Like any human being to exist from the 1960s-on, the Rolling Stones are a constant and always-welcome presence in my life. They’ve just always been there as a fact of life: water is wet, the sun sets, the Stones are playing rock ‘n roll.

Being an insufferable Gen Z-er, by the time I was born Brian Jones was already long gone from this world. Even original bassist and questionable marriage enjoyer Bill Wyman had exited the band just under a decade before I was even a sperm. But the remaining original three– Mick, Keith and Charlie– felt to me to be the absolute core of the group, and a core component of life itself. I’ve somehow not been able to see them in concert despite being one of my all-time favorite bands, yet despite that they felt like my rock music buddies who’d always be there. See, I grew up after “Keith Richards will live forever” jokes had become irreversibly embedded into the cultural landscape, so the idea that the Stones would be around as long as the Earth itself was and probably even longer was just an automatically-accepted reality that I’d always known. The Stones were never gonna leave us, they’re everyone’s musical pals.

As you’ve probably heard if you’re reading this, though, a Stone has left us. Possibly the most important Stone, too– Charlie Watts. The band’s drummer since 1963, he’s been there for every album, every song.

By now, he’s already been eulogized a billion ways, all of them more eloquent than I could ever be. I’m not here to add a new perspective, because like a billion others I’m just a fan who thinks he’s one of the greatest damn rock ‘n roll drummers to ever hit a skin. I just want to join in the beyond-deserved chorus expressing admiration for a true legend.

Most of the eulogies I’ve read for Charlie Watts have called him “the heartbeat” of the Rolling Stones. There probably isn’t a better way to put it. He gave their music its initial shot of life, with all the nuances a breathing personality would have. He could simultaneously operate with a subtlety that served the song he was playing for perfectly, never showing off but simply enhancing in a way that might feel so obvious but nobody else could ever do, yet also become a booming force of nature that pounded the drums with the authority of a rock ‘n roll machine gun. And I wanna stress “simultaneously” here– he did it all at once. Just listen to some of their signature tracks you’ve heard countless times before, but listen for Charlie Watts specifically this time around– “Paint It Black“, “19th Nervous Breakdown“, “Gimme Shelter“– he plays with an energy that could put a thunderstorm to shame, but it never distracts you from the song itself. The song itself is an entire entity that Charlie Watts wisely recognized as the destination, and knew to put all the effort and creativity he possibly could into it, yet apply all that exactly as needed. He wasn’t there to show up his bandmates and scream “look what I can do”, demonstrating that he could hit attack drum in his kit as quickly as possible like so many others. He was there to give you the greatest song he could.

Charlie Watts, alongside Ringo, shaped all modern drumming. The way everybody has approached the instrument since owes a debt to the two of them, whether they acknowledge it or not. They’re to the drums what Chuck Berry was to the guitar, what Walt Disney was to the cartoon. They didn’t start the whole business, but they sure as hell finessed it in a way that everybody else would have to work from.

If Mick Jagger is the voice of the Rolling Stones, and Keith Richards is the soul, then Charlie Watts is the heart. An unholy yet absolutely perfect trifecta that gave the world the essential base chemistry needed to comprise the Greatest Rock ‘N Roll Band in The World. And there really isn’t a way we can thank any of them enough.

Rest easy, Mr. Watts!