Our brother has fallen. Our brave warrior has been lost. Michael has left the world & it is a much more cruel & strange place following his passing.
In the days since the horror of his disappearance & discovery I have seen him everywhere. It's impossible to turn on the radio or listen to music without feeling him nearby. So much of what we shared was music. I can't look at a shelf of discs without being reminded of Michael's enthusiasm, his love of sincerely expressed emotion, artistic integrity, originality, eccentricity & extremes. Qualities he embodied perfectly. I am reminded of the kid who lived next door to my girlfriend who would irritatingly interrupt things that teenagers do. I remember the young man who bravely in the face of all sorts of opposition forced out an identity & a personality for himself that would not be accepted by any of the communities he could have fitted neatly into if he wanted an easy life & I enjoy the pride that he came to take in that. I remember finding him sat on his windowsill one hot day blaring out "You've Got Foetus On Your Breath" while mothers brought their children home. When I asked Michael what he was doing he said "teaching these fuckers a lesson." I remember a friend who wouldn't allow me to give up on myself when I was broken, who nagged me to gigs in all sorts of places & introduced me to beautiful outsiders while we mocked the fools who tried to fit in. We shared rage when we came up against aggressive oppressors who discriminated against us. I remember the shock & the thrill I felt when I first heard him take someone on & the glee in his voice as he put that thug down. I remember carefully stepping over writhing goths at the end of a Cranes gig (we'd been warned about the LFO & got out of the way), giggling at their dripping mascara & poorly guts. I remember the time we gatecrashed a funeral & were plied with pints of Guiness by mourning Irishmen. I remember so many nights in Spiders howling with laughter. The night Cobain died was a glorious evening. We celebrated the death of grunge (we detested its unimaginative scruffiness) while all around people cried for Kurt. Boo fucking hoo. Shouts of "bum gravy". Midnight calls to pious pricks. " Shouldn't you be up praying?"
I had to walk through Soho on Sunday & he was there again, round the corners as we flitted from the Fox to bars that are now cafes & shops that are now bars.
Today I went to the place we grew up to hate & visited the house he lived in when we first met. I wanted to step up to the door & walk in, slide upstairs & loose myself in one of our treasured records or hear him enthuse about something new that I simply must listen to now. He knew I would love something if he did because our tastes were so much the same.
I have lost a singular ally, a brave & keen critic, a voice of truth & hope full of wit, principles & love. I shall miss him hugely until I see him again. Farewell beautiful friend.
