End of an Era: Family and friends remember Kevin Daly

On Thanksgiving Eve this year, Kevin Daly died after battling brain cancer. A tribute to this beloved community member, was published by New Times days after his passing. Before the article’s debut, New Times’ writers and editors were inundated with emails and social media messages, ensuring that we would pay tribute to Daly.

The 69-year-old musician, originally from Virginia, was the epitome of cool: a badass guitarist who slung punk, rock ‘n’ roll, and rockabilly tunes in several bands over the years. Grant and the Geezers, The Hoods, Grave Danger, Flathead, Trophy Husbands and Kevin Daly’s Chicken & Waffles are among them.

He was a member of the Midnighters car club, a mentor to friends facing addiction issues, and ran his own house painting business, where he met even more people. 

What made Daly the coolest, though, was the sincerity with which he approached those endeavors and the people he encountered. He was warm, enviably funny and generous. He was many things to many people, and sometimes became a part of their lives in ways they didn’t know they needed.

The outpouring of support we saw, not only from the notes mentioned above but also the comments and memories that flooded social media, has been truly remarkable. Hundreds of notes turned into thousands. The City of Tempe declared December 11 Kevin Daly Day, fueled by the community rallying to discuss this loss.

Here, we are sharing memories, sentiments, and stories — a gamut of emotions — that we have collected, and we thank all who took the time to provide them. 

Sisterly love

Eileen Silvestro (sister): Kevin was the most fiercely independent person I’ve ever met. He was a funny, smart, and protective big brother. Kevin inherited our mother’s fearless approach to life, and they were and are an inspiration to me. For the last two years of his life, he fought brain cancer as hard as humanely possible without a single complaint. I will never stop marveling at that level of courage. His music will live on, but it’s a poor substitute for his presence. Rest in peace, brother. I miss you. 

‘Hellfire, kid.’

Al Perry (friend, Hellfire bandmate): Good old Trail Boss. Like the brother I never had. We met as the Geezers ended and Hellfire began. There was instant kinship, musically and otherwise. Plus, we both liked to take a drink every now and then.

Hellfire was a rough and tumble rock ’n’ roll band, and back then, we’d take any gig that came along. So, lots of stories there, most beginning with “We were so drunk and then we…”

One time in the mid-‘Eighties’80s, Kevin visited Tucson for about a week, which we spent recording, having a couple drinks and eating every meal at Johnie’s Restaurant. Their menu had items with kitschy names, which our whole gang appropriated. The chili size was known as the “Trail Boss,” and naturally, Kevin got that one. One day, the waiter came over and told Kevin, Vinnie and I to move to another table because we were scaring the customers. Imagine that! After our luncheon, we rushed over to my place and composed and recorded the masterpiece protest song “Trail Boss.” Took about 10 minutes.

A few days later, Kevin returned to Tempe, where he found that liquor no longer had any effect, so he quit drinking altogether. But the appellation “Trail Boss” stuck.

I also captured a Hellfire live set at a bar in the El Con Mall. I treasure that recording because it captures them at their rowdy and sloppy best. They did a couple great cassettes later, and of course, there are the releases of his later bands, and even that tribute compilation, but that tape is my favorite.

I could go on and on with memories, but I’ll just state that he was a stellar guitar player, singer and songwriter, and a nice guy with a wicked sense of humor. We had a blast together.

I’m truly blessed to have had such a swell pal for over forty stinkin’ years. Thanks and God bless, Trail Boss.

Hot Rod Ron Carlsten (friend): I first heard of Kevin Daly before I met him in late 1985. Growing up in Tucson, you had to be downtown to see live music, especially punk shows or anything that was then called alternative music. Most venues were 18+ to get in, and I was just under that when the state law changed to 21. My friends and I were doing the skateboard/BMX bike thing at the loading dock of JCPenney at Elcon Mall. The loading docks faced a bar called Tequila Mockingbird, where they would have live shows of all sorts on most nights. We couldn’t get in, but we could hear the music outside the club. That night, we heard Hellfire. We had no idea who it was, but knew right away it was our kind of music with a twist. Punk and rockabilly had a marriage that night. We waited for people to come out after the show, and I asked Al Perry who it was; he said, “Hellfire, kid.” Fast-forward to 1992: now in college, I was involved with KAMP student radio and began booking shows. Knowing who the Trophy Husbands were, I would get to DJ or book some of their shows when they came to Tucson. 

