IT'S been a bad few weeks for music fans of a certain vintage.

Singers Percy Sledge, Ben E King and Errol Brown all departed for that Great Gig in the Sky. Now we have lost the legendary B.B. King, the King of the Blues.

His close friend Eric Clapton spoke for many yesterday when in a brief, heartfelt video tribute he described King as "a beacon for all of us who loved this kind of music," even if it was a genre that "is almost a thing of the past now and there are not many left that play it in the pure way that B.B. did."

King, who was born on a Mississippi cotton plantation, spent a lifetime on the road with his guitar, Lucille. Scotland had a soft spot for him. He played Edinburgh in June 2011, aged 85: The Herald noted that though his performance was long on charm if a little short in substance, he was more than capable of genuinely focused artistry. "Imperious and impish," is how we summed him up.

His great peers, bluesmen like Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf, died years ago. A distinctive era of American music has now passed with news of King's death. To paraphrase the title of one of his best-known songs, the thrill, for his loyal fans, has indeed gone.