Monday 11th March

GOIN’ HOME:

“Hey Lar, it’s Trev”

That familiar northern lilt, a man of groove & wisdoms,

renowned for his drumming & back step conversation. We’d sat

in his yard in summer, me listening,him sharing experience

for free, me smiling, leaving lighter than the arriving,

burned by the sun. Now, still wrapped in winter padding

I was standing in the rain with a cell phone facsimile

of his voice. I’ve danced to his grooves, lifted on the subtle

nuance of his feel, a man who knows exactly when ‘it’s in the

pocket’. In recent times I’ve come to know him as a great writer,

as yet unpublished except for the emails he sends. What joy

discovering one so gifted in the art of hitting stuff is even

more natural at stringing words like pearls.

“Alvin’s gone man” – he said. It shocked me, shook me, perhaps

just as much to know I never heard it on the news or the weekly

radio obituary. I’d been watching him only a week ago, playing

‘Goin’ Home’ at that festival of festivals, the gathering of the

free love tribes that signalled the end of the beautiful times.

Him with his famous red guitar, fingers in overdrive, delivering

a familiar clipped 60’s tone I aspired to own but never did.

That familiar Ban the Bomb sticker that inspired me to personalise

my Gibsons just like his. Alvin gone, but not forgotten.

“He was a great guitarist Lar, could play anything, we used to

have a three piece together, play for fun in the bars down at

the beach. Me, Boz Burrel & Alvin – he was a brilliant guitarist”

I heard the sound of his voice & missed him.

“Keep writing Trev, write every day. You’re a great writer,

So many stories to tell”

(K)

Karl Hyde