He and Curley Neal. Made my Thansgivings all through the 70's. I think one of them banged Ginger when they got stuck on Gilligan's Island.
We are saddened to hear of the passing of former Quakes striker Junior Agogo. We send our deepest condolences to his family and friends. Rest In Peace, Junior. pic.twitter.com/jvgAdASRYg— San Jose Earthquakes (@SJEarthquakes) August 22, 2019
Had to Google, found out he played with Canned Heat. I don't know much about them other than the name.
Also Mayall for about a decade. Canned Heat was about as pure a John Lee Hooker style blues band as there ever was. They even made a couple of albums with him. They also played a great great set at Woodstock; they were going to break up after it, but the audience reaction made them decide to keep going-- which was probably a mistake. I forget which of the guitarists, Wilson or Vestine had quit, and they picked up Harvey Mandel on a one-gig basis to fulfill the contract, and he was brilliant, mixing all these raga sounds into a Hooker structure, and he stayed with the for quite a while...
Third former MLS player this month... The Colorado Rapids organization mourns the loss of former player and Colorado native Colin Clark. We would like to express our deepest sympathies to Colin's friends and family. pic.twitter.com/Q2Clzf3wcU— Colorado Rapids (@ColoradoRapids) August 27, 2019
Shelby Lyman, Unlikely Star of Fischer-Spassky Chess Broadcast, Dies at 82 - N.Y. Times https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/20/obituaries/shelby-lyman-dead.html Shelby Lyman, a chess master who found fleeting fame in 1972 by hosting an improbably popular show on live television as it followed the historic world championship chess match between Bobby Fischer and Boris Spassky, died on Aug. 11 in Johnson City, N.Y. He was 82. His death, at a hospital there, was announced by the United States Chess Federation. The Fischer-Spassky match was one of the most ballyhooed competitive events of the 1970s, a Cold War confrontation in Reykjavik, Iceland, between the two most brilliant chess players in the world, the elegant Russian grandmaster Spassky and the enigmatic American Fischer. It was the first professional match to offer a prize fund of $250,000 — an unheard-of amount then (the equivalent of more than $1.5 million today). The match, beginning in July, was not scheduled to be televised live. But at PBS, seeking to capitalize on the event nonetheless — and to fill airtime during the slow summer months — the producer Michael Chase conceived of a program that would follow the match, move by move, from afar. And he thought that Mr. Lyman, a top American player who had taught the game to Mr. Chase, would be the ideal person to host it. The idea was to direct the program primarily to the public television viewership in New York, where Mr. Fischer, who had scraped his way out of Brooklyn to become the most powerful player his country had ever produced, was a hometown hero. Then it would be made available to public TV outlets across the country. Mr. Lyman set to work in a public TV studio in Albany, installing two upright demonstration chess boards — one to show the current position of the game in progress, the other to analyze it. A few chairs were reserved for guests, who in the early going were sometimes recruited from the local area based on whether they knew how to play the game. A phone line was set up to relay moves from the match. Every time there was a move — 30 minutes might pass between one and the next — a bell would ding in the studio. Then a woman would come on to the set with a piece of paper listing the move. No one expected the show to be a hit. It was chess, after all. But, astonishingly, it became the highest-rated program in public television history up to then. On the first day of the show — July 11, 1972, when the match began— the plan was to go on for two hours, followed by updates. That plan changed quickly. So many people called to praise the broadcast, Mr. Lyman told The New York Times in 2008, that “we pre-empted ‘Sesame Street,’ and we became a five-hour, move-by-move show. And we did that for the next 21 games,” he said. Though he was an accomplished player — he had been ranked as high as No. 18 in the country — the 35-year-old Mr. Lyman was an unlikely choice for television, a frizzy-haired, doughy-faced guide who had come to the show with zero TV experience. Yet he soon attracted a following, not least because of his unpolished manner — charmingly insouciant and sometimes bumbling. During the broadcasts, Mr. Lyman, wearing a black suit in a hot studio, would run back and forth between the two boards with large cutouts of chess pieces stuffed into his pockets. Often as not, the pieces would tumble to the floor, and Mr. Lyman would stoop to retrieve them, all the while trying to maintain eye contact with the camera. In the meantime, he would be receiving instructions from Mr. Chase, the impresario, through an earphone. Sometimes Mr. Lyman would look up, startled, as if he were searching for the disembodied voice, and bark out, “What’s that, Mike?” Within a week the show was regularly drawing a million viewers in New York City and another million or more from around the country. At one point, The New York Post did an informal survey of bars around New York City to see what they were watching. All but one were tuned to chess. And much to the satisfaction of New Yorkers, if not Americans everywhere, Fischer won the match and, from Mayor John V. Lindsay, received the key to the city. The PBS show did not make him rich; indeed, he wasn’t paid at all, though his expenses were covered. He did get a chance to reprise his role as a chess commentator on public television in 1986, when he handled the broadcast for the world chess championship match between Garry Kasparov and Anatoly Karpov, which Mr. Kasparov narrowly won.
