Rant #1,468: Ringo!

Through all the hubbub of the past week, let me wish a belated happy birthday to Richard Starkey, who turned 75 this week on July 7.

I think that most people in this world know that Richard Starkey is Ringo Starr.

I think they do, at least.

Anybody who ever went "yeah, yeah, yeah" to the rock and roll beat knows who Ringo Starr is.

Ringo was the drummer for the Beatles, the greatest rock group ever.

He kept the backbeat while his mates hammered out an incredible catalog of songs.

But Ringo also has a great catalog of songs, too.

Like bandmate George Harrison, his songwriting and singing talents were kind of muted by the incredible range of music motion that Paul McCartney and John Lennon possessed, but Ringo was no musical slouch, either.

If you were around back in 1970 and 1971, when the Beatles broke up, the great question was whether Ringo could survive as a solo artist. There was no doubt that Lennon and McCartney would be successful, and certainly Harrison would make it too, but heck, Ringo was nothing more than a drummer. He couldn't write songs, and he couldn't sing.

Well, starting in 1970, he proved everybody wrong, had a bushelful of hit records and LPs, and was recently named to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as a solo artist, whatever that is worth.

But to paraphrase one of his biggest hits, it didn't come easy for him.

Yes, he acted in a few forgettable movies beyond his Beatles movie appearances, he and his wife, actress Barbara Bach, are recovering alcoholics, and his hitmaking career only lasted a few years, but Ringo is Ringo, and, taking a page out of yesterday's Rant, I think we can all agree that we all love Ringo.

So to Ringo Starr, who is a regular reader of this column (yup, in my dreams), happy birthday, and to paraphrase another of his hits, yes, yes, yes, we will always love this guy.

Speak to you again on Monday.