Booking Kevin for the first time, we hit it off immediately, and from that first show, a 30-plus-year friendship began that very few people get to have. When I told him the story of hearing Hellfire outside the club, he just grinned and said, “Get off my lawn, kid”. (inside joke we had about our age difference) We agreed on so many things and shared many of the same views about scenes and the music that goes with them. Much like his music and the friends he fought for, he fought for what was right. He supported the new bands and musicians, inspiring people along the way, blazing his own trail and letting others follow in the doors he kicked down. From his bands, including The Hoods, Grant and Geezers, Hellfire and Trophy Husbands, he took the musical influences that inspired him and put his spin on them, releasing them into the world for others to be inspired by. Grave Danger was the most popular, reaching a broad audience that loved the chaos that was on stage. 

Once I moved to Phoenix, I would occasionally roadie to help out. One show was in Cottonwood, AZ, at an upscale bar. I am not sure they understood what Grave Danger was. The sound engineer at the bar was a Fabio lookalike who bragged about being the best sound engineer in the state. Obviously, that was not true once the show got started. It was tough for Kevin, Richard, and David to keep a straight face as we in the crowd kept making inputs about Fabio and his sound expertise. The three of them still played their hearts out, since there were younger people there, and Kevin always said, “Give 110 percent because you never know who you will inspire to do something greater than you.” 

His songs were written from a personal perspective on the rough life he started in and emerged from as a true rock’n’ roller who will hold up for generations. His final onstage band was Kevin Daly’s Chicken and Waffles, which, if you listen closely, offered an insight into what truly inspired him: very focused guitar playing, so technical that it was on par with jazz. Most people do not know he had taken a few jazz lessons to further his understanding of guitar and music.

Kevin was also a serious gearhead, and it showed in his songs. He was inducted into one of the oldest car clubs in Phoenix, the Midnighters, which started in 1955.  The club helped get his ’57 wagon on the road, and he told us it was the nicest hot rod he had ever had. He was chosen for his passion in everything he did, music, life, cars, and work ethic. Kevin was the person who would always look out for the underdog, letting them know he was there to support them and that he saw them. 

Kevin, you will be sorely missed, and no one will fill your space. We will all cherish what you left us and make sure future musicians listen and take note of what you created with all your bandmates.

As the trail boss would say, “See you on the other side.” Our trail boss has ridden off into the sunset of the desert.

John Logan (Thee Madcaps ): I met Kevin Daly in the Fall of 1998, after moving to the Phoenix metro area from Tucson. I was playing my first show with Curse of the Pink Hearse in Tempe. No practice, letting it fly. Afterwards, this guy I didn’t know came up the stairs at Cannery Row to the stage and said, “That was amazing! Can I get a picture with you?” and he pulled out a disposable camera and snapped a pic. We started talking about gear, music and people. He introduced himself as playing for Grave Danger, who we were opening for that night. He then played a smoking set. I asked afterward, “Do you know my friend Al Perry?” Al had mentioned a couple of friends of his in Phoenix when I told him I was moving up here. Of course, he did know Al well. They seemed like similar types of characters, both playing a screaming Telecaster, both had a very independently distinctive style of Americana music, and both were equally kind, genuinely authentic people.

After that, every time I saw Kevin, it was like seeing an old friend. He was a painter by trade and helped us paint our restaurant, Carly’s, a few times over the course of its operation. One particular time that stands out was after a show at Third Space back in 2013-14. My good friend Al Foul had just played a show with Kevin and another friend, Hank Topless. Al had an RV in those days and had taken up residence in the parking lot of the venue. Al Foul, but that guy had some seriously funny stories. With a glass of whiskey and a smoke, he would spin some major yarns. We ended up sitting out in that RV swapping stories until around 4-5 a.m., when the sun was coming up. Thinking about that now, I am struck by how those two friends and legends are both gone now.

Kyllan Maney (friend): I met Kevin Daly briefly when he moved back to Tempe, and he was living with a mutual friend. Soon after meeting him, I was putting air in my tires of an old 1960 Dodge I used to own at a gas station. As I was filling my tires, I heard someone screaming my name for a car from the busy street. It was Kevin waving with his big grin. Over the years, we have kept in touch by attending shows he played. We used to talk about paint, since he was a painter. We always talked about him doing the base coat of one of my murals. I wish we could have made this happen. His amazing music and friendliness will truly be missed. 

