1926
Star who will be Marilyn
Makes her first twinkle
Born into madness
Dies in loneliness, despair
In between, magic
In ’67
The Beatles get serious
With Sgt. Pepper’s
Rock stars turn artists
Tap all that’s within them
Music ever changed
1968
Helen Keller breathes last breath
Of unique journey
Deaf, blind, not yet 2
Alphabet unlocked genius
To inspire the world
June 1st, quite a date
For magical history tour
Birth, release, passing
One of my favorite rock ‘n’ roll dates.
Buddy Holly, Sept. 7, 1936 – Feb. 3, 1959
Keith Moon, Aug. 23, 1946 – Sept. 7, 1978
Warren Zevon, Jan. 24, 1947 – Sept. 7, 2003
Chrissie Hynde, Sept. 7, 1951
“I play Buddy Holly every night before I go on. That keeps me honest.”
— Bruce Springsteen
September 7th
2 born, 2 died, rock rolls on
Much joy, some sorrow
Buddy Holly put
Lubbock on rock ’n’ roll’s map
Pioneering place
First saw Elvis there,
’55 — opened for him
Before year was out
Never wasted time
Burned like a comet’s swift mark
Three albums, two years
“Peggy Sue,” “Rave On,”
“Not Fade Away,” “True Love Ways”
Let’s say, “Well … All Right!”
Like that comet he
Fell from the sky, but song’s wrong
Music didn’t die
Yes, a few came first
Little Richard, Elvis, Chuck
On rock ’n’ roll’s trail
But Buddy’s the link
From them to so many: Stones,
Beatles, Dylan, Bruce
Through those big glasses
He saw the future, refused
To wait, made it now
Tonight we’ll rave on
Some of us do every day
Refuse to wait too
Speaking of ravers
Tormenter and tormented
Keith Moon died this date
A great drummer who
Blew up drum kits — and toilets
He loved to raise hell
Gene Krupa, Hal Blaine
Inspired him, but Moon was
Thunder and lightning
Stories of excess
Were legend, but what demons,
What pain lurked beneath?
Moon had a great run
But no one could keep the man
From self-destruction
Night before death saw
“The Buddy Holly Story,”
Dined with Beatle Paul
Now Moon rests in peace
God knows there wasn’t any
When he was alive
Warren Zevon lived,
Wrote, sang, played, did everything
Way out on the edge
Werewolves, mad gunners
Larger than life characters
Filled songs to the brim
But underneath it,
Drinking couldn’t quench the pain,
Empty-handed heart
For all his sadness,
Though, his songs made connections,
Shared true emotions
Friends sobered him up
Music saved him, till cancer
Ripped his lungs out, Jim
He left on “The Wind”
We promised to keep him in
Our hearts for a while
The real rockin’ deal
Lives in many, like Chrissie;
Hynde’s no pretender
Artist, journalist
Her talents many but she
Just wanted to rock
And she exploded
Just like a Keith Moon drum kit
When she got her chance
She sang “I’m special”
With a Jagger-like swagger
And damn she was right
Band mates came and went,
Lived and died, but she always
Kept the beat going
Tangled with Limbaugh
Passion for animal rights
Rebel with causes
63 today
Solo album, Uptown gig
Rock on, Chrissie Hynde
Written Aug. 12, 2011
It’s one of those days
Musical talent was born
All varieties
Brave Rostropovich
Most brilliant cellist, champion
Of all peoples’ rights
Honored the classics,
Encouraged new composers,
Dignity for all
In ’27
Porter Wagoner loped in
Circle the wagons!
Discovered Dolly,
Had own TV show, master
Of Grand Ole Opry
Next up, Buck Owens
In ’29, another
Bright star of country
Not the Nashville sound,
Buckeroos, but Bakersfield;
Stripped down, nice and lean
Ringo sang his tune
“Act Naturally”; Dwight Yoakam
Continues the sound
More guitar greats born
This day: Sultan Mark Knopfler
And Pat Metheny
Knopfler got into
Dire Straits, and then he played
His way out of them
A KC suburb,
Lee’s Summit, was Metheny’s
Birthplace, stomping grounds
You can hear those roots,
Edge of wide open spaces,
In much of his work
He also breaks bonds
Musical and technical
To fuse ideas
A jazz superstar
In so many ways, but keeps
Sense of fun, and awe
A personal fave
Completes the group, Kid Creole,
Born Thomas Browder
His names and bands changed
But the Kid was always hip,
Cool amid disco
His tropical blend’s
Still smart, funny, danceable
— Right for a birthday
August 12th, good job!
Serving musical pleasures
Across the spectrum
Sons of Perseus
Cosmic radiance no myth
Lighting the night sky
Perfect atmosphere
For Smith-Tuttle to put on
Its annual show
Meteor shower
What better way for comet
To clean up its act?
“Tears of St. Lawrence”
To some Catholics: Sparks rain down
On that martyr’s day
A.D. 36
First record of these fireworks
Credit the Chinese
1835
Adolphe Quetelet noted they
Appear every year
We could’ve told Dolph
What goes around comes around
But he told us when
Satellite competes
This time ’round, but pre-dawn moon
Will Gibbous a break
Year’s best viewing wanes
Better look this up tonight
Check Google today
Peace, Robin Williams.
