Whether she was roller skating out of a brick wall or riding shotgun in a flying convertible, Olivia Newton-John, who died Monday at the age of 73, was a true original. Equal parts sincerity and sparkle, it seemed impossible for the Australian singer to be anything but herself (critics who called her bland be damned) and we loved her for it. Her voice, the lightest puff of whipped cream floating atop a feather-pillow cloud, was an unapologetically feminine instrument — but never weak — a quiet strength ran through everything she did.

Pop's softest transformer, Newton-John made it look easy, smoothly morphing from denim-clad country bumpkin to '70s Sad Girl, from Sandra Dee to the aerobics instructor we all wished we had. And the fact that she did it without ever losing her essence was a testament to her strong sense of self.