The kind of friend everyone wants

Bobby Lerma (Timber Giant): My brother-in-law is a Dutch musician in Amsterdam who plays Americana and roots music. He called me years and years ago to ask if I could find somebody to show him some ‘chicken pickin’ (guitar style) when he next came into town. Of course, I called Kevin Daly. Kevin was so tickled that a Dutch guy wanted to learn some ‘chicken-pickin’ that he decided he needed to learn from the best, so he asked Mike Wolfe to join us. The three of them hit it off, and Kevin‘s excitement and kindness bubbled over with an invitation to play a couple songs with his band the next night. After finishing the two songs they had agreed to play, Kevin said, “ Alright, Abel, this is one of my tunes, and it’s in ‘G,’ watch me for the changes,” and then took off with Abel holding on for dear life, but having a blast. The next time Abel was in town, Kevin took time out of his ridiculously busy work and music schedule to learn 12 songs so we could back Abel playing a set of his music. Kevin‘s kindness, true love, and passion for music truly knew no bounds. The gravity around here, without him, is weaker.

Bret Chambers (friend):  I never knew Kevin as the music legend. To me, he was my brother from the 12-step meetings in the Tempe and Scottsdale areas. Although I had many years of sobriety, he invited me to come to his house, where he hosted a men’s newcomer meeting to back him up as proof that there’s life after drinking. 

When a motorcycle accident shattered my leg, Kevin was one of many in the fellowship who made sure I had a ride to meetings. Kevin took me to get a haircut during that time, and as we waited our turn, he suggested that we grow our hair out and style it like Conway Twitty’s. That posed the question, “What’s the name of Conway Twitty’s hairstyle?” The barbers didn’t even know. We scrubbed the mission, which was probably best for all parties involved.

Michael Pistrui (Fat Gray Cat): I first started seeing Kevin in Hellfire, The Hoods and Grant & The Geezers, before our family had moved back to Arizona from Michigan. We were all scared of Chuck (Holder), the bass player, because he was a bit wild, but Kevin was extremely nice and friendly to us, the Chandler skateboarders. Fast forward to Flathead; Swanny (Flathead singer/guitar player Greg Swanholm), who is also a Chandler boy, so we had that connection. Then, (Daly)  tried for a few years to get my current band, Fat Gray Cat, which has been around for over 25 years, an opening slot for Grave Danger, and it just never worked out, until one night. There was a club called “Cat Eye” or something. Somehow, Grave Danger and Fat Gray Cat got booked at this club, and we were so excited to play with them.

We got to the club and started to unload gear, and so was Kevin. We stopped and began to chat and catch up when this big tour bus pulled into the parking lot. We both gave each other a weird look, and sure enough, the venue had double-booked, and this was a  “big time” touring band that had a contract. So, the club started dictating how our show would have to end early and finish at a certain time, which was not what we had initially booked. Kevin and I looked at each other again and moved away, and had a private conversation. Kevin said, “We are out of here, we don’t roll like this,” and Fat Gray Cat felt the same way. Kevin was a veteran of Arizona music, and so I was happy when he said this, as that is how I was feeling about the show. Kevin was like a big brother to so many Arizona bands and musicians, and how he handled that night stayed with me ever since. No BS with Kevin!

Tony Beram (Placebo Records): I got a call from Buddy Knox’s manager in the early ’80s. He was looking for a hot, young rockabilly band to back up Buddy on a tour of the Northwestern US and Western Canada. Buddy had a particularly big, loyal following in those parts. I called Kevin, and we shook hands on a quick deal for me to represent him and The Hoods. We put together a bio, a good press photo and a tape recording. I pitched and advocated for them to get that job as hard as I could. I was 20 or 21 at the time, and I guess I wasn’t up to it because Buddy’s guy passed.

Kevin was always good to me and was one of my go-to guys for my concert productions in the 1980s. We stayed in touch, and he did a couple paint jobs for me, including my current office and storefront. He was a great guy. I can’t believe he’s gone, darn it.

Denise Moreno (friend): I first saw Kevin Daly play in the band Hellfire at Knights of Pythias Hall in Tempe around 1984. My friends and I called him “that cute rockabilly guy.” I also saw him with Grant and the Geezers.

After a fifteen-year break from the local music scene while I was raising a family, I resurfaced in the early 2000s and saw Kevin play at the Yucca Tap Room and around town with his band Grave Danger. He still had that same authentic and raw presence, impossible to ignore.

Around that time, I was learning guitar and asked Kevin if he would give me lessons. I remember him asking what style I wanted to play. His “hot rod” guitar style — fast and fearless — was something I never quite mastered, but always admired. He was energetic, approachable, and deeply connected with people both onstage and off. To me, he was a hugely influential musician and always encouraging.

