Take a listen to the Radio Tribute Special above and the lovingly written obituary from Nicole Childrey below.
“And it was great.”
Of all the ways Craig Krampf accentuated the positive, that one stayed the steadiest, especially through his later years.
He’d unfurl a story, corners of his blue eyes crinkling, and the narrative would wind to a familiar punctuation. “It” didn’t have to actually be great, in the literal sense. He’d wrap a flat tire story just the same. But Craig had a worldview: He’d find the heart, beauty, and poetry in any moment, and he’d let it in, let it grow, and let it out.
Over 80 years, Craig modeled that intent in his approach to music, work, family, friendship, and any tires that happened to flatten along the way.
When he passed away on April 16, 2026, Craig was celebrated as a standard-setting drummer, Grammy-winning songwriter, and career-launching producer.
He’ll be remembered by those who knew and loved him for the things that are purely, fundamentally Craig. He was uncommonly kind and open-hearted, generous with his time and talents. He was disarming — one of the rare people who’d ask, “How are you?” and wait and want to hear the answer. And he was a beautiful dichotomy, as sweet and gentle in conversation as he was ferocious on stage.
He was preceded in death by the love of his life, Susie Krampf, in 2005. He is survived by his daughters, Carrie Wilkins, Katie Haas, and Courtney Krampf; sons-in-law Jason Moon Wilkins and Rollum Haas; grandsons Elliott Moon Wilkins and Julian Risse; and countless friends, collaborators, admirers, and fans.
The Elder Statesman
In Middle Tennessee, where Craig lived for most of the last four decades, he had become a kind of music industry elder statesman, having served as Secretary/Treasurer of the Nashville Musicians Association, AFM Local 257, from 2009 to 2013. Over his tenure, Craig encouraged improvements and benefits both professional and personal, from shepherding much-needed fiscal balance to championing funeral benefits for members.
When a union member died and a loved one came to receive that benefit, Craig insisted he be notified. He wanted to sit and talk, remember and console. It wasn’t part of the job, but Craig had built a long and storied career on eschewing job descriptions. Even within the classically convention-bucking music industry, Craig forged a singular path.
The secretary role came as a late-career shift, punctuating decades of well-chronicled and -celebrated recording, performing, writing, and producing success that informed his deep understanding of what musicians need, and specifically, how he might be able to help.
Wisconsin to California
By the time he came to Nashville in 1987, Craig’s industry bona fides were cemented. He’d earned his Grammy in 1984 for “I’ll Be Here Where the Heart Is,” co-written with Kim Carnes and Duane Hitchings for the Flashdance soundtrack. “Oh, Sherrie,” co-written with longtime friend and collaborator Steve Perry, hit No. 3 on the Billboard 100 that same year. Rocky Balboa flexed to Craig’s signature stomp as “Eye of the Tiger” soundtracked Rocky III; “Bette Davis Eyes,” propelled by Craig’s unmistakable kick drum pulse, was almost as unavoidable on pop radio. Melissa Etheridge’s self-titled debut, which Craig co-produced, was on its way to earning a Grammy nod and launching a multi-platinum career.
Career wins stacked high, one after another. But none were happenstance, and none came easy or quickly.
Milwaukee was the beginning. There, Craig learned to drum by banging on wooden chairs and metal pots alongside big brother Carl as he practiced on his accordion. California was the catalyst.
In 1966, after Craig followed Carl to Marquette University and into a likely career in the social sciences, Dick Clark changed the young drummer’s trajectory. The Robbs, with brothers Dee, Bruce and Joe Robb and Craig on drums as “cousin” Craig Robb, caught the TV legend’s attention at the Teen World’s Fair in Chicago. It earned the band a steady gig on Clark’s half-hour ABC rock ‘n’ roll show, Where the Action Is.
Craig and The Robbs moved west, secured a major record deal, and with the necessary shaggy hair and matching blousy shirts of the day, beamed into 1960s families’ living rooms and tween girls’ hearts.
Susie Schindler, carefully crafting a “Cute Boys With Long Hair” scrapbook in her bedroom, clipped out a photo of Craig Robb and pasted it inside.
A few years and label deals later, The Robbs had shifted their name and sound, creating Laurel Canyon-esque country-rock as Cherokee. In 1969, 18-year-old Susie Schindler walked into a Cherokee show, unaware that one of her “Cute Boys With Long Hair” was on stage. Craig knew immediately that she was his future.
Family and Stability
Craig and Susie married in 1971. Their first daughter, Carrie, arrived in 1973. A new husband and father, Craig tried stepping into the straight-job world, but his tenure at Susie’s dad’s stationary store lasted two short weeks. Little Richard called, asking him to go out on tour.
Katie was born in 1977, amid a busy season of work on the road with Flo & Eddie from The Turtles and others. When he was home, Craig was 110% present, doing silly voices with and for the girls, drawing martians and Kilroy in Mercurochrome on skinned knees, making his famous pancakes. But he was gone more than a doting dad wanted to be. So Craig shifted his intentions toward the more stationary musical pursuits of session work.
His smooth pocket was well-honed, so high-profile jobs came. He recorded with Kiss’ Paul Stanley, the Motels, Alice Cooper, Nick Gilder, Art Garfunkel, Lita Ford, The Church, and many others. But working-musician life tends to be feast or famine, often more of the latter, so the family struggled.
The girls weren’t particularly aware, because Craig, being Craig, found the poetry. He’d turn a dwindling cache of discount tuna cans into magic: “I’m gonna make tuna casserole and we’re gonna play a game. Let’s see how many nights we can eat this for dinner!”
Craig and Susie’s youngest, Courtney, arrived in 1982, and some of his biggest career breaks followed. “Oh, Sherrie” brought the family much-appreciated financial stability, and with it, the chance to take a winding and memorable RV vacation together.
