When Kurt Cobain killed himself in Seattle 20 years ago on Saturday, the death of Generation X's reluctant figurehead triggered mourning across the world. Music fans frequently invest enormous emotional intensity in their relationships with their rock heroes, and their unexpected deaths can resonate like the loss of a family member or a close friend. Yet for fellow musicians, the relationship can be even more personal – their idols are also influences, inspirations and frequently friends. So how do they react when such iconic figures pass away?

Ozzy Osbourne on John Lennon

Shot dead by Mark Chapman in New York, 8 December 1980

Every time I see the fucking asshole who killed him I still get angry, even now. I'll never forget the moment I learned John Lennon had been shot. I was in a hotel in Monmouthshire writing my first solo album. It was about 8.30 in the morning and Sharon said: "Have you heard about John Lennon? He's been killed."

I said: "Killed? What do you mean?" I was in shock.

I was so glad he had just come out of retirement and made the Double Fantasy album and that week I'd heard (Just Like) Starting Over in every pub I went to in Monmouthshire. The Beatles were the reason I got into music. They gave me a reason to live. Before they came along, my only entertainment was pushing a tyre down the road with a fucking stick. To this day, I still ask: "Why?" If he had been a politician you might understand it, but who the fuckwakes up and thinks: "I know, I'll kill Paul McCartney or John Lennon?"

Leona Lewis on Whitney Houston

Accidental drowning, Los Angeles, 11 February 2012

I was hoping to see her that night. I was going to [veteran music mogul] Clive Davis's pre-Grammys party. I'd been to the same event a couple of years earlier and Clive had introduced me to Whitney. She had been so lovely: they say you should never meet your heroes, and I've met some famous people who have not been so great, but Whitney knew who I was and was so warm and friendly. She was all I talked about for days.

I was really hoping for a chance to talk to her again and was getting ready when I started getting texts from friends and family in London, saying: "I'm so sorry about Whitney." And: "You must be so sad." I was like: what? So I turned on the TV and found out she had died. It was so sad, so awful: she had so much more to give. I was crying and beside myself; there was no way that I could go to the party. I had loved Whitney ever since I was seven and I used to make my family watch me singing I Will Always Love You. I definitely lost my idol that day – and the fact we were going to be at the same party made it even more terrible.

Craig David on Michael Jackson

Accidental overdose, Los Angeles, 25 June 2009

I was at Heathrow Airport on my way to play a show in Bucharest and I suddenly saw that Michael Jackson's face was on every TV screen. Everybody in the airport was staring at them, transfixed. Nobody was bothering to check on flights. All the news reports were unclear and saying Michael had been rushed to hospital and was in a critical condition, but I just thought: "Of course they'll get him to a doctor who will make it right! He's Michael Jackson!"

Then when I got to Bucharest his face was on the TVs there but with the word "dead" next to it. It was very traumatic and had such an impact on me. It sounds silly, but I never thought he'd die in my lifetime. I'd never seen Michael live and I was going to go to the comeback shows, which would have been amazing. Instead I got to sing You Are Not Alone at the tribute concert to him in Cardiff, with Michael's band that was going to play with him at the O2 dates. That was a mind-blowing experience – but not the same as seeing Michael Jackson."

Lethal Bizzle on The Notorious B.I.G.

Shot dead by an unknown assassin in Los Angeles, 9 March 1997

"When I was 12 I was huge into hip-hop and Biggie was my No 1 all the way. I had his posters on my walls and I used to buy magazines from America to read about him. When Tupac got killed, I got really scared for him. I remember feeling butterflies and thinking: "Oh my gosh! Something's gonna happen to Biggie, he needs to be safe."

I came home from school and I was sitting in my room playing Super Nintendo and listening to Biggie, which was what I was always doing, 24/7. One of my mates called me and said: "Bro, Biggie's dead!" and I was, like: "No way!" I thought it must be a myth. Nobody at my school thought Tupac was really dead for ages, and it was the same with Biggie. He was a big part of my childhood. He hypnotised me and made me feel confident with his don't-give-a-shit attitude. On the anniversary of his death, I have a Biggie day and listen to his old stuff and watch his videos. It all still sounds so fresh.

Brian Fallon of the Gaslight Anthem on Joe Strummer

Died of an undiagnosed congenital heart defect, Somerset, 22 December 2002

I was at band practice for one of my first bands when one of my bandmates said Joe Strummer had died. I said: "C'mon! He's only 50! Died of what?" He didn't know, so I refused to believe him until I heard the confirmation on the news. Even then I was in denial. I didn't play Joe's music for a while afterwards because it meant having to confront the fact that he was dead.

He was always the one for me. The first time I heard White Man In Hammersmith Palais, when I was 13, it totally resonated with me. His voice wasn't just angry: it was vulnerable and hurt. The Clash had so many more layers than the Sex Pistols. After that, I tried to hear everything he ever did. I read Redemption Song [Chris Salewicz's Strummer biography] and it talked about how Joe would have liked to have been called Woody, after Woody Guthrie, so I wrote a song for the first Gaslight Anthem album called I'da Called You Woody, Joe. It was my letter to Joe's widow, Lucinda, saying: "This is what your husband meant to me, just a kid in America, 5,000 miles away." He changed my life.

