The Wall

People who died -- December, 2025

Well, it’s been a busy month as it appears a lot of folks didn’t want to be responsible for any 2026 taxes. Some, unfortunately, died tragically, as with Rob Reiner and his wife and Greg Biffle and his family, and others died the way most of us hope to, by getting older. Remember, no one gets out alive. Music really took it on the. Here we go with those who got out this month.

You can knock on wood only so many times before life catches up with you. Steve Cropper learned that this month as he joined the Big O in the afterlife at 84. Cropper, along with Duck Dunn (who replaced Lewis Steinberg), Bookert T. Jones, and Al Jackson, Jr., were the STAX house band playing behind the likes of Sam and Dave, Carla Thomas, Rufus Thomas, Eddie Floyd, Wilson Pickett, and, of course, Otis Redding, who is to me what EVH is to Tom Calcagni. If I could only touch the hem of his garment. Anyway, Cropper was born in Dora, Missouri but the family moved to Memphis when Steve was nine. With a guitar he bought from Sears, he learned to play and later favored a Fender Esquire and then Telecaster. He was at heart, a rhythm guitarist which in itself is an art. Everyone wants to play lead but the rhythm player makes the band move. Along with Dunn and Charlie Freeman, he formed the Royal Spades in high school. They later became the Mar-Keys, named after the marquee, that was outside the building that housed STAX Records. Cropper came to the attention of STAX President, Jim Stewart, who saw Cropper as not only a great guitarist and songwriter, but a professional who could manage himself and others. With Booker T., Cropper wrote the hit “Green Onions.” With Sam and Dave, he wrote “Soul Man,” where the “play it Steve,” (replicated by John Belushi in the Blues Brothers, with whom Cropper played), referred to him. “Soul Man,” has one of the more memorable guitar intros by Cropper. With Wilson Pickett, he wrote “In the Midnight Hour,” which the two of them wrote in the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, which is where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, and which is now the site of the National Civil Rights Museum. With Eddie Floyd, he wrote “Knock on Wood.” Any musician worth his or her salt, has been in a band that played both “In the Midnight Hour,” and “Knock on Wood.” If you’re a musician, most of Cropper’s songs have been programmed into your DNA. With Otis he wrote, “Mr. Pitiful,” and “Dock of the Bay,” which was released posthumously after the Big O died in a plane crash on December 10, 1967. “Dock of the Bay” was really the first time Otis sang with the band and not over it. According to his website, Cropper had a hand in just about every tune that came out of STAX from 1961 through 1970. That is impressive.

One of the interesting things about music and Cropper, amongst others, was that in the segregated South, where STAX and Sun records operated, White and Black musicians worked together seamlessly and created some of the greatest music I have ever heard. As with many folks, Cropper had differences with the STAX head, Jim Stewart, and he left to form TMI studios where he produced a lot of other folk’s work, such as Ringo Starr, Rod Stewart and Jeff Beck, among others. Cropper performed with Booker T. and the MG’s and also worked with Levon Helm’s RCO All-Stars. Then when Akroyd and Belushi did their Blues Brothers thing, Cropper featured prominently in the band. He caught some grief for what people said was his selling out and playing with the Blues Brothers. That is bullshit and too often, musicians who toil in obscurity get grief for being accepted in the mainstream. George Benson comes to mind. A great guitar player who had hits and got grief for it, as if obscurity was where he was required to reside. I liked the Blues Brothers. The band was made up of topflight players and they brought some music to the mainstream and earned royalties for those who wrote the songs, provided they actually got the credit for it. Anyway, Cropper played with them, and I am sure enjoyed it. He was nominated for seven Grammy’s and won twice. Once for “Dock of the Bay,” (best rhythm and blues song) and another for “Cruisin’” (best pop instrumental performance”). He was also voted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame as well as that place in Cleveland which I despise. “It’s like thunder, lightnin’.”

