The boy from a smog-drenched city who sang through addiction and into our hearts

Born John Robert Cocker in war-shadowed Sheffield, he grew up among chimneys and grit, never imagining his escape route would be his own torn, soulful voice. From gas fitter to Woodstock revelation, he poured every bruise of his life into songs that sounded less sung than survived. Success, when it hit, came with a brutal price: endless touring, cocaine, heroin, bottles drained to silence the noise in his head. He stumbled, vomited onstage, woke in cells beside bank robbers and accused killers, and watched his finances and health crumble.

Yet somehow, Joe Cocker clawed his way back. “Up Where We Belong” carried him to a new generation, and meeting Pam Baker gave him something fame never could: stability, a home, a reason to live quietly between the storms. Lung cancer took him in 2014, but every time “With a Little Help from My Friends” swells and cracks, the boy from Sheffield lives again — proof that a damaged life can still leave something achingly beautiful behind.