Mike's Pith & Wind cont.
..fresh in my mind.
I said I admired him for reaching out to a perfect stranger, and he seemed to be buoyed by this and said he had so much love to give and no one to share it with, and he particularly missed sitting down at the table at six o’clock and being served his evening meal. I thought to myself that would be something his wife probably wouldn’t miss overly much, but I bit my lip.
The conversation continued this way for a few minutes more, until we mutually decided to disengage. It’s only really pissed people that overstay their welcome. We didn’t embrace, but we shook hands warmly before going our separate ways.
Today I went to another funeral. Another funeral for another drummer as it turns out; Keith Barber, who achieved fame in the Wild Cherries and the La De Das. Now, there was dapper. No, I'm wrong - Keith was too cool by half to ever be accused of being dapper, but he always looked good, whatever the fashion climate.
He’d been out of the music biz for many years when I saw him at Kevin Borich’s induction into the Hall of Fame at the Mercury Lounge in November 2003, (see the relevant Stop Press), but he looked as fit and as cool as ever, and was talking about getting set up with an electronic kit and doing some recording. He was making progress too – they played part of a track he’d written and recorded (Pretty Sally) at the funeral – when he found out just before Christmas that he had cancer of the liver.
There were a number of people at the funeral I hadn’t seen for some time. David Flint, for instance, former owner of the Thumping Tum, where Spectrum did their first ever gig in 1969. Bill had seen him not so many years ago in his capacity as masseur to the stars, but I haven’t seen him since the ‘70s. He seemed somewhat bewildered to be at another funeral and regretted losing touch with so many people over the years – and then they were gone and it was too late.
There’s no punch line. This is the business end of life afterall, and one thing we shouldn’t be is surprised; but I suspect a lot of us are bloody gob-smacked as we’re whisked unceremoniously into the abbatoir. You should see the look on your faces..