Motown Money man Barrett Strong, writer of so many classic songs, signs off at 81.

Just Don't Feel Right.

Time has come to say 'so long'
To Barrett 'Motown Man' Strong,
He could write a sweet song,
Sure could kick a tune along,
Thought he'd always keep going strong,
So Barrett up and going feels so wrong.

Song for this sobering day has to be his 'I Wish It Would Rain,' sung by Marvin Gaye.


Jeff Beck has played his last gig? And another monument to youth, gone.

Silver Lining?

Jeff Beck has joined the Heavenly expanding band,
He's up there, ready to play a virtuoso leading hand,
When God picks a picker, he picks the cream of the crop,
Lord knows, you can count on Jeff to take it from the top. 

'Scarcely gone upstairs and he's already missed down here.'

(Song for this one is Jeff’s take on ‘Over The Rainbow.’ Somehow that sounds apt.)


Jerry Lee Lewis, wayward rock and roll genius, moves onwards and upwards; Perhaps?

Two Sides Of The Coin.

Gracious me, Jerry Lee Lewis could put on a show!
It's a miracle his smokin' hot piano didn't catch fire!
Lee could sit down at any damned honky-tonk and tear it up
Or stand up at any staid Church Dance Hall and burn it down.

But now Jerry Lee, The Killer, has played his last show,
The time has come to judge the guy who played with fire,
Will Saint Pete say 'the Boss says 'let that Bad Boy step on up?"
Or 'Lee, He's reviewed your record- sorry, He's turning you down.'


OK, it is still a bit raw but it is said tongue in cheek, and as Jerry Lee would most likely say, 'the Hell with it.'
(Theme song for this post, in the circumstances, can't help but be 'A Whole Lot Of Shakin' Going On,' by the bad boy himself.)


Those good old happy Greaser days just took a sad turn. ‘Bye Sandy Ollson.

Show Stopper.

We sadly wave fare-thee-well to Olivia newton John,
How brightly as 'Grease's' Sandy Ollson she shone,
Blonde, pretty, petite, pure, sweet as apple pie,
But today we can see this is a bittersweet goodbye.

However, at girlish sleepovers from now till Eternity,
Wherever budding adolescents gather it's a certainty
Some bored 'tween will walk away from the TV screen
And longingly look for old nostalgia that once had been.

The Hell with whatever new Netflix flick is trending-
They want that hot Greasy mess with a happy ending,
And, as the credits roll, if the last of Olivia we will see
Is her smilingly going on her way- that's no sad legacy.
   'See ya sometime later up in the wild blue yonder, Sandy.'


Sonny Barger, long time Hells Angel, rides off to wherever the next destination may be.

Heaven's Gate.

High in the sky, where St. Pete bars the way
A fallen Angel is coming a 'callin' today...

Yep, easy ridin' sweet Sonny Barger has bitten the dust,
Now his entry application leaves St. Peter nonplussed,
For his rap sheet record makes one thing crystal clear,
Ain't no Angel like him been admitted for many a year.

So, St Pete has a tough call;
How hard did this angel fall?

Mister Barger's chances of slipping in are thin to slim,
It don't help having a Hells Angels patch slapped on him,
St. Pete is torn, trying to believe Sonny is a reformed soul,
Then again, Sonny's spent the best half of his life on parole...

Saintly sympathy Pete has always had,
But, on reviewing Sonny's case, too bad?

Now, in death as in life Sonny prefers deeds to debates,
So when Barger puts his weight behind the Pearly Gates
Suddenly Pete is physically facing Grievous Bodily Harm-
Sonny's record stretches as long as St. Pete's writing arm.

Should Pete fold, and wave him through?
Pete ponders, 'what would Jesus do?'

Obviously, Sonny up in Heaven is the stuff of nightmares,
So St. Pete trips the trapdoor that shoots Sonny downstairs,
Accomodation on the subterranean dev- level suits Sonny best,
Christ knows, Pete can't deal with this less than angelic guest.

‘C’mon Sonny, it says ‘Hells Angels’ on your jacket!’ 


Sadly, Meatloaf is done. He’s off to another, who knows, better place?

Last At Bat.

The Bat out of Hell man bids us 'goodnight,'
It's time for that last final flight,
So set the Bat signal and the Radar transponder
And fly off into the wild black yonder.

(A slightly tongue in cheek obit. I'm sure Mr Marvin Aday wouldn't mind.)

'OK, now: Do I fly up- or down? The Hell if I know.'


Don Everly packs away the guitar for the last time. Bye Bye Don, it was a pleasure to hear both you and your brother.

Split Harmonies.

I never thought I would ever hear the end of Phil and Don,
But now Don's caught up to brother Phil and he too has gone,
Once the Everly's high heavenly harmonies blended like no other,
So why, down here on earth, could neither bear the sight of the brother?

(A group can break up but it's tough when you and your brother can't stand one another any more. No big happy harmonious family gatherings for years and years.)

More mutual loathing than musical differences?



Prince Phillip falls, and just short of hitting his century.

Ninety-nine- A Fair Old Innings.

For good old Phil it's the end of the line,
Departing life's game stuck on ninety-nine,
What a long and Commowealthy life it's been
Standing mostly quietly in the shadow of his Queen.

The Duke was at his best standing square-jawed,
Stoic, as Liz spoke and the folk listened in, awed,
On the other hand, when asked to share a thought
Her speech writers advised Phil to just keep it short.

He's stood by, if not silently, steadfast and loyally,
On the odd occasion, dropped himself in it royally,
Liz's Phil has been known for many an un-PC remark
But then the Prince has been 'round as long as the ark.

Leaving just shy of a 100 must cause him some regret,
There's a letter from the Palace he didn't quite get,
After seventy years of living a rich and Royal life
Phil won't get a 100 Club Card from the wife.

Phil said the odd gaffe, spoke his mind, but he was one of a kind.



Mary Wilson, Supreme’s singer, steps away from the mic.

Someday They'll Get Back Together.

Misses Ross, Wilson, Ballard and Birdsong?
How could a Motown fanboy not sing along?
Now a good half of those original Supremes
Have faded, like that young kid's old dreams.

Divine Diana Ross says she's she's sad and bereft,
Guess now there's two few Supreme voices left,
Better get the group together for a photo though-
And pronto, or Miss Ross might be singing solo.

Through all the petty squabbles, the hogging  of the spotlight, the Diva-like acting the good ol’ Motown music endures.