One of the great voices in American music has been silenced with the death of Raul Malo at 60. “Oh What a Cryin’ Shame.” Orbisonian in his range and depth, Malo never received the recognition he deserved, in my mind. Listen to “I Should Have Been True,” or this rather primitive recording of “Cryin’,” which showcases his greatness. The son of Cuban immigrants, he was raised in a Cuban section of Miami. His dad listened to Country, while his mom was a fan of Rock n’ Roll and big band music, and his neighborhood gave him a mix of Tex-Mex, Rockabilly, Hank Williams, and Elvis. He did work in Springsteen tunes to the band’s repertoire such as “All that Heaven Will Allow.” When the Mavericks first formed as the Basics, bass guitarist Rob Reynolds was the singer. Eventually Reynolds and Malo traded places at the mic and the band took off. The Maverick’s were hard to pigeon-hole. They started out as a Country band, but they had a Tex-Mex feel that rocked. One of their first shows was opening for Marilyn Manson. Over the course of years, the band broke up twice with Malo embarking on a solo career each time. His solo records were good, but it was with the band where he flourished. He did record with the collective known as Los Super Seven which, at times, consisted of Joe Ely, Flaco Jimenez, Freddy Fender, Doug Sahm, David Hidalgo and Cesar Rosas of Los Lobos and others, who were awarded a Grammy for the Best Mexican-American Album in 1999. Earlier this month, the Ryman in Nashville, hosted a two-night tribute to Malo who was revered within musical circles as a nice guy. Malo, suffering from cancer, could not make the shows but sent a letter that was read thanking everyone and especially his fans. In the song “Just a memory,” he wrote: “Memory, can’t you see, that’s not what I should be.” With his music he will always be more than a memory.

Described by her first husband as “sex on legs,” Bridget Bardot, generally referred to as BB, died this month at 91. She became the face of hedonism in the world. She had four husbands and dozens of lovers, once claiming that “nobody has any security in loving me.” She started as a model but soon moved to films starting with “Naughty Girl,” and then “Plucking the Daisy,” “The Bride is Much Too Beautiful,” and ultimately, the film that made her who she was, “And God Created Woman.” “And God Created Woman,” was directed by her husband, Roger Vadim whom married her when she was 18. After their divorce, Vadim would continue to direct her and shape her image. The film, about a young girl with a rather loose moral structure in a small buttoned-up town, was a worldwide hit. In the United States, at the time, it was the highest grossing foreign film ever released. In some parts of the country, theater operators were arrested for showing it. In a world where Marilyn Monroe and Sophia Loeren were coveted for their looks, BB outstripped them (pun intended), with her overt sexuality. Asked by a reporter to describe the most memorable day of her life, she corrected him stating, “it was a night.” After the release of “And God Created Woman,” she was criticized for the overt sexuality of her performance. Paris Match Magazine declared her “immoral from head to toe,” but the ticket buying public loved it all and she was dubbed a “sex kitten,” which at the time, was something to behold. She became a symbol of sensuality, unbridled sexual freedom, and unapologetic individualism. She made a boatload of films (and money), although she never worked in the United States. Of her acting talent, she opined, to little argument, “I started out a lousy actress and have remained one.” With looks like hers, talent was understandably secondary. She had a bit of a singing career and continued to model. She had a child but rejected it claiming, “I was not meant to be a mother.” She reconciled with her son later in life. Perhaps because she was often despondent living up to the expectations that were put on her being a “sex kitten,” she ultimately rejected that life, quit films, and became a voice (and sometimes face) for animal rights, once stating that unlike men, animals never betrayed me. She was an ardent supporter of animals, often selling her jewelry to support their cause. Seeing a picture of Sophia Loren wearing a fur coat, she quipped that she was wearing a cemetery on her back. She led a much quieter life but was careful to correct those who called her a recluse. “I live like an unsociable person” she said; “it is different.” She was also criticized for her sometimes extreme right politics and anti-Muslim stands, which caused her to be convicted of racial hatred some five times. But hey, she was beautiful. And, as Chrissie Hynde (also an ardent animal rights supporter) wrote, “when love walks in the room; everybody stand up. Oh it’s good, good, good; like Bridget Bardot.”

In the first of two tragic deaths this month, Rob Reiner, the actor, director, died at 78. Along with his wife, he was killed, allegedly by his son. Reiner’s own dad is on the Mount Rushmore of comedic talents so deciding to go into showbiz made his climb a steep one. Having to constantly be compared to an entertainment giant had to be tough. In 1986, he told the Chicago Times, “I grew up thinking my father thought I didn’t have any talent.” He felt inferior and overcoming those feelings was, he claimed, the genesis for the movie “Stand by Me,” based on a Stephen King novella, that Reiner directed. Born in the Bronx, the family moved to Larchmont when the elder Reiner was hired onto Sid Caesar’s “Your Show of Shows.” It was Larchmont where Carl Reiner set “The Dick Van Dyke Show” when he created it. That success brought the family to Los Angeles. Rob Reiner went to Beverly Hills High and then to UCLA where he was a theatre arts major. He entered the American consciousness as the “Meathead,” Archie Bunker’s foil on “All in the Family.” Reiner never lost those liberal leanings, and he spent a lot of his life as an activist for the left. Moving from in front of the camera to behind it, Reiner directed a string of great films, such as the aforementioned “Stand By Me,” “The Sure Thing,” “The Princess Bride,” “A Few good Men,” “When Harry Met Sally,” and my personal favorite, “This is Spinal Tap,” perhaps the last movie I saw. When making “When Harry Met Sally,” Reiner, who was divorced from Penny Marshall, whose career had a similar trajectory to Reiner’s, he was introduced to Michele Singer, who Reiner immediately fell for and married seven months later. The movie was originally set to end with the love interests not getting together, but after he met Michele his feelings changed and the movie ended with Billy Crystal getting together with Meg Ryan, a pairing I never understood. Interesting note that the woman who instructs the Katz’ waiter, that “I’ll have what she’s having,” after the orgasm scene in the restaurant, was Reiner’s mom, Estelle. “Boy the way Glenn Miller played.”

