KBHR 57am

05/09/2026

In 1973, Leon Russell surprised fans with an album released by his alter-ego Hank Wilson titled, “Hank Wilson's Back!" The record featured country and bluegrass classics by Hank Williams, Jimmie Rodgers, Bill Monroe, and Carl Belew.

Of course, other Tulsans were involved—JJ Cale produced the album and played guitar, and Carl Radle played bass.

05/09/2026

Some men spend their whole lives looking for the one thing they're supposed to do. Mickey Jones wasn't one of those men. He just did everything, and he did it loud.

He sat behind the drum kit for Bob Dylan in 1966. Think about that for a second. The year Dylan went electric and the world decided to have opinions about it. The year someone in the crowd shouted "Judas" and Dylan turned to the band and said play it loud. Mickey Jones was the one making it loud. He was the engine underneath one of the most contested moments in twentieth century music. Seventeen gold records over two decades. That's not luck. That's a man who understood rhythm at a cellular level.

Then he walked off the stage and onto a screen, because apparently one extraordinary career wasn't enough. The rugged face. The laugh lines carved by years of knowing exactly what he was doing. Television audiences recognized something in him immediately, they just couldn't name it. That's the mark of a real character actor. You don't watch them. You believe them. He brought that to Home Improvement, to Justified, to a little show set in a fictional Alaskan town that means more to this station than I can adequately say. He was in Cicely. He walked those streets. Even if the streets were actually in Roslyn, Washington.

There's a documentary called No Direction Home. Scorsese. Dylan. The whole electric mythology laid out on film. Mickey Jones is in it, talking about those 1966 nights from the inside. That's where you hear what the man actually was. Not a sideman. Not a supporting player. A witness to the center of something enormous, and someone who knew what he was witnessing while it was happening.

He passed in 2018. Seventy-six years old. The drums are quiet now. But here's the thing about rhythm. It doesn't disappear. It gets absorbed into everything around it. Into the records. Into the reruns. Into the air over Forest Lawn on a still morning. Mickey Jones kept time for decades. The universe has a way of keeping it for you after that.

05/09/2026

Have a Cup o' Joe with Smokie B. Live now on KBHR570

05/08/2026

Tonight on the Friday Night Buzz — no playlist. No plan. Just an open line and a question.
Text me a song. I'll play it.
Here's the thing about a request: it's not a casual act. When you pick up your phone and say "play this one," you're handing over something real. The music you love is the autobiography you haven't written. Every song you've ever played loud in a car alone is a chapter. Tonight those chapters belong to the show.
So send one in. Old or new. Obscure or obvious. The one you're embarrassed about or the one you'll go to your grave defending. All of it is welcome here.
Tonight — 6pm Pacific / Roslyn time. 9pm East Coast.
Text your request to 210-570-KBHR (5247)
Include your first name and where you're from — that's the deal. No name and location, no airplay. Simple as that.
KBHR 570 — streaming now.

05/08/2026

100% NX - all songs from the show Saturday morn, 9-11 PT. That box in the middle is the German box set for those who don’t know- all original music! KBHR570.com

05/07/2026

Tikigirl wearing one of the new KBHR tees'

05/05/2026

05/03/2026

Somewhere in the distance a chainsaw is working through somebody's firewood. Making the case for productivity. It's losing. The body has made its decision before the mind got a vote, and the decision was: stay. Stay horizontal. Stay quiet. Let the day come and go like weather you watched from a porch.

Headphones go on. That click. That little airlock seal. The room you're in becomes two rooms now. The outer one with its dust and its laundry and its low afternoon hum. And the inner one, which is whatever the record decides it should be. A church. A back alley. A long highway in Nevada you've never driven. Sound builds architecture faster than carpenters do.

Pascal said all of humanity's problems come from our inability to sit quietly in a room alone. Pascal also never owned a decent pair of headphones. There's a difference between sitting alone and sitting inside something. The lazy Sunday is not empty. It's full of a thing nobody else can see.

And here's the heretical truth about doing nothing on a Sunday with music in your skull. It is the opposite of nothing. Every cell is awake. The drum kit is happening inside your sternum. A guitar bend is rearranging the furniture in your chest. You are not lazy. You are extremely employed, just not by anyone who can pay you. You are building something inside yourself out of frequencies and afternoon hours, and when the side ends and the needle lifts, you come back to a room that looks the same and isn't.

This is DJ VVolf and were jamming on KBHR570

05/03/2026

Camus said there's something stronger than the world's misery. He meant the late afternoon, probably, even if he wouldn't have used those words. Light at this angle does something to the eye and to whatever sits behind the eye. Makes you forgive the day for whatever it pulled. Makes the asphalt look like it might be worth walking on for its own sake. The crosswalk lines are fading. The shadows are getting long enough to climb. Somewhere a screen door closes and the sound carries three blocks.