Articles

Live8 Report
September, 2005

Article - Tracks Magazine

Feb/Mar 2005

Tribute
Nov 19, 2004

Article - Fort Collins Sentinel
Oct. 23, 2004

Review - Beat
Sept. 18, 2004

Article - Downbeat
August 2004

Review - NME
July 2004

Review - The Guardian
June 19, 2002

Article - Rolling Stone
June 2002

Review - Magnet
March 2002

Review - Poseur
March 2002

Article - Puma Beat

Oct. 16, 2000

Review - NME
November 1999

Tribute to John Peel
by Patrick Gleason
November, 2004

I was sitting in the garden when I heard the news. The radio was on, I was enjoying a day off with Melissa, it was sunny (a miracle in itself, I think). And then came the announcement.

John Peel had died while on holiday in Peru.

I was stunned. Shocked, and stunned, and I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't take it all in.

When I was thirteen years old, we had a radio in the living room, a big old clunky thing my parents would listen to. But for Christmas, my dad bought me this tiny transistor thing he'd found at a junk shop, thinking I might like playing with it. Well, I did, and as I turned the knobs, I happened upon the tail end of a song, one I thought was really cool and unusual. And then a man's voice came over the radio waves, calm and soothing and deadpan, telling me not only what the song was, but that the next song he'd be playing was a reggae track the band in question had sent him.

That man was John Peel. And the next day at school, I told Charlie, who came round to listen to that night's show. And John played song after song of music we'd never heard before, some of it so good it made my teeth ache. Charlie got more and more excited, planning how we could make a tape and send it to John Peel, who'd play it and thereby we'd get instant tours and album deals.

I was more realistic, but I loved hearing him talking about these dreams. We'd plan the tour bus in lessons, Charlie would draw album covers, and every weeknight we'd listen to Radio 1 and hear more new, interesting songs.

That was the thing about John Peel. He'd play absolutely anything, as long as he liked it. His tastes ranged from The Undertones to Orbital and back, via Pulp and DriveSHAFT. Of course, there was an awful lot of what I'd consider crap in there, but among the dross would shine out gems, and his wonderful quiet enthusiasm, and that's what got entire generations of musicians and music lovers listening to him, constantly tuning in.

John revelled in the obscurer bands. He would get tapes, records, CDs, every day, from bands who wanted badly to be recognised. And he listened to them. And he played them. He got letters, from musicians well-known and struggling, and he read them and replied to them. John was a man who was passionate about music, really and truly passionate. That was plain to see on his face, in his smile when we played.

DriveSHAFT had the honour of playing a session for John just before DriveSHAFT was released. He'd played "Let Me Ride" on his show, and asked us to come in, and we were so excited. It was like being in school again, Charlie and me in the back of the van talking about the latest Peel Session, and the fact that we were actually going to play for him. I was so excited I could barely sit still, and neither could Charlie.  Sinjin listened to us talking all the way there and got just as ecstatic.

We stood, butterflies in our stomachs, ready to play that session. I can remember it perfectly; we played "Let Me Ride" and "Going To Ground" first, then we pulled out "(You All) Everybody" and I watched from behind the others as John's head bobbed and he smiled wide at us.

I felt buoyed up, light as a feather as we finished. He played the session on his radio show two days later, and we all listened, gathered around Sinjin's (much better) stereo to hear it.

In those days, Liam'd be on the sofa, sprawled; Charlie sitting on the carpet between the sofa and the table; Sinjin and I in armchairs, and the radio on the table in the middle. We sat like this every time one of our singles was debuted, and for the charts the weeks they were released; sometimes, one or more of us would bring a girlfriend, but it was a band thing, the bonding of "So. Our baby's gone out into the world, let's hear what people think of it." I miss those times, in Sinjin's living room, or mine, gathered around a radio. Charlie might get his guitar out before, or after, and start doing his trick of humming, scribbling words, channelling the song in