Blender's 50 Most Awesomely Dead Rock Stars

Inelegantly Wasted: Locking himself away in his apartment and doing drugs for five years until he died, only to be found two weeks later after his accountant noticed he hadn't spent any money for a while, Staley's was one of the grimmest rock deaths ever. Despite selling 11 million albums, Alice in Chains were always in the shadow of the twin peaks of Seattle rock, Nirvana and Pearl Jam. Similarly, after Kurt Cobain sensationally took his own life, Staley's death--long after grunge's own--caused little stir. A local vigil held the day after his body was discovered drew only 200 mourners.

Breaking the Chain: No new material has been posthumously released. In 2005, Alice in Chains performed a Tsunami benefit show with guest singers including Maynard James Keehan of Tool, but there are no permanent reunion plans.

Memory Layne: Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder recorded the tribute "4/20/02," a reference to the date he heard of Staley's death. Staind also marked the singer's passing with the song "Layne." Staley's mother, Nancy McCallum, established the Layne Staley Fund, a drug-treatment charity for heroin-addicted musicians that hosts an annual benefit.

One in a Million: Talked-up as her generation's answer to Diana Ross before her death, Aaliyah has since achieved a kind of sainthood, destined to be remembered for her "Beautiful smile, long hair and the voice of a hummingbird," as Missy Elliott put it on her 2002 tribute, "Can You Hear Me."

The Final Cut: Unlike those made legends by their demise, Aaliyah remains a superstar-in-waiting. Despite her string of Timbaland-produced hits, only her final album, Aaliyah, topped the charts, and there was always a feeling she was about to step up another level. Hollywood, for one, was calling--she was the best thing in Queen of the Damned and had three movies in production when the plane she was traveling in crashed just after takeoff.

Peer Plaudits: Her family, who settled a negligence suit with the aircraft's operators out of court, established the Aaliyah Memorial Fund and announced that a portion of the profits from her music would be donated to charities. Posthumous compilation I Care 4 U went platinum, but there's little unreleased material left for future releases--and her planned collaboration with Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor will sadly remain forever unrealized.

Dropping the Dime: Largely unknown in the mainstream during his lifetime, death made Abbott suddenly world famous--when he became the first musician ever murdered onstage, shot repeatedly by deranged gunman Nathan Gale in Columbus, Ohio.

Live and Dangerous: As guitarist in Pantera, Abbott was part of one of the most successful hard-rock band of the '90s: The band's 1994 release, Far Beyond Driven, debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard charts and was nearly as instrumental in the demise of hair metal as the advent of grunge.

The Memory Remains: Pantera split in 2001, and Abbott's next band, the somewhat less influential Damageplan, released just one album and dissolved the instant he died. Those wishing to remember Abbott in model form can purchase a commemorative action figure--only 3,333 made at $99 apiece.

My Best Friend's Shredding: David Draiman of Disturbed described the day Abbott was killed as "the 9/11 of rock."

Life After Death: In 2002 the heavy-smoking Zevon was diagnosed with cancer and given three months to live. In fact, he survived for over a year--in which time he was the subject of a VH1 documentary, appeared as the sole guest on an episode of The Late Show With David Letterman and recorded a CD, The Wind. Released two weeks before his death, the album debuted at No. 16 on the Billboard charts (its predecessor had failed to crack the top 200).

Mr. Bad Example: Both a one-hit wonder and a much-covered songwriter whose titles have so far inspired two movies (Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead and I'll Sleep When I'm Dead), Zevon's legacy is peculiarly diverse. But it's safe to say that "Werewolves of London" will feature on radio stations' Halloween playlists until the universe implodes.

Peer Plaudits: As soon as Zevon's condition was made public, Bob Dylan began including a range of his songs in his live shows, while a 2004 tribute album featured Dylan, Springsteen and the Pixies. Last year another covers CD, Hurry Home Early, was recorded by up-and-coming artists.

He Knew From Superfreaks: James' off-stage adventures included a $10,000-a-week coke habit and holding women hostage on two occasions, torturing one with a hot crack pipe. Unfortunately, his musical life was less sensational in later years. While his death brought some interest in the catalogue--including the hits "Super Freak" and Hammer's rap doppelganger "U Can't Touch This," both of which make money for James's daughter Ty and sons Rick Jr. and Tazman--all James's later albums tanked, and the double CD he'd been working on with Kanye West among others is as yet unreleased.

Saved by Chappelle: Comedian Dave Chappelle singlehandedly rehabilitated James's badass image with a Falstaffian characterization that made "I'm Rick James, bitch" the tagline of 2004, fueling DVD sales of Chappelle's comedy show to well over $50 million and bringing James back into the public eye. Paramount optioned James's unpublished autobiography, Memoirs of a Super Freak, as a starring vehicle for Chappelle. But if neither book, film nor double CD come out, some posthumous lean years may follow James's legendary high times.

Tarnished Star: The 19th century's most famous tunesmith had no copyright protection, and so made no bank. The composer of "Camptown Races" and "Oh! Susanna" died after a feverish collapse in a cheap New York hotel. His fortune was the 38 cents in his pocket.