Deborah Harry and Chris Stein of Blondie on Jeffrey Lee Pierce

Singer with the Gun Club, died of a brain haemorrhage, Salt Lake City, 31 March 1996

We were shocked to learn that Jeffrey was in hospital and waiting for a liver transplant. He called Chris from hospital and had a final conversation, and actually he sounded more lucid than he had previously. We definitely felt the people around Jeffrey didn't try hard enough to discourage his drinking, but we never expected him to actually die. He was so young and nobody saw it coming.

We had first met him when he was an 18-year-old kid on the Los Angeles music scene and he was very brooding, a thinker and a real angst-ridden teenager. There was definitely darkness about Jeffrey. But he had a real fierce devotion to Blondie that surprised us, and he ended up running the Blondie fan club. Chris got very close to Jeffrey and produced some of his music – he was a terrific talent and a genius of genre-crossing and subtle colourings. He always kept doing music and touring and writing but his love life drove him crazy. We knew he was a sensitive person and he drank too much but we didn't know the extent he'd gone to. Had we seen him more often, maybe we could have said something to him."

Katy B on Aaliyah

Died in a light aircraft crash in the Bahamas, 25 August 2001

When I was about 11, I used to go to the school music room at lunchtime with my mates. We would print Aaliyah's lyrics off the internet and sing Try Again into a tape recorder. I really related to her. She seemed like a tomboy, and as a kid I knew if we met we'd be best friends. It was the same with Amy Winehouse. I just figured: I loved their music so much, how could we not be friends?

I was in a design technology class doing graphics and the girl by me said, "Aaliyah died!" It stopped me in my tracks. I felt such a sense of shock and loss. There was a definite denial thing going on. I didn't want to believe it at first and then I got angry: how can that have been allowed to happen to Aaliyah? It was so sad: she was on the verge of being a massive music and movie star. Years later, when I wrote my song Aaliyah about a girl who was just effortlessly cool and sexy and charismatic, I knew I had to name it after her. She was definitely my muse for that one.

David Essex on Keith Moon

Overdosed on tablets prescribed to combat alcoholism, 7 September 1978

I was at home in London listening to the radio when I heard Keith had died. It really upset me. I had met up with him in New York a couple of weeks earlier and he had looked a bit sweaty and disorientated, not well at all, but I had figured he was just getting over the night before, as usual. I don't know why his death shocked me so much, given his lifestyle, but it did.

We had first met when we filmed That'll Be The Day on the Isle of Wight in 1972 – on the first day, Keith arrived by helicopter, landed on the hotel roof, jumped out and asked me where the bar was. We bonded, partly because I had started out as a drummer. Making the film, we had some very lively all-night drinking and jamming sessions with Ringo Starr. I always felt a bit sorry for Keith: he thought that he had this wild-man reputation to live up to. If there was a chandelier, he felt obliged to swing from it. But privately, he was a very decent and intelligent man. When he died, I thought: "Well, at least he lived life to the full."

Michael Bolton on Marvin Gaye

Shot dead by his father in Los Angeles, 1 April 1984

I was writing in Los Angeles when I heard the shocking news that Marvin Gaye had been pronounced dead on arrival at hospital. Immediately it was all over every TV and radio news outlet. I just felt that the world had lost one of the greatest musical treasures it had ever known. And leaving the way he did, at the hands of his father – it was beyond tragic. There were no words. I had first heard his voice when I was 12, and I knew I was hearing something special, even though obviously I couldn't describe it then.

In 1982, we became labelmates on Columbia and ended up releasing singles around the same time, with the videos being played on rotation on MTV. Being on the same channel as my musical hero was mind-blowing to me. It was just too much to comprehend. My records were stiffing back then and I looked to Marvin for inspiration. Even today he is all over my playlists: it still doesn't get any better than Marvin."

David Rodigan on Bob Marley

Died of a malignant melanoma, Miami, 11 May 1981

When I heard that Bob Marley had died, it wasn't totally out of the blue. There had been terrible rumours for quite a time that Bob was seriously ill, although they had been denied – he had collapsed jogging in Central Park and had to cancel the rest of his US tour. But when I heard on the radio in my flat that he had gone, it was still an awful moment.

He had been huge for me ever since the Soul Rebel album in 1970. I'd seen his first ever UK live show at the Fulham Greyhound and gushed at him on the Fulham Palace Road afterwards, and I had interviewed him on Capital Radio when I was so nervous that I couldn't cue the records and my voice was squeaky. So when I got the terrible news I just knew I had to do a tribute to Bob. It was 10 at night, and I rushed straight into Capital Radio and worked through the night to record a special tribute show. I finished it at six the next morning and went on Mike Smith's breakfast show to announce it would be broadcast that night. I knew it had to be perfect – nothing less would do."