Joe Ely, arguably one of the fathers of the alt-country sound died at 78. Raised in Lubbock, Texas, where Waylon Jennings and the great Buddy Holly lay claim to, he was a real American troubadour. On his first day of high school he got suspended for riding his motorcycle in the school corridors. He was eventually expelled, but by that time he knew music was his calling. Along with two childhood friends from Lubbock, Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Butch Hancock, as the Flatlanders, they recorded an album which the record company thought so little of, they only released it on eight track, the short-lived CD of its day. The record was retitled and released in England ten years later and it was a hit. Later still, it was released in America to critical acclaim. By then the Flatlanders were a memory but they would reform from time-to-time. Ely released a lot of records that didn’t conform to any one sound or genre. Just about every record I’ve ever done with a record label, they didn’t know what to do with it,” he told Lone Star Music Magazine. “I’ve never really done anything to please the record company, or the public.” That didn’t stop his fan base, which was formidable and loyal. Take a listen to “Me and Billy the Kid,” or “Musta Notta Gotta Lotta Sleep Last Night,” which I think exemplifies his sound. He was friends with Joe Strummer and sang on the Clash’s’ “Should I Stay or Should I Go.” The Clash had a bit of a hit with “I Fought the Law,” written by the Lubbock songwriter, Sonny Curtis. As noted above, he was a member of Los Super Seven with Raoul Malo, amongst others. Ely never really became a mainstream hit and he was once asked if he would have preferred more stardom. “Absolutely not,” he told Texas Monthly Magazine. “Every time I would get to the edge of national attention, I would back off.” Too bad for those who never got to know him.

I wanted to be an architect as a kid because I believe it to be the ultimate art. We are all affected by the space around us so the rooms and buildings we are in often affect us in ways we are not even aware of. My problem was that in a time before computer aided design, or CAD, I had absolutely no artistic ability so my grade in architecture made me reevaluate my career aspirations. The guy who to me epitomized architecture as art was Frank Gehry who died this month at 96. His designs were some of the most beautiful, yet controversial buildings on the planet. The first Gehry building I saw was the Dancing House in Prague and it was stunning. It was also a very controversial building, although given some the Soviet-era architecture that exists there, I don’t see how anyone could complain about the whimsical Dancing House. Gehry was the most identifiable American Architect since Frank Lloyd Wright. While Wright often tried to blend into the surrounding landscape, Gehry wanted to stand out. While Wright could be whimsical at times, Gehry took it to another level. Wright designed the Guggenheim Museum in New York, while Gehry designed he Guggenheim in Bilbao, Spain. While some would call the New York museum different, these same people would call the Spanish building outrageous. That was Gehry. He also designed the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles and the New World Center concert hall in Miami. Presently under construction is another Guggenheim in Abu Dhabi which will be ten times the size of its New York counterpart. Suffice it to say, Gehry designed many a building. Currently, in New York, you can see his work at the 76 story residential high rise at 8 Spruce Street in downtown Manhattan, designed to be a sort of modern counterpart to the Woolworth and Municipal buildings nearby, although I don’t see it. Beautiful building, though. Gehry viewed his designs as sort of a rebellion to the architecture of his time. That would be an understatement.

Jerry Kasenetz, who along with his University of Arizona classmate, wrote such memorable, yet cringeworthy tunes as “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy,” “Goody Goody Gumdrops,” “Simon Says,” and “Indian Giver,” (with apologies to Native Americans), for such bands as the Ohio Express and the 1910 Fruitgum Company, died this month, while laughing all the way to the bank, at 82. There were a few tunes of his I actually liked. “Little Bit of Soul,” and “Gimme, Gimme Good Lovin,’” while not exactly “Whipping Post,” or “Eruption,” were catchy to me. You’ve gotta give this guy credit as he was making these hits right in the middle of some of the greatest music in the world coming out. He wasn’t competing with schlock. “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy,” was released in 1968; the same year the Beatles released “The White Album,” the Stones released “Begger’s Banquet,” Hendrix released “Electric Ladyland,” and the Band released “Music from Big Pink.” Those albums ain’t chopped liver, yet Kasenetz’ tunes sneaked through. Kasenetz was born in Brooklyn and grew up in Great Neck, on Long Island. None other than Pete Townshend said that “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy,” was one of his favorite songs when it was released. The Ramones covered “Little Bit of Soul,” and in their early years, the Talking Heads covered “1,2,3 Red Light.” If that isn’t validation, what is?

