The cable guy, Verizon Fios guy to be exact appeared with new router, a tweak here, an extra box there and we are back on. I log on and there before me a bunch of e-mails from my old cohorts at Island Records with the header ‘John Martyn 1948 to 2009′ and the inevitable news that he has died. Maybe some of you here in America might not have heard of him but John was a giant, I’d like to say a gentle giant and at times he was, at other times a ferocious beast. Sadly at times the demon alcohol took over and he was erratic and scary. Whichever John Martyn turned up he was always a total genius, a brilliant guitarist and a fantastic songwriter. If you don’t know him you’ll know Eric Clapton, Phil Collins, Dave Gimour and others who played with him or recorded his songs and their versions of ‘Sweet little mystery’ and ‘May you never’ John Martyn’s songs were timeless songs. Sadly another one gone who seemed to be around as long as you had been into music and collecting records.

John Martyn had many music biz friends who were also fans,he was very much admired. A rare talent and another one who won’t ever be replaced. Like many others I am saddened by his loss yet not totally suprised, he ravaged his body and it just eventually gave up. Just a few years ago he had a leg amputated and though not entirely sure this may have been alcohol abuse related. He joked about it. His cause of death was cited as pneumonia, how much of anymore could his body have taken, his immune system must have packed up years ago.

John Martyn had demons but a sensitivity in his songwriting that you don’t often see. ‘Some keep diaries’ he said.’I write songs.’ Chris Blackwell, the guy who first signed him was a good friend and originally could not release his ‘Grace and Danger’ album as he found it too upsetting, he had known John and Beverley both. John pleaded with him as it as a carthatic release for him, he needed it .Chris eventually obliged. It was a moving piece of music and as always with John Martyn it cut straight from the heart. Nothing about John Martyn was ever safe, yet always sacred.

I worked with him in the seventies and eighties. He made me laugh and he made me cry. He would go in to a radio station and leave us all gasping for breath with some mindblowing guitar and another time he would sit outside in my car refusing to move and refusing to let me take him in for a pre arranged interview. Another time he announced he didn’t want to do anything in Scotland and wanted to go see his dad who still lived there in Glasgow. Testing times for an embryonic plugger. How do you explain to someone sat in reception that your artist will not budge. How can you answer ‘Why’? And if I was to confront him and tell him not to be silly I was terrified of the consequences, I put up and shut up. Driving him in my car once from one radio station to another his accent changed, we hit Glasgow and he became Glasweigen! We did the interview and he wanted a drink, it was 10-30am and I was petrified. Working with John Martyn could be hard but at other times wonderful. He could be so warm and friendly too, delighted to see you.

I remember once when he played Manchester Polytechnic, he walked out on stage blind drunk clad in great coat, slided his guitar alongside his amp took two steps to the side and promptly puked up. Once over he dragged his shirt sleeve across his mouth, took two steps forward and took off in to song like nothing had ever happened! Some hapless character, mop in hand slipped on to the stage having been assigned puke retival duties. The set was blistering.

John Martyn is now gone but won’t be forgotten. Along with Bob Marley and Robert Palmer the mainstay of early Island is disappearing but with it too come fond memories of what made this the greatest label ever, the people. Memories too of Martyn’s press officer for so many years who dealt with his erratic behaviour so well, the much loved Rob Partridge who slowly slipped away and left us just before Christmas.

For all of us who were there so many things remind us of all the good times we shared. It takes every kinda people.

Don’t worry ’bout a thing. Eevery little thing gonna be alright.

I did a radio show for many years, and in many years interviewed many people over many shows but I can’t remember any more joyous than meeting and talking to this man. When he left it made me appreciate how lucky I was to have had that chance to meet people like this, people who had made such an impact on my life and played such an important part in my growing up.

When students lived in bedsit land in the sixties they had ‘Songs of Leonard Cohen’ before they had a chair to sit on! That album was in everyone’s collection and even though I was a little younger and I did my Lenny listening with friends in their front rooms I can imagine how fantastic being a student then must have been. I’m assuming many reading this might have an album or two of his but if not please go purchase one, you won’t be disappointed.

When he arrived at Piccadilly Radio in Manchester which was where I did my show he was the perfect gentlemen, courteous and friendly with the girls on reception. He showed an interest in them and it was genuine, you can imagine how women fall head over heels in love with him. He certainly made an impact with the ladies at the station that day.

I went out to reception to greet him and he was just the same with me, I fell in love with him but not head over heels in love and not in a lustful manner! He had an aura about him and you felt like you knew him, he was warm and he was gentle and he was great!! We exchanged pleasantries and when he discovered I was half Greek we rapped about the islands, cool eh? I always remember him saying ‘I have my guitar, would you like me to play something?’ Unfortunately I had a meeting to go to. Bloody unfortunate, I’ve regretted it ever since.

I asked him why when everyone mentioned his name they always associated him with razor blades. He’d often wondered that too and I did feel quite sorry for him, he looked a little sad and forlorn.

We did the interview and I walked him back out to reception to bid my farewells and I remember just standing there and watching him disappear in to the distance. I felt sad, like I wanted him to come back and go and sit around for a few hours chatting. I remember thinking I hope I get to see him again. I never did but I live in hope that one day maybe I will and somehow I get the impression he will remember the time. Again I live in hope, the mere mention of his name takes me back all those years and makes me smile. It’s hard to think of him as an old man now, just an iconic figure.

Always was, forever is.