So, Neil Sedaka, the guy your grandma swooned over, kicked the bucket at 86. His rep told Variety he’s fertilizer now, shortly after he was rushed to a hospital in Los Angeles. No word on what finally did him in – maybe he just couldn't handle another TikTok dance challenge.

Born in 1939, this dude was playing piano like Mozart by the time he was in elementary school. Juilliard at NINE? Talk about woke privilege…just kidding (mostly). His family’s calling him a “rock and roll legend” and an “inspiration.” Yeah, try telling that to someone who listens to, uh, whatever the kids are listening to these days.

Sedaka started cranking out hits in the pre-Beatles era, back when pop music was about as edgy as a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Oh! Carol,” “Calendar Girl,” “Happy Birthday Sweet Sixteen” – try not to hurl. He was basically manufactured in the Brill Building, a songwriting sweatshop where they churned out bubblegum tunes faster than AOC can tweet about capitalism. And Howard Greenfield, his writing partner? Started when Sedaka was thirteen. Record scratch. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

Funny story: the Commies almost let him study at the Tchaikovsky Conservatoire in Moscow in '56, but then they realized he was writing “American capitalistic rock’n’roll.” So, he was too capitalist for the Soviets, but woke enough for Juilliard. Go figure.

Then the Beatles showed up, and suddenly Sedaka was about as relevant as a rotary phone. He admitted he barely worked for over a decade! That’s what happens when you make milquetoast music for people who still think Ike is president.

He had a comeback in the '70s, though, thanks to Elton John (who, let's be honest, has some questionable tastes himself). Sedaka wrote hits for Connie Francis (“Stupid Cupid”) and Captain and Tennille (“Love Will Keep Us Together”). Captain and Tennille! Seriously, who listens to that stuff?

He even helped ABBA translate “Ring Ring” into English. Because what the world really needed was more ABBA.

Apparently, he told The Guardian that fame means giving up your privacy but getting a table at a restaurant. What a profound insight! You know, for a guy who made millions writing songs about teenage romance. That’s the kind of deep thinking that earned him a Grammy nomination in 1962 (he lost, BTW). A Grammy nomination, eh? What a participation trophy.

So, raise a glass (of prune juice) to Neil Sedaka. He made a lot of money writing catchy tunes for the Boomer generation, and now he's pushing up daisies. The only real question is, will anyone under 40 even notice he's gone? (Spoiler alert: no.)

He is survived by his family, who probably inherited a boatload of royalties. At least they're happy.

Details of the funeral haven't been released, but you can bet it will be a star-studded affair featuring washed-up celebrities reminiscing about the good old days, back when music didn't require Auto-Tune and pronouns weren't mandatory.

In the end, Sedaka was a product of his time. He wrote simple songs for simple people, and he made a killing doing it. Maybe that's the real American dream: be just good enough to cash in. If that's what he wants on his epitaph, then so be it.