“To stand shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart….”

Sorry mate, but I only just heard about it today, thanks to a quick check of Lemmy’s facebook. He’s got all the pictures of the flowers at the funeral up on there, and in the middle of them all sits your picture. I had to check and double check a couple of times, and when it sank in, the only thing I could do was call G and break the news to him.

I guess that when someone’s influenced and touched so many folk as you did that there’s no way of letting ‘em all know when you’re gone. The tides change and turn and carry us all along away from one another, but now and again we catch a glimpse of one another in the maelstrom and fire up a flare.

So it was a bit of a shock, is what I’m saying. I went for a walk around the park once I’d spoken to G, all puddles and dripping trees as dusk began to settle. Then I found a bar and had a drink to you and let the memories of ten years ago wash across me like the rain washes tears.

Propping up the bar every night with you and The Duchess and G, basking in the only bar in town that had live music every night.  Making jokes that we should just arrange our wages to be paid to you and cut out the middle men. Endlessly debating the merits (or lack of, you said) of Springsteen’s “The Ghost Of Tom Joad” album. Telling every new band that would play there how music’s best when the writers use a melody. Getting absolutely muntered on Martini the day Joe Strummer died. Constantly angling for a gig with you every time I formed a new band, and playing quite a few before you moved next door to the new, bigger venue cos it was all beginning to take off.

Spending a week on my knees with a paintbrush in my hand,  building and decorating the new place with every other Preston musician, all of us crazy and launching into song as the rain dripped down from the windows. Fixing leaks and installing cables. Climbing on stacks of chairs to screw lights into the ceiling. Everyone giving up time and resources free of charge, chipping in together to build a rock n roll venue, just because we believed in your dream, because it was the same as ours. Watching you book great bands you couldn’t possibly afford, just because they were the best. And at the end, when it was all over, laying our hands on each others shoulders, saying quick goodbyes and moving on down the road to our next adventures.

How about that night you decided to launch a pub quiz and opened with the question ‘Which musician got his record deal by sending a demo tape to Atlantic Records with the covering letter “cos I’m the kind of Twat that sends demo tapes to record companies”’? Me and G took one look at one another, put our pen down, and spent the rest of the night at the bar.

Then there was jumping behind the bar and serving folk whenever I felt like it. Banging my head in the air and my hands on the table with Shetland Martin to Overkill and singing at the top of our lungs. Everyone smoking one another’s fags and not giving a toss so long as there were more about.  Meeting Nils Lofgren at the Guiild Hall across the road, and trying to talk him into coming to your place for a beer. Getting into bands nights free cos me and G would spend all our pay behind the bar. That guy with the Elvis fixation – Dougy?

And those bands and artists I met, thanks to you – Kent Duchaine, Wilko Johnson, the great George Borowski, and Mark Radcliffe’s Family Mahone. Hell, that last one was a crazy night, which everyone reading this would know if they were there. Matter of fact, now I think about it, that was the first date between me and my daughter’s mum. I’m sure I saw a fledgling Arctic Monkeys play there one night, too. Hell, how the time goes….

Anyway, now you’re off, mate. Last time I saw you was on the street last summer, just along Friargate in Preston, further down from the Dog and Partridge. There was a pretty light drizzle beginning to come down, but that didn’t stop us standing on the corner in it for twenty minutes, catching up. I honestly can’t remember what the hell we were banging on about, just words I guess, but I knew nothing had changed in the time since we’d seen each other. You get that with some folks, no big hellos and hugs, just plunge straight into the same conversation where you left off, years ago, and part ready to drop back into it next time you meet.

Only now we won’t , mate, will we? The old circle of fartarounds has long since been broken, but I always knew you were out there in the ether somewhere, running a pub and doing your bit for live music, probably making a loss on it, doing it all out of sheer love for music and keeping your head up above the waves.

You gave me a place at night among friends  to call my own. You gave me a place to play my songs for the first time. And above all, you gave me the confidence to believe that I could get out and begin to do what I’m doing now. Music unites people, and around that bar, I knew everyone.  Most of the friends I have now I met with you, in your club, all because you had a dream, an idea. And it was a great one.

There must be a thousand bands and musicians out there that came into being because you gave ‘em a chance. I’m just one of ‘em. And the warmth you’ve left behind will filter on down through the years.

So thanks, mate. I’ve sprung a little leak by my eye thinking about all this, but it’s ok. I feel warm, and centred, and deeply grateful. The good times will live on, in here, between those of us that were there, and carry it on.

Let  your mind rest easy,  sleep well my friend.

It’s only our bodies that betray us in the end.

John Bates 16th June 1947 – 18th June 2012.

Some of us rail to break the doors down, others hold it ajar like kings.

Forever missed.

Your old mate,

Sean.