Glen Hansard died. I’ve been listening to and writing about him and his music for damn near 20 years, so this is a gut punch.

A few years ago I wrote an essay for Cinema Sugar about how seeing Once in the theater in 2007 completely changed how I viewed movie musicals, and much more. It’s hard to convey how electrifying it was to see “Falling Slowly” or “When Your Mind’s Made Up” unfold before me for the first time, and how vital all of Glen’s music has remained for me ever since.

Let this excerpt from the essay serve as my eulogy for a legendary artist gone far too soon:

Once, directed by John Carney, is fairly easy to describe. An Irish busker (Glen Hansard) meets a young woman (Markéta Irglová) on the streets of Dublin and they grow close as they play music together, discuss their bruised loves, and inspire each other as they enter new phases of life.

But such a tidy description belies the miles-deep emotional undercurrent that runs beneath this story and propels the main characters—who remain unnamed and are credited as Guy and Girl—first toward each other and ultimately onto their individual fates.

Probably because the film’s core of Carney, Hansard, and Irglová are real musicians, they capture both the tedium and thrill of creating meaningful music—and, by extension, art—better than almost anything I’ve seen.

They do so by paying close attention to moments in the songwriting process that are small but significant: assembling snatches of melody, hearing someone add harmony to your song for the first time, finding replacement Discman batteries so you can finish your lyrics, and nailing a song on the first take.

These little euphorias add up. With what Guy and Girl accumulate together, they give each other gifts they couldn’t have imagined before meeting: she helps him record his songs and find the confidence to move forward, while he reignites her passion for playing.

It was goodbye in the best way, with grace and gratitude for what they meant to each other.

What I took with me after seeing Once for the first time was how people can come into each other’s lives, knowing their time together will end, yet still choose to make something wonderful with the moments they have.

That’s what music can do, and what art can do, and what grace can do if we let it. That’s what Glen Hansard’s music did for me.

Rest in peace, Glen. You sang your melody, and you can rest assured knowing we’ll keep singing along.