Through a writer friend, I was asked if I would contribute to a book about the history of Free, Bad Company and Paul Rodgers. I wrote a piece, sent it off, and got a “Great, thanks.” reply.
Then, nothing.
So I was pretty excited when, on Wednesday, my birthday, a copy of the book arrived. It’s coffee table book and is beautifully put together.
And I’m in!
My piece is in the comments. I know my friend would have been so proud to be in a book about his musical hero.
Paul Rodgers & Free
It was our mutual love of Free which first drew me to Des. He was a new student in Guildford, the Surrey town I lived in, and walked into my local pub. I later found out he was an orphan, a foster child, a child of Care, as two friends put it. They are also children of the Care system.
Looking back, it’s incredible that, by then, September, 1974, Free had already broken up and I had seen Bad Company twice, in their first few months as a band.
Des became my closest friend and, despite two marriages, (me,) and a troubled time, (him,) we stayed friends for 44 years. It didn’t matter what happened, it was Free, Bad Co. or Paul Rodgers which glued us together.
In my teens, I had taught myself to play drums, wanting to sound like Free and Bad Company’s Simon Kirke – rock solid, pushing the band from behind the beat, simple, dependable. Des had taught himself to play guitar and had saved up enough to buy a Gibson Les Paul Gold Top, exactly like his hero, Paul Kossoff. For a short while, Des joined the band I was in, with my brother, and we had a great time playing the songs of Bad Company, The Faces, Badfinger, Cream and Free.
But neither of us had seen Free play live.
I had met Paul Rodgers though.
When I say ‘met,’ I mean I bumped into him. It was early in 1974. Paul was living in Guildford and, one day, I turned a corner and walked right into him. We both did the classic English thing of apologising, (“Hey, sorry, man,” he said,) and going on our way. I had walked about 4 paces when I realised who he was. I turned, watching him walk down the hill, and debated what to do. Did I chase after him? Did I shout? I desperately wanted to tell him what he meant to me, how many times I’d played his albums, how many times I’d played drums to All Right Now, how I thought he was the best singer, ever. But I did none of those things.
When I told Des the story, not long after we first met, he grabbed me by the arms in excitement,
“Where?” he said.
“It doesn’t matter now, he’s moved,” I said, as he shook me.
“No, just show me.” So I took him to the street corner and he made me tell the story again, in full detail. We decamped to our favourite pub and he quizzed me, again and again, soaking in every detail. For the next 44 years, if I beat him in a quiz, or knew a piece of music trivia that he didn’t, (rare,) he would say;
“All well and good, Mr. B, but you are the one who let Paul Rodgers get away,” and we’d collapse, laughing.
It was 1997 before I got Des to a Paul Rodgers gig, at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire. We were with my girlfriend, (now my wife, whom he adored,) standing downstairs. Paul and his band played a terrific set, ending with All Right Now. It was during this song that we noticed the three guys in front of us. The one in the middle had one arm in the air, a half-full pint glass clutched in it’s hand. His two friends were both leaning into him, drunkenly holding him up. Des took a few steps to the side, and began to laugh;
“He’s asleep,” he yelled. All three of us laughed so much and it was one of those shared memories we never forgot.
Des passed away in March 2018, aged just 61. My wife and I organised the funeral, as he had no one else, apart from his foster-brother, who I never knew about, who was a pastor and presided over the service, and who is now one of my closest friends.
I asked Des’s landlady if he had mentioned any songs he wanted played at his funeral. Luckily, he had, so we played Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley and Sad Cafe by The Eagles, during the service. But I couldn’t let him go without making sure there was some Free to see him off. And so My Brother Jake rang out in the lovely chapel, as the coffin disappeared.
Just ten weeks later, my wife and I saw two consecutive nights of Paul Rodgers’ Free Spirit tour, in Birmingham and London, and sang every song, holding each other. When the band started to play Be My Friend, my favourite Free song, I couldn’t hold back the tears, thinking about so many happy times, so many gigs together, so many dinners, pints of beer, glasses of wine, and laughs.