Going pretty much in the opposite direction musically, when I was a kid, Jethro Tull was pretty much my favorite band for a few years. Great musicianship and their live show, while nothing like a Springsteen concert, because it was far more choreographed, rivalled it for a great live performance. When I was a fan, the severely underrated Martin Barre was the guitarist, but the band’s original guitar player, and founding member, Mick Abrahams, died this month at 82. He left soon after the band’s first release, “This Was,” due to artistic differences with Ian Anderson. “This Was,” was heavily influenced by Abrahams as it was really a blues/rock/jazz-based record. Abrahams wrote many of the songs with Anderson which was also a departure from Tull’s later work, which was all Anderson. Abrahams went on to form Blodwyn Pig which had some minor success and then embarked on a solo career. Never attaining the heights of Tull, he also augmented his musical career with stints as a lifeguard, driver, and financial consultant. In 2015, he put out an album with varied players, including Martin Barre, who replaced him as Tull’s guitarist, and who himself is feuding with Anderson who doesn’t seem like the easiest guy to get along with. Health issues over the last fifteen years, including heart attacks and strokes, slowed Abrahams down. Death has slowed him even more.

This month’s other tragic death was that of Greg Biffle, the retired NASCAR driver, who passed at 55, along with his wife, two children, and three friends, in a plane crash on their way to Florida. Biffle won 19 races in a 15-year NASCAR Cup Series career and was a champion in the 2000 Craftsman Truck Series and the 2002 Xfinity Series. He was named one of NASCAR’s top 75 drivers. He was nominated for the NASCAR Hall of Fame in 2024. He was apparently very good at making a left turn. Aside from his driving, Biffle was a humanitarian and philanthropist. When Hurricane Helene wrought devastation on the Southeastern U.S. in 2024, Biffle was one of the leaders of the relief efforts, operating helicopter rescues of people in remote areas. He was a helicopter pilot in addition to owning and flying planes. Should have hung a left.

While I am on tragic, I am not a television guy and never saw “The Wire,” which I am told was one of the better depictions of a crime show based around wiretaps, which I can say with some authority, are rather labor intensive. It appears that being on that show can be perilous to one’s health. I don’t pay all that attention to it but I keep hearing about people on the show dying. Granted, I perhaps pay a little more attention to death than the average Joe, but this show is snake bitten. Robert Hogan, who portrayed Louis Sobatka, died in 2001 at 87. Robert F. Chew, the drug dealer, “Proposition Joe,” died in 2013 at 52. Reg E. Cathey, who played the reporter Norman Wilson died in 2018 at 59. Michael K. Williams, Omar Little, died in 2021 at 54. Lance Reddick, who played Lt. Cedric Daniels, died in 2023 at age 60, and this month, both James Ransone and Isiah Whitlock, Jr. had their lives come to an end. Ransone, who was 46, played the role of Ziggy Sobatka. He died of a suicide at 46. Finally, Mr. Whitlock, who played Maryland Senator Clay Davis, died at 71. Thus, longevity was not a hallmark of the cast, and the amount of cast-member deaths seems unusually high, although this is merely anecdotal, because I don’t believe they keep statistics about this sort of stuff. Forget the Superman roll being perilous, I would be afraid to even watch “The Wire,” given its track record.

I’ll also note the death of Perry Bamonte, the keyboard player and guitarist of The Cure who died at 65. I can’t claim to be a fan of The Cure although I do like the Song “Friday I’m in Love. I also can’t claim to have known Bamonte to trip over him. His story is interesting, however. His younger brother was the tour manager for the band and got him a job on the road crew. He eventually worked his way up to guitar tech. When the keyboardist, Roger O’Donnell, left the band in 1990, Bamonte went from guitar tech to full member of the band, playing keyboards, guitar, occasional six string bass, and sometimes, percussion. A real utility infielder of the type the Mets could use at this point. Bamonte was also an avid fly fisherman, a hobby I see as at odds with his day (or night) job. “I don’t care if Monday’s blue.”

That wraps it up for 2025. Bad as you thought your year was, it was probably better than most of the people you have read about here. Let’s try and keep it that way in ‘26. Happy, healthy, and safe New Year to all.