Joined: Feb. 2000
||Posted: July 09 2012, 17:55
More from Tom Newman:
The news came barely a month since of the falling foul of cancer of a great and beloved friend of mine, one Tim Cross, musician, composer, arranger, producer, and gentle loving soul. Despite being a Viking . . .
Its inevitable and well understood that as we get older the rigours and misfortunes of life on the planet Earth will claim its casualities and take from us those we have become close to, yet though the frequency of these bereavements has increased of late, it comes as a shock sometimes more than others.
I am wondering if this gives us a clue as to the true worth in our own eyes of the person in question.
When I first heard Tim was diagnosed with lung cancer, it was not too big a surprise.
A lifelong smoker must expect to pay the piper unless they are exceptionally lucky . . .
And treatments have progressed, new miracle cures ever day . . .
No panic - wait and see what is the prognosis.
Nothing for three weeks, then an invite to a playback of his latest production, a lady called Clear, I was unable to go, but encouraged, he’s still cracking on . . .
Then, a call from another friend. He’s been moved to a Hospice . . . no more can be done.
How we muddle on in ignorance of the world around us, how can this be, its just lung cancer, that’s treatable nowadays, I’ve read of it in the papers, on the telly, all curable surely . . .
I rallied spiritual support on facebook.
It’s like offering a prayer meeting, many friends and fans responded admirably, to little effect obviously, though that is something we cannot yet assess.
Then today, I heard from TV Smith, he’s fading fast and may not be conscious much longer.
Four weeks from diagnosis to coma . . . .
All the past times in his company now jostle for recognition, another books worth of reminiscences all with Timmy at the epicentre.
The studio where we met, all the radio adverts and fun, making fun vouchers for use in the pub. The ‘coming out,’ and meeting life partner Nigel the hairdresser, got those close concerned for his safety, but quickly developed into a lovely romance albeit, like all true love fractious.
The introduction to Micheal O, and the Tubular Bells touring years, the jump to Punk and TV Smith and the Adverts, the move to Hastings after I moved, the Coda Landscape albums, the death of Nigel, the move to Robertsbridge, and all the great Dana Gillespie projects.
And now, suddenly, its his last album?
He didn’t know it was his last album till it was nearly finished, and then he worked hard to make sure it was finished I’m sure.
Our lives went on different paths from the late eighties, and we saw each other less and less, but there was always a heartfelt welcome to be had from either side when visits happened. It was as if no time had been spent apart . . We shared a recognition that our lives were driven by similar gods and dreams, and were always to be filled with ups and downs and periods of penury and excess.
He was broke once and I was flush, and so I commissioned him to score my newly recorded ‘Ozymandias’ suite.
Later, I was skint and he gave me all his decommissioned analogue recording gear, which set me up again . . . and I still use.
Just what his friends can say of him?
The legacy seems insufficient to me, he touched so many and left such joy behind, wherever he had been.
And great talent now gone, like tears in rain . . . (bladerunner)
Bless you Timmy, and being a Viking, go forth into the very last great adventure unruffled by fear, carrying your talent proudly, and we, the left behind will celebrate your life with ribaldry and excess, and carry the dream on till we meet again . . . I love you
BLAME IS A DISSONANCE IN THE HARMONICS OF EXISTANCE.±