their Myspace page that hinted at a new, innovative sound that looked toward alt-rock while retaining much of what made them a first-rate roots band. Then, in late 2008 I was shocked to discover that 27-year-old Laufer, a motorcycle enthusiast, had been killed earlier in the year in a hit-and-run homicide while stopped at a red light on his bike. Laufer’s killer had been driving a truck and has still not been brought to justice.

Laufer’s family has spearheaded an email campaign to try and get his story on America’s Most Wanted. They are encouraging anyone who cares to email producers at AMW today (Sept. 10) and ask them to produce Eric’s story on the show in hopes of finding his killer.

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Of all the great jazz vocalists of the 1950s and ’60s, Chris Connor is perhaps the least well-known today. Despite making a string of classic records for Atlantic, she always seems to be mentioned (if at all) after June Christy, Carmen McRae, Chet Baker, Anita O’Day or even Julie London when lists of the top singers of the era are compiled. Still, she was quite popular at the time, and it’s very easy to hear why. Though she could swing with anyone, her true greatness came on the slow songs, the torchy ones that come from broken hearts and messed-up lives, and sound best filtered through the blue haze of smoke and low lights. Connor could sing these ballads like Hank Aaron hit home runs: effortlessly and with loads of power. Her deep and rich voice caressed the words tenderly and with great care, giving the feeling that she was singing to you and you alone. Her death this week gives us a chance to look back on some wonderful performances and celebrate her all-too-short career.

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Ellie Greenwich had a hand in some of the greatest songs ever recorded. In the early to mid-’60s, she and her husband Jeff Barry cranked out an incredible string of songs that, when listed back to back, truly seems to be impossible. Check this short list and see if you can believe it. The Ronettes’ “Be My Baby” and “Baby I Love You,” the Crystals’ “Then He Kissed Me” and “Da Do Ron Ron,” the Dixie Cup’s “Chapel of Love,” Manfred Mann’s “Do Wah Diddy,” Ike and Tina Turner’s “River Deep Mountain High,” Leslie Gore’s “Maybe I Know” and the Shangri-Las’ “Leader of the Pack,” “Out in the Streets” and “Train from Kansas City.” Whew! The duo (as well as the producers and singers they wrote for) created music so epically joyous, so ridiculously heartbreaking, and so true that to call it “oldies” seems like a crime. They are timeless songs that capture the feelings of teenage love, real love and real heartaches simply and perfectly..

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