News of Olivia Newton-John's passing this week hit hard.
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Like millions around the world I was a fan from childhood.
A childhood that featured state of the art transistor radios.
Later generations might understand that context more in terms of a Walkman, or iPod or mum and dad's Spotify playlist.
It didn't matter what delivery system, though, because once exposed there was no resisting the timeless, mesmerising quality of Olivia's voice.
I still recall those early, oh so sweet, country tunes squeezed out of a single 8 ohm speaker on AM radio touring the Old Pacific Highway in a Holden Special.
Dad at the wheel rolling cigarettes as he pushed the 100mph barrier.
Seatbelts weren't compulsory back then, nor creative coherence in musical orientation, but boy it was exhilarating.
A bit like witnessing our Livvie conquer the world. From unlikely English-born, Aussie-raised, girl-next -door to Grammy Award-winning US country music star to international phenomenon in Grease and then on to the sultry Physical phase.
Looking back she was the ultimate crossover pioneer, charting a trajectory for pop princesses to come. If not for you, eh?
Some of her narrative material was a bit confusing to a young boy taking his emotional pointers off Countdown.
She murdered someone on the banks of the Ohio because he wouldn't marry her.
Sandra Dee succumbed to toxic masculinity in Grease and was applauded for it.
There were elements of fat-shaming and body dysmorphia in Physical.
And I'm still not sure what Xanadu was about but it had people on roller skates and that made sense back in 1980.
Like Beyonce today, Olivia rose mostly above criticism, save the odd love interest disappearing off the back of a boat.
As a fan worshipping from a distance you embraced the fantasy and tried to deny the reality.
Her legend is only enhanced by the fact she balanced both with such grace, compassion and dignity, until the end.
If someone asked me then, as now, I would readily admit - without wanting to appear too mushy - that I loved her, I honestly loved her.
Now, looking up at my ever-expanding Mount Rushmore of cultural icons gone too soon, I see Livvie taking her place with the Thin White Duke, Leonard Cohen, Warnie, Ghandi, Flipper etc.
All those mortality reference points you amass over a lifetime of celebrity adulation.
Psychologists try and break down the complex need we have to wish upon our stars.
And there's no real way of rationalising it except perhaps to say that as far as a down-to-earth, talented, brave, positive person with an angelic voice, Olivia Newton-John seemed like the one that you'd want.
Ooo ooo ooo, honey.
And deep down I know that like many fans, I will remain hopelessly devoted to her memory, and the way she rolled.
