How Ken will outlive you all: Richard Clarke’s tribute to Perth’s much-loved Jingle King

Sadly, one of Perth’s most loved industry personalities, Ken Walther, passed away early last week. Perth’s much-loved Jingle King, Ken Walther was an extraordinary talent who charmed everyone he met. Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, Ken gave Campaign Brief incredible support and friendship. He was our piano man at many of our legendary Campaign Brief Christmas parties, and we’d sing along to his songs on Friday nights at Perth’s advertising hangout, The Blue Note, and later, its next incarnation, Madisons. In the late ’80s and early ’90s, Ken even became our landlord for a few years. In this affectionate tribute, Richard Clarke celebrates his more than 40-year friendship with Ken. With characteristic humour and admiration, he reflects on Ken’s extraordinary musical talent, infectious personality and enduring legacy in Western Australian advertising – and why his jingles, like the man himself, will never be forgotten.

A Memorial Tribute by Richard Clarke.

Ken Walther was the most annoying person I’ve ever known.
Everybody who wasn’t jealous of him liked him.
And quite a lot more than they liked me.
My kids thought he was nicer.
My wife thought (and not secretly) he was cuter.
And after I’d introduced Ken to my mother as “My Mum”, he playfully called her “My Mum” (and in later years, “Mummy”) and eventually became, according to my mother “her favourite.”
Lawnmower men.
Piano bar drunks.
Telethon stars.
The woman who sold him his unused gym membership.
Everyone liked him immediately.
He once told a pretty bank teller he wished he had a receptionist as sweet and helpful as she.
The charmed late-teen was so effusively delighted and grateful, he felt he should offer her the position.
And did.
He phoned me to ask if I’d employ the receptionist he already had.
And, somehow, because he was so unbelievably likeable, I agreed.
Gee, he was annoying.
Fortunately, I wasn’t his only victim.
Every competent, insecure creative in the advertising industry he dominated for well over thirty years, found him as annoyingly likeable, talented and influential.
The reason, like all great creative advertising truths, is simple.
In this state, his advertising and brand-defining work is better known and more fondly remembered than anyone else’s.
Especially the often pretentious output of the countless writers and art directors who dedicated themselves to impressing advertising award judges more ardently than they tried to enrich those paying for the material.
Yes, there were many smarter strategists than Ken.
Several better wordsmiths and lyricists.
And countless superior designers and art directors.
But none of these ever wrote melody-sticky, branding or selling messages which could become lodged so firmly in a memory that the mere reciting of their first few words would result in the holder singing it (if not the entire commercial song) back at you.
With affectionate relish.
His perfect-pitch-skill wasn’t just better than writers’ of mere words.
No art director’s visual image ever came close to evoking the emotion and unthinking loyalty any of Ken’s songs did.
No meticulously well typeset, PADC or D&AD or One Show Award-winning full-page could ever match the customer-response Ken’s Dockers or Eagles or Wildcats or America’s Cup songs evoked.
No Clio-winning campaign will ever be recalled as readily or accurately as even the ABC Blinds’ sign-off.
Or the melody of the Chicken Treat ‘sting’.
Or the reputational feel he gave Mazzuchelll’s and its two major competitors.
And numerous Satterley communities.
And Ellenbrook.
And most BGC home builders.
And their rivals.
And shopping centres.
And anti-littering.
And warring car dealers.
And, as they so often screamed, “many, many more!”
He gave Miss Maud her flavour.
Adventure World and MTT bus travel their fun.
And ‘Wendy’ ands her parent (QBE), their heart.
And he helped provide countless Snap-quality start-ups and Povey-like innovators with the chance to either impress and thrive.
Or disappoint and die.

Above: For 30 years Ken was musical director of Channel 7’s Telethon.

Arguably, there are some long-copy, Ilian or Barker-written pieces which would prepare youngsters for deep sleep as effectively as did Ken’s jaunty pre-lullaby, ‘Goodnight Captain Possum’ (which aired each night until some idiotic Channel Ten ‘new broom’ swept years of priceless goodwill into the bin, instead of next year’s programming).
But, without exception, no meticulously crafted Browning press ad, no dazzlingly clever Edmonds radio spot, and no Canalini-calibre billboard will ever come within a catchy, call-to-action’s length of the enduring impact or income-generating power of even the hundreds of Walther music-driven messages he didn’t rate highly.
Undeniably, Ken Walther, and his work, were highly valued and admired.
But here’s another, very annoying truth.
Not by everyone.
There were (and still remain), a worryingly large number of deluded, self-proclaimed ‘creative elites’ who regarded ‘the jingle’ as the soft, unsophisticated, easy, ‘arse-end-option’ of creative advertising, rather than its irresistibly potent Zenith.
There are still many of these ‘gurus’ (pause for chuckling) who can count on their masturbating hand (and often, the only two fingers needed) the number of jingles they’ve willingly initiated.
Because, despite knowing full well that consumers are persuaded more by emotional entreaties than cogent argument, they never understood what Ken Walther, and the Cannes’ multiple Gold Lion-winning creators of ‘Dumb Ways to Die’ always did.
Music makes words and images measurably more memorable.
And when there are no words or images, it evokes them.
Lots of them.
Invariably positive.
And lasting.
Like Coca Cola, the world’s Number One brand and jingle and custom-written-song-user during most of Ken’s long reign, WA’s Jingle King understood the brand-defining power of music.
And, more particularly, the addictive strength of the melody ‘hook’, which every Mozart and Walther composition had.
He knew from listening to Paul McCartney (his favourite composer, whose songs are still working tirelessly in advertising worldwide) that music paints thousands of words’ worth of emotion far more effectively than can any beautifully art-directed picture.

