“Whachoooooo got for me?” asks Ricky Byrd, in the distinctive born-in-the- shadow–of-Yankee Stadium speak that no number of tours with superstars Ian Hunter or Roger Daltrey (to name merely two of his former employers) or hobnobbing with guitar slingers Woody, Pagey and Keef has ever knocked outta dis boy from da Bronx. But the question, as anyone who is welcomed into his humble presence on or offstage, even before being wrapped in his warm...
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