Why did I choose My Brother Jake?
Because Des is Jake. Paul wrote it about Paul Kossoff and his struggles with addiction. But Jake is Des.
“Hat, shades, head in a daze.”
RIP, my friend.
Really pleased for you Niall.
Your writings here have always been great and heartfelt. Now many others will be reading them too.
Weird feeling seeing your own name and work in a book or magazine.
Very strange feeling. Thanks for the encouragement, as always.
Top man Niall, bout time your writings got a bigger audience than us lot of ungrateful wasters.
Thank you, Moose.
And in a book about Free too, who are soooo underrated. Classic Niall, really 😉
Oh God, Niall. Don’t you realise we are all in an emotionally delicate place? I’m sitting here with tears rolling down my cheeks.
You must be so proud.
Oh, he wept…
….what Tiggs said – that’s an emotional read…congratulations on getting it published.
I remember reading about Des on the site here before…
@fitterstoke thank you. And thank you for remembering Des.
@Tiggerlion Thanks. You’ve always been so encouraging. This place has been great for me, for that very reason.
Marvellous, Niall.
What a great tribute, both to your friendship with Des and to your lovely warm writing. You got what it takes to give a whole lotta people some soul.
Thank you, Foxy. Supportive, as always.
Lovely Niall.
Thank you, my friend.
Fabulous Niall and well deserved. Next, the book ?
It has given me real encouragement so, let’s hope so.
Brilliant, Niall.
Thanks, Colin. That means a lot.
Congratulations. If there’s one song I don’t think I’d ever get fed up listening to in all of eternity it’s, ‘All Right Now’.
@Mrbellows me too.
That’s a nice result Niall. Well done!
Thank you.
A touching read. Well done.
Thank you.
That’s quite wonderful. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man.
@Beezer I’m blushing.
Hello all, Mrs Niall here. I just want to say how proud I am of Niall. We miss Des terribly, but he would be so so proud of Niall too. Keep writing, we all love reading your words. Xx
Great stuff, as per usual, Niall. And a nice added extra to be on the same page as the mighty Bob Mortimer.
To be on the same page as the funniest man in the world is a bit special.
Brilliantly written, as always, Niall. Eating late supper at the moment, getting a little extra salt in my food from the tears that your words brought on… Congratulations on the book (and, belatedly, your birthday!)
@Locust Thank you for your constant encouragement, and sorry if I ruined the seasoning in you meal.
Very touching and wonderful to be included in the book.
@davebigpicture Thank you and, yes, so wonderful.
A lovely piece of writing Niall, that strongly resonates with me. It all comes from the heart and is so much the richer for doing so.
Thanks, @Carl.
Wonderful stuff. And well deserved, your writings on here are always putting a smile on my face.
You’re a good man.
Thanks, @bobness. The encouragement on here has really helped.
Love your writing Niall – thats started my Sunday off well.
Thank you, @Mak. That’s a nice thing to say.
Beautifully done. Hat duly doffed.
Thanks.
It’s alright.
(Now, SWIDT, you have to recall my late father’s assertion that there was no greater praise, as, if something was all right, it was nil wrong. I wouldn’t say I inherited my pedantry, but…….)
Fantastic story about Des @niallb and great achievement for you.
My Brother Jake and Mourning sad morning always my favourite Free songs and Paul Rodgers vocals excellent on both.
Did I tell you I saw them live ?? 😁😁
No! Did you? 🙄 Thanks for the encouragement, as always, mate.
What a lovely story. And in a proper book and everything :-).
Paul Rodgers is the only rock star I’ve ever met. And I’ve bumped into him twice. Neither story is a patch on yours, only similar in as much as on both occasions all I could do was mumble “hello” while my inner dialouge was shouting “IT’S HIM. IT’S PAUL FECKING RODGERS”.
@fortuneight Finally, someone who knows my pain. Thanks for the kind words.
Excellent stuff, Niall.
Thank you.