During the trip, inside a high-end Grand Canyon-area restaurant, Craig was nearly taken out by a cherry tomato — a kind diner had to perform the Heimlich maneuver on a long-haired rock drummer, knees down and arms flailing.
That brush with death was scary in the moment and funny in hindsight. But it didn’t phase the Krampfs quite as much as California’s shifting tectonic plates did.
California to Tennessee
Craig and Susie had been encouraged to move to Nashville before, courted by producer Jimmy Bowen. But the timing didn’t feel right.
In 1987, when the Whittier Narrows earthquake hit Southern California, the Krampfs huddled under a tiny dining room table, holding each other as water splashed out of the pool outside with every aftershock. They’d had enough.
With no plan, no home, and no work lined up, the Krampfs headed to Tennessee.
Music City didn’t make it easy. Craig sent hundreds of resumes out, line after line of hits and marquee names included, but only a few “welcome to Nashville” calls came in.
Nashville saw “that rock guy,” and didn’t quite get it. But the family was getting settled, and they’d posted up in a rented house in Brentwood, where locals had told the young couple that schools were good and safe.
Between hunting for studio work, Craig rolled up to school drop-off and pick-up in his ’67 GTO, Chuck Taylors tied tight and long, wild hair flowing, as the buttoned-up Brentwood parents widened their eyes. As the family settled in, the girls’ new friends came by for dinners and pancakes, always remarking about the warmth, the love, and the easy energy.
In 1989, when Craig began booking sessions with country music legends Alabama, his footing in Guitar Town finally started to stabilize.
Through the ’90s and 2000s, “that rock guy” crossed styles, roles, and generations, playing on albums for country titans Tanya Tucker and Townes Van Zandt, alt-country standard-bearers Son Volt, and pop upstarts Matthew Ryan, Garrison Starr, and Josh Rouse, among many others. He produced albums for CCM/gospel mainstay Ashley Cleveland and indie-folk act Disappear Fear. He became an A-team percussion call, playing tambourine for LeAnn Rimes and Radney Foster, cowbell and shaker for P.F. Sloan.
Settled and stable, he and Susie built a home in Nolensville, proud of the comfortable setting and easy access to a swimming pool again, its water calm and steady.
But aftershocks come to Tennessee, too, and in 2004, Susie was diagnosed with cancer. After a five-month battle, Craig and the girls by her side, she passed away in March of 2005, a loss that even Craig Krampf couldn’t find the good in.
Back to the Rails
After losing Susie, Craig did continue to find joy, devoting himself, as before, to music, family, and purpose. Carrie had married Jason Moon Wilkins, a bassist, in 1999, and Craig and Susie’s first grandson, Elliott Moon Wilkins, born in 2004, was growing, learning the magic of Papa Craig’s famous pancakes. Katie married drummer Rollum Haas in 2006, and in 2016, Courtney and Brian Risse welcomed Julian, Craig and Susie’s second grandson.
Craig stayed on stage, playing for soul and R&B belter Jonell Mosser and the First Amendment Center’s touring “Freedom Sings” cohort, with a cast of multi-generational talents including Bill Lloyd and Dave Paulson. He produced and played with young bands The Features and Cassino. He took his job at the Musicians Union, putting decades of experience, knowledge, and heart to work supporting his colleagues and kindred spirits.
And he opened a box that he’d closed decades ago but never quite could get rid of.
Craig’s father, Joseph Krampf, worked as a railroad engineer, and his young sons benefited greatly from the inside access, thrilling at opportunities to ride the rails with Dad.
Years later, knee-deep in Barbie pink during a Christmas shopping trip for the girls, Susie encouraged Craig to go check out the toy store’s selection of model trains. It sparked memories of Milwaukee and a passion for model railroading that carried through those California years.
Track by track, shingle by shingle, Craig created a small, handmade world from scratch, shaping pieces, painting delicate details. His railroad filled up half a garage, the little locomotive chugging past Susie’s Record Shop, Katie’s Cafe and Courtney’s Hair Salon. Susie joked that the trains were “birth control,” Craig returning from 12-hour shifts in the studio to place plants and paint windows for hours in his curated, hand-built world.
When the Krampfs moved to Tennessee, the railroad went into a custom crate. But with little room to spread out, it stayed packed up as decades passed. Brentwood to Nolensville to a sojourn in Arizona, then back to Middle Tennessee, the crate came along — expensive to ship, but too priceless to part with.
When Craig moved into a small house on Carrie and Jason’s property in Franklin, a shed sat nearby, open and available. Craig opened the crate and restarted his world-building, adding new details, like Julian’s Ice Cream Shop.
No Regrets
Craig had a stroke in 2019, and the recovery hampered his ability to play and hold an easy conversation. It was frustrating, but Carrie helped him craft an introduction that set a pace: “I had a stroke a few years ago, so my speech is a little funny, but my mind is sharp.”
Friends, waitresses, pharmacists — everyone got the intro. I want to talk, but please be patient.
During his last days in the hospital, nurses got the introduction and the full Craig Krampf experience: openness, interest, caring, thoughtfulness.
One nurse asked about his drumming, and wondered if he felt down about not being able to do it now. No, he said. I have no regrets.
“I got to spend 72 years playing drums,” he told her. “It was never a job. I never one day felt like I was going to work. I got to do what I loved. And most importantly, I had an amazing marriage, an amazing wife, and three amazing girls.
“I have zero regrets,” he said. “My life has been amazing.”
And it was. Craig Krampf’s life was amazing, and it was singular — full of love freely given and received, threaded through with inspiration and creativity, marked by heart, beauty, and poetry.
And more than anything, it was — and he was — truly, unforgettably great.