He crawled out of the soot of Sheffield and screamed his way onto the world’s biggest stages.
Fame didn’t save him. It nearly destroyed him.
Born John Robert Cocker in war-shadowed Sheffield,
he grew up among chimneys and grit, never imagining his escape route would be his own torn, soulful voice.
From gas fitter to Woodstock revelation, he poured every bruise of his life into songs that sounded less sung than survived.
Success, when it hit, came with a brutal price: endless touring, cocaine, heroin, bottles drained to silence the noise in his head.
He stumbled, vomited onstage, woke in cells beside bank robbers and accused killers, and watched his finances and health crumble.