When I eventually joined a band myself, Cosmeticators, I had the honor of sharing a stage with Kevin several times. He even agreed to play my birthday show one year at the now-defunct Hollywood Alley. Kevin was a sweet-natured leader in our music community and a true local legend.

Our Valley has lost several of its greats in recent years, but losing the light Kevin brought feels like the end of an era — the music, passion and angst. Without him, it feels a bit dimmer.

Gearhead

Carlsten: Kevin was a gearhead from the very beginning and knew the heart of any hot rod or motorcycle was the engine. Money in the Motor from his last performance in public with Kevin Daly’s Chicken and Waffles gets right to the point. “My money is in the motor your junk is in the shop They say Chrome won’t get you home, well I have been there and back” Kevin had a few different Cadillacs that were the big slow cars where all your friends would fit and was also a way of giving the finger to society when gas mileage became the driving force in car manufacturing. Harleys were the way to be solo, fully exposed to the elements, with no protection. Riding is the most raw way to experience a machine, and Kevin did it with grace and style, much like his guitar playing and songwriting.

As Kevin matured, it was more about the form and function a hot rod could provide. While working at one of his job sites, he discovered a 1957 Chevrolet 2-door Handyman Wagon. The perfect hot rod that can be really cool when fixed up, and can haul music equipment. With the help of several gearhead friends and the Midnighters car club, he took the songs above and rolled them into one machine, giving him the freedom to express himself. Kevin said that out of all the machines he has had, the 57 wagon was his favorite for two reasons. One, it was the ultimate hot rod for him; two, he got to build it the way he wanted, with the people he wanted to do it with. Kustom car building and music are the best ways to experience life, Kevin said, and he would always take the time to hopefully influence someone much younger than him in hopes of it being a way to get kids into good trouble. 

A locals’ convo about Daly’s ultra coolness

The thing about all of these conversations about Kevin Daly is that they all circle back to the fact that Kevin Daly was a good dude. More than that, he was a good human being who was a friend and mentor to many, a big brother, a bandmate, a boyfriend, a brother, a son and an Arizona music legend. – Tom Reardon

Rob Locker (AZPX Skateboards): Kevin sucked at skateboarding.

Al Penzone (Nova Boys drummer and producer of the excellent Kevin Daly tribute series, Tales from the Dogpile): He was a big thing with the (Arizona) skater crew, right? I think just because back in the old days it was never like rockabilly night or hardcore night or fucking reggae night or something. All those bands played together on the same bill. So, you see JFA and TSOL, then you get Grant and Geezers and/or Hellfire, and then you get a reggae band all on the same bill. 

That’s where I think the Daly connection to the skaters was, because they played with JFA a lot and a lot of the Southern California punk bands. The way the Geezers and Hellfire played was a thing of pure aggression, pure fun, and chaos, so the skaters just kind of gravitated to it. 

But then Kevin was always cool, and the 14-to-15-year-old skinhead skater kids, you know, just thought he was the fucking coolest.

Locker: He would appreciate that 100%.

Penzone: Kevin had that big fucking, giant, bright smile, and he had that goofy laugh. Drunk or sober, you know, he was just the sweetest guy, but then again, when shit hit the fan, he was gonna be there no matter what.

He was just always approachable, but again, it just starts off with his playing and his style. No one comes close to the Daly style. He never went that traditional, you know, straight up rockabilly bullshit, twangy stuff. He always had that weird country, jazz, metal thing that was always infused into his playing, so everybody looked at him and went, “Holy God, this guy is light years ahead of anybody else. The whole thing. It was so fucking impressive. I mean, he and Chuck (Holder, his bandmate in Grant and the Geezers and Hellfire) were definitely a force.

Penzone: This much I know. He (Daly) was from Virginia, and he started learning how to play the guitar back then. He would be hanging around all these country bluegrass pickers because it’s Virginia, and then he got into the rock and roll thing. He told me once a long time ago that he used to follow George Thorogood and the Destroyers around, just as we used to follow him around, you know, with the Geezers and Hellfire.

Deborah McDevitt Gill (owner of Sun Club): My earliest memories of Kevin go back to my first years in the Arizona music scene, when Grant & the Geezers were part of that wild, magnetic world that pulled so many of us into what Tempe would eventually become. Even then, Kevin stood out — humble, sharp-witted, and carrying a spark that made every room feel more alive. Years later, when I owned and booked the Sun Club, our paths crossed again in that beautifully chaotic way the scene always seemed to work. Whether it was Hellfire, Grave Danger, or one of the many bands orbiting that community, Kevin wasn’t just someone who played shows — he showed up for people. He’d sit in with friends, jump onstage when someone needed him, and elevate the night without ever making it about himself. Bands like Dead Hot Workshop, Beat Angels, and the Pistoleros were regulars in that world too, and Kevin moved through that shared circle with such ease — always connecting, always adding that quiet brilliance only he could bring. And truly, our paths never stopped crossing. 

