As my post-pubescent lifestyle transitions into a post-nasal drip lifestyle I find myself sliding into third base on the eve of my 50th birthday (well, maybe not sliding…probably just trotting breathlessly). And as such I’ve realized that more than half the great rock and roll I’ve ever listened to is now suffering a tragic loss of its membership at a rate of about three superstars a week. That’s a boat load of rock stars paying the Ferryman to ride down the river Styx. Before you know it
the only viable old-timers left will be Chuck Berry, Chubby Checker and Little Richard. No offense to these three gents but that would signify a very sad state of affairs for music.