Jay Reatard is dead. That may not mean shit to most of the world, but to the lucky ones who ever caught Mr. Reatard (known to his parents as Jimmy Lee Lindsey Jr.) rocking the fuck out of a packed club, it is a sad day indeed. In an era ruled by over-hyped flavor-of-the-minute blog bullshit indie bands, Reatard’s lo-fi, quirky and enthusiastically sloppy garage-punk somehow reeked authenticity like a Ziploc bag of kind bud in the back of a cop car.

He died Wednesday morning while sleeping in his Memphis house; the (totally unsubstantiated!) text I got from a friend blamed “a mix of coke and pills” but friends say Jay had been complaining about flu-like symptoms. Either way, 29 prolific years were not enough for a gifted performer who had countless releases to his name, including his first with NYC’s Matador Records last August. For a small sliver of his music, check out the Jay Reatard MySpace page.