Ken was also aware that clients (especially those who own the company) love nothing more (and, occasionally, no one more) than hearing their brand’s praises, and its name, sung.
Walther’s annoying shrewdness extended beyond understanding how to make a good soul-tugging idea ‘sing’.
He was also a better entrepreneur than most of his agency clients, and even some of his more successful direct clients.
Not only did he charge an extraordinarily high hourly rate for his services, he also received a tiny royalty payment for every one of the thousands of times the radio or television or ‘on-ground’ or message-on-hold pieces was played.
He made more money while napping, going to lunch at the Blue Note, and sitting smoking a cigarette while drinking a cup of International Roast with three sugars in it, than did most of his briefers.
And almost all his pompous detractors.
Yes, I confess, the ease with which he could make money also annoyed me.
Greatly.
I’d spend hours coming up with a strategic approach and a campaign direction.
Then hours, and sometimes days more, developing the associated support material, and pre-selling it to the client, before writing the words and driving out to Ken’s studio.
Annoyingly, the session would typically start by Ken informing me that he needed a cigarette.
Roughly seven-minutes later, he’d come back inside to make a mug of near-boiling, super-sweet International Roast and, at the same Balinese-waitperson-pace, try to engage me in small-talk about family.
Or pool cleaning issues.
Or why both Elton John and Billy Joel were inexplicably better known than he.
Finally, he’d listen to my detailed brief, take a disturbingly short period to think about it, and then play a melody while half-singing my words uncaringly.
“What do you think of that?” he’d ask confidently.
“”Yep”, I’d begin “It is good but..”
“What’s wrong with it?” he’d fire with genuine indignity and hurt.
And so the annoyingly speedy process would proceed until, after no more than eighteen minutes (the record), I’d given up trying to improve on his original two-minute effort.
And he’d stepped out for another cigarette and to talk to the lawn mowing man about the footy.
Gee, he was annoying.
At the very beginning of our collaboration and friendship, and to its very end, Ken and I had a shared, profound understanding.
We’d learned from Coca Cola, Mojo, and the Beatles what many Perth creatives have never grasped fully enough.
Annoying as the truth may be, cleverly crafted, infectiously good, music-driven messages make brands, and their stories, unforgettable.
And more likeable.
And live on.
Like Ken.

Richard Clarke was the principal and creative director of Perth agency, BCY. With Ken Walther, he wrote well over five hundred jingles, team anthems, and corporate and novelty songs. His ongoing series of ‘I don’t understand’ articles can be read on Substack (ericthepanda.substack.com). Or at ericpanda.com

A family-organised ‘Celebration’ of Ken’s life is being planned for early November. It will be an invitation-only function.

Above: A 1985 Ken Walther trade ad run in Campaign Brief that shows how in-demand and prolific Ken was.

A tribute by John Ilian.

If you can’t say it, sing it.
Hugely talented, I was deeply saddened to learn of the passing of Ken Walther, much loved musician and advertising jingle writer.
Ken was part of the Perth band, ‘The Troubadors’ before he began writing jingles of which he reckoned he wrote between 2000 and 3000 over 50 odd years – including ‘Goodnight Kenny Kidna – Captain Possum’ for Channel Ten that won a PADC award in 1989 (google YouTube).
He wrote the Dockers ‘Heave ho, Freo’ theme song.
He also refreshed the original Kevin Peek Eagles themes song: ‘We’re flying high.’
You’d hard pressed to find a more ebullient, creative man – Ken always had a smile and liked to joke a lot. He was funny, generous and gregarious, a great human being.
Ken was 74.
Condolences to Jenny and his family and friends.
Not gone.
Just playing a different tune in a different realm.
RIP Kenny

A tribute by Rob Mitchell.

Today, I headed into Prowse Street, West Perth, to meet a film editor and go through some footage. More about that later.
I’d woken to the sad news that my old friend and collaborator, Kenny Walther, had passed away. I knew he’d been unwell, but it still came as a shock — one I’m trying to process.
Kenny was a brilliant writer. His 3,000 jingles were part of the soundtrack of our lives, even if most people never knew the man behind them. He understood the power of a great hook wrapped in a memorable melody.
In another place and time, he could have been up there with Elton John, Billy Joel and Barry Manilow – a piano man whose talent deserved a much wider audience.
His music also had a wonderful filmic quality. He once wrote a score for a film called Daisy, which was to star Michael York. The film never got made, but I always thought the score belonged up there with Jessica’s Theme from The Man from Snowy River.
Kenny and I collaborated on about 20 jingles and six or seven songs. Woodstock Girl, which you can find on YouTube, remains a favourite.
We had some great times together: working, parties, lunches at the Witches Cauldron and nights at the Blue Note Tavern. He’d hate it when I requested Nilsson’s Without You. Those high notes weren’t exactly a favour to a mate.
Through it all, Kenny was a lovely bloke. Humble, kind, and devoted to Macca – Jenny – his family and his music. He’ll be deeply missed, but his music lives on.
Which brings me back to Prowse Street.
On my way in, I rang ahead to say I was running about 15 minutes late. I’d lost track of time reading the beautiful tributes to Kenny on social media. I was warned that parking might be difficult.
As I turned into Prowse Street, I realised Laurence Avenue, where Kenny used to have his studio, ran off it.
And there it was: the only available parking bay, right outside his old studio.
Waiting for me, as though Kenny had arranged it himself.
Thanks for the parking bay, Kenny. And for everything else.
Rest in peace, mate. Gaz.

Above: Ken Walther pictured with his music and sound peers in a late 80s feature article in Campaign Brief.