Tom Fink (friend, former boss, cabinet maker, music lover): Well, I’m a sober guy. I’ve been sober 38 years, and I met Kevin Daly 38 years ago. I had come across Chuck Holder on Facebook about 15 years ago, and I reached out to Kevin then, too. We just started talking, and it’s kind of weird talking about sobriety without blowing anonymity because that’s important, but I think Kevin would be okay with it if he thought it could help somebody. We never went to a meeting together, but in the last couple of years, he almost went a couple times with me, but he was too sick to go. 

He kept (his cancer) private, you know, that he was sick. Some people found out, of course, but he really didn’t want people seeing him going down like that.

Wicked sense of humor

Fink: When we worked together, he would come to work, and I would see him on the security cameras. He would come driving up in his pickup. The overhead door was raised by the time he got there, and I would see him just creep by real slow. He’d be down in his seat like a low rider with his wayfarers on, not even looking at the camera, just flipping me a bird as he drove by in slow-mo. Every fucking day, he did that. It was great.

We always talked a lot about gratitude and being grateful. I mean, we were both train wrecks (when we were younger), but I was always so grateful to spend time with him. 

Kevin was a really good worker. He would sometimes send over these musicians (to work for me), and I would give him shit because a lot of them would just want to stand around and tell stories instead of work. Kevin wasn’t like that, but he was always trying to help people out. When Kevin came to work, though, he came to work. I would always ask him why he would send me over a bunch of slackers when he could have just come and gotten the job done. 

Alan Bishop (Sun City Girls): Kevin was not only a great guitarist and performer but an overall great guy, always upbeat and funny as hell. Here are a couple of stories from 1983 when I lived near Kevin in Tempe.

A drummer who lived next door to me invited Kevin to come over to hear his new trio play their songs. After running through their set, he asked Kevin what he thought of their sound. Kevin said, “It’s Rubbish!” The next day, Dave knocked on my door and proudly handed me his new band business card, which said “Rubbish – Music for Nobody.” That’s how respected Kevin Daly was — even his insult was revered. 

One day, I ran into Kevin on the street, and he asked me if I wanted to play a gig that night. When I asked him what instrument he wanted me to play, he told me, “sledgehammer.” It was a house demolition party, and everyone was coming to drink beer and tear down the walls for remodeling. Then he decided that the two of us would be a duo, and we needed a band name and had to advertise the show in the afternoon. “Stupid is a good name, let’s make some flyers”. We went to the copy shop, and we stuck our faces smashed up on the glass of the copy machine and created ridiculous images of our scrunched mouths and foreheads on the flyers, then wrote “STUPID” and put the date, time and address on the bottom and stapled them on telephone poles all over downtown Tempe.

Michael Roberts (aka Mike Skullbuster, friend and bandmate): He just made me feel at home from the day I met Kevin. He was like a big brother to me, and I’m sure everybody has said the exact same thing. Every time I was around him, if somebody needed something, he’d be like, ‘Hey, let’s go help those people,’ and if I needed it, he was there for me. It was never about Kevin and anything he ever did, man. He would say, “We are all adopted. Unless you were born here in Arizona, then Arizona adopts us, and it makes this little family.”

Roy Valencia (Overstand, ex-Grave Danger, Leppard Skynnr): Kevin’s songs are so fun to play. Out of all the bands I’ve ever been in, I miss playing in Grave Danger the most. We might open with a surf song, then play a rockabilly song, then a punk song, then a swing song. He could write anything. He would do this thing when he was doing a solo, where he would sometimes just go and go, but he had this signal where he would raise his foot to let us know he was going back into the verse or chorus. He was so good. It was an honor to play with him. 

Gill: Even after my Sun Club years, I remember seeing him in Flathead for a time — just another reminder of how seamlessly he flowed through the heart of the Arizona music landscape. What I carry with me now isn’t one specific show, but the feeling of his presence — the generosity, the camaraderie, and the way he helped shape the sound and soul of Tempe. I’m grateful to have shared those wild and beautiful years with him.

A Celebration of Kevin Daly happens at 5 p.m. on December 28 at the Yucca Tap Room.