Swiss born American photographer Robert Frank, 94 https://www.npr.org/sections/pictur...umentary-photographer-robert-frank-dies-at-94 He was best known for his 1959 book The Americans, a collection of black-and-white photographs he took while road-tripping across the country starting in 1955. Frank's images were dark, grainy and free from nostalgia; they showed a country at odds with the optimistic views of prosperity that characterized so much American photography at the time. His Leica camera captured gay men in New York, factory workers in Detroit and a segregated trolley in New Orleans — sour and defiant white faces in front and the anguished face of a black man in back. The book was savaged — mainstream critics called Frank sloppy and joyless. And Frank remembered the slights. "The Museum of Modern Art wouldn't even sell the book," he told NPR for a story in 1994. "I mean, certain things, one doesn't forget so easy. But the younger people caught on." Eventually, the photographs in The Americans became canon, inspiring legions.. . . . ... Born in Switzerland in 1924, Frank came to the United States in 1947. Even then, his pictures were seen as too rough, spontaneous, personal. He was turned down by the respected photo agency Magnum. But Frank knew what he wanted to do and he had the training to back up his vision, as the late poet Allen Ginsburg pointed out in 1994. "Robert has this fantastic education since he was 17 as an apprentice to an industrial photographer," Ginsburg said. "So he knows the chemicals of it. He knows how to light a factory with magnesium flares. So he's got fantastic discipline which he applies to being able to be spontaneous."
Legendary outsider singer/songwriter Daniel Johnston, 58. https://www.npr.org/2019/09/11/759904906/-johnston-acclaimed-singer-songwriter-dies-at-58 Born Jan. 22, 1961 in Sacramento, Calif., Johnston was a musician's musician, whose guileless lyrics found significant fans who brought his songs to a wider audience. Tom Waits, Yo La Tengo, Bright Eyes and many other bands covered Johnston's achingly sincere songs of alienation. Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips said, of his music, "There's definitely some absolutely pure, emotional thing that happens in his songs." Kurt Cobain wore a t-shirt featuring the art from Johnston's 1983 cassette Hi, How Are You. In 2005, he was the subject of a documentary, The Devil and Daniel Johnston, that traced his artmaking and his significant struggles; the film won the documentary directing award at Sundance that year. Dick Johnston also told NPR on Wednesday that the family has been working with director Jason Nodler to create a biographical film of Daniel Johnston's life, based on the stage work Speeding Motorcycle, which Nodler directed, based on Johnston's songs. "It's so sad that he won't get to see it," Dick Johnston said.The Tiny Desk Concert is Johnston at his Johnstoniest.
Tiananmen Square Tank Man photographer Charlie Cole dies in Bali https://www.msn.com/en-xl/asia/top-...ographer-charlie-cole-dies-in-bali/ar-AAHfRhR
Ric Ocasek, who was 75. That means he was in his mid-30s when The Cars made it. Listening to a Cars playlist on Apple Music.