Two-Faced: Pennsylvania native Foster wrote about the South but rarely left the North. He was white, but used the now-horrifying slang of blackface minstrelsy. None of this helped his post-civil-rights-era rep. In 1996 the only two African-American members of the Yale Glee Club protested three Foster songs slated for a public performance; two were cut and the Glee Club president publicly burned a copy of the music.

Salvage Job: Foster's status began changing around the time documentarian Ken Burns made the Civil War hip again. Ken Emerson's 1997 biography, the first in 60 years, contextualized Foster's functional racism; a PBS doc and a tribute album followed. Americana lovers from Dylan on down revived Foster's songs; twinkle-toed choreographer Mark Morris wrote a dance using them. Foster's still not quite the bomb, but his phantom's on the mend.

Swinging Into Oblivion: A showbiz trooper, Darin literally worked himself to death. In 1973 he was making $75,000 a week in Vegas, but he pushed his chronically weak ticker until an infection felled him. His son Dodd now maintains his dad's estate with the help of Darin's longtime manager, Steve Blauner.

Unhip Years: A catalogue wavering between the Rat Pack and the counterculture hurt Darin's reputation. Hits like his finger-snappin' "Mack the Knife" killed on oldies radio, but his folk-rock efforts weren't freaky enough for Gen X. A classy 1995 box set showed range, but failed to focus interest.

Big Mack With Cheese: Advertisers love Darin--Kodak, Oral B and Carnival Cruise Lines have hawked products using his plastic croon. But there's a fine line between love and exploitation: The estate sued McDonald's in 1989 over a campaign imitating "Mack the Knife." The case could have set an intellectual-property precedent, but was settled.

Lost at Sea: Just when baby Darin imitators Michael Bublé and Jamie Cullum surfaced, superfan Kevin Spacey released the disastrous biopic Beyond the Sea, sinking all hope for a revival.

Who Went First: Neither Moon's early death nor the fact that he left an estate valued at just $750,000 was surprising for a rock superstar who spent his extensive off-time between Who tours and albums partying and spending hard. He died intestate, making it difficult for his daughter, Amanda, to collect what she could have. But even though Pete Townshend wrote almost all the Who's songs, today they're licensed so widely and lucratively--in commercials for cars, computers and allergy medicine as well as the title music for all three CSI TV shows--that Moon's share likely exceeds seven figures.

Peer Plaudits: Though widely recognized by other drummers as a unique stylist and breathtaking performer, Moon remains best-known as the godfather of nihilistic rock-star excess--and for a career of stripping naked in airports, destroying hotel rooms and drum kits and consuming record quantities of alcohol and pharmaceuticals.

Give the Drummer Some: Bandmate Roger Daltrey's 10-year quest to produce a biopic of Moon finally bore fruit last October when Mike Myers agreed to handle the role.

Pretty, Vacant: Sid contributed nothing to the Pistols' music but everything to their legend, checking out while on bail for the murder of his girlfriend Nancy Spungen at New York's Chelsea Hotel. Actual royalties are limited to proceeds from perennial Sid single "My Way" and album tracks from unlovable exploitation albums-but value accrues from the estate's co-ownership of priceless film footage of the band, wrested from flamboyant former manager Malcolm McLaren in 1987. Sid's mom, Anne Beverley, was the initial beneficiary before she, too, OD'd in 1996. Today the estate is controlled by high-powered MGM executive Anita Camarata.

His Way: The apotheosis of punk's spiky biker look and wrecked moron schtick, Vicious has become antiestablishment shorthand, co-opted by stars as varied as Rancid's Lars Frederiksen, Avril Lavigne and Duff McKagan--who still steadfastly rocks Sid's trademark padlock-on-a-neckchain. Conversely, John "Johnny Rotten" Lydon's undignified recent foray into British reality TV has devalued the Pistols brand, while Sid wannabe Pete Doherty has rendered the affably doomed junkie archetype somewhat tired. A TV documentary, Sid: The Last 24 Hours, airs later this year in the U.K.

Old Folk's Home: Lomax is celebrated for finding and recording Muddy Waters and promoting a long list of American folk legends including Leadbelly, Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. Along with Harry Smith, whose folk recordings for the Smithsonian would become a touchstone for generations of serious folkies and eggheads, Lomax's work forms the spine of the recorded American folk legacy.

Life After Death: Lomax's estate got fat in recent years when his recordings were used on the soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou? and sampled extensively on Moby's Play. The estate also has a rare reputation for diligence in tracking down descendants of performers to pay them royalties.

In the Vault: Lomax's catalogue of recordings is enormous, and Rounder Records has spent the last decade compiling and releasing nearly 100 CDs of his work, with plans for many more.

The Bad News: Lomax's reputation has been tarnished recently by allegations that he played down the contribution of his collaborators--particularly legendary African American scholar and musicologist John Work III--and that he stiffed Muddy Waters out of a promised $20 recording fee.