Heartbreaking that the laughter
Could not still your pain
Orwellian task
Scrubbing blood from Avenue
Of Eternal Peace
Recall, or forget?
Struggle on, or surrender?
Tank Man says, “You choose.”
June 1 is the birthday of Bob Walkenhorst, singer, songwriter and painter. His work with the Rainmakers means a lot to a lot of people, me included. His Wednesday night gigs at the Record Bar in Kansas City with Jeff Porter and Norm Dahlor are going strong after 11-plus years. He turns 61 today, and the Rainmakers embark on a tour of Sweden and Norway. Happy birthday, Bob, and many more. This was written a year ago, for his 60th.
Empty the junk drawer
Unpack the memory banks
Bob-O turns 6-O
This calls for epic
Not that great, but really long
Yeah, that’s what she said
Smalltown Missouri,
Norborne, a dot on the map,
Framed Bob’s early life
Mable and Ray gave
Him love, lots of work to do,
Things to write about
They flipped newspapers
And burgers, too — anything
To help earn a buck
The carpenter’s son
Took their advice and found those
Better things to come
College, the Ozarks,
A crazy electric band,
Stumpwater by name
And then the big move
To the brightest lights around
Kansas City town
Steve, Bob& Dave burst
Out of the chute, played oldies
With intensity
They burned things up fast
From priests-and-strippers parties
To Uptown and down
Some originals
Worked their way into the mix
“Kissin’ Time,” “Christine”
That first trio split
Regrouped as Steve, Bob & Rich
Roots rockers unbound
KC, Wichita,
Springfield, Fayetteville, St. Lou,
Lawrence, Manhattan
The depths of Blayney’s
To Parody’s fire-trap heights
The boys played them all
Wore their pants backwards
Played toy-raygun “synth” solos
Whatever it took
“Baba O’Riley,”
“… Coming to Take Me Away,”
They’d try anything
Too fun, too funny
Who knew what to make of them?
So we danced and danced
Then built their own sets
Of rockin’ originals,
Showed us they had “Balls”
Pat joined in on drums
Band filled out its sound, ready
To take the next step
Renamed Rainmakers
Mercury/Polygram signed
Big-time record cut
Local fans rejoiced
Newsweek, Rolling Stone took note
Robert Christgau, too
New songs and synth sounds
Roared, but “Tornado” didn’t
Take the charts by storm
Good news: next CD
Got back to band’s roots. Bad news:
No label support
Worse news: it detailed
In “Battle of the Roses”
Bob’s breakup story
Then reckoning day:
Time for band to hang it up
Fun had become grind
Eventually
Bob got that itch — naturally
To write, play again
“Another Guitar,”
Others with Gary Charlson
Rang at Buzzard Beach
Orbison high notes
And Everly harmonies
Yes, remarkable
And life turned again
Bob found his Missouri Girl
Waitin’ down those stairs
Una made the scene
And Norway fans still beckoned
Steve, Rich, Pat came back
Band reminded us
Of someone, good times “Flirting
With the Universe”
Bob got serious
Rich split, not quite furious
“Skin” band found its Bliss
More videos, gigs
Though again the Rainmakers
Ran their course, it seemed
But music still played
In his head and heart, in work
At video job
Helped start a project
Wrote a song with Una’s class
Honoring hero
Extraordinary
“Primitivo Garcia”
Still brings us to tears
More songs came, found time
To be recorded, found Jeff
To help play them live
Wednesday night gigs born
Along with “The Beginner”
Proof that Bob was here
Norm joined in on bass
The Westport love affair’s still
Buzzzing, 10 years plus
Bob played on with Jeff
And “No Abandon” — they took
Duet to Norway
“Almanac” looked back
As if Rainmakers were through
But “Almanac” lied
Rainmakers re-formed
But didn’t reform — not with
Jeff replacing Steve
25 years on
Band honored its first CD
And made brand new one
Bob mined some memories,
Mature themes about aging
And getting it right
But on stage the guys
Were as crazy as ever
Band of knuckleheads
So Bob rocks, rolls on
Playing, painting, and working
To create, help, love
What is a hero?
One kind grows where he’s planted
Blesses those he knows
So take a bow, Bob
Not bad for just 60 years
Here’s to decades more
The rainbow refracts
A new span of funky hue
Maya Angelou
Graduation day
May 18th, Twenty-fourteen
Olathe North High
Looking forward, back
At the same time — nostalgic,
Exhilarating
The class roll is called
More than 400 — each name
A life unfolding
Among them’s our girl
Just 18, so strong and smart,
With so much ahead
Some mid-’90s names:
Ashley, Cassidy, Amber,
Connor, Brody, Nate
Oluwatobi,
Guadalupe, Magali,
Isidro, Satchel
Sallem, Nabiyat,
Ramzi, Mihret — students born
In a dozen lands
And for this moment
We’re all one — one hope per heart
And one lump per throat
The last name is read
Principal’s farewell spoken
The Eagles take flight
Listening to music
Just some compressed mp3′s
Neil Young would hate it
Rock-bottom gear, too
35 buck speakers and
12 dollar ear buds
But voices still cut,
Each instrument comes through to
My old ringing ears
My converters work
Just fine, thanks — digital sound
To analog joy
My smile couldn’t be
Broader, heart cracked more open,
Tears flow more freely
An age of wonders
I tell you — and terrors too
Just listen, listen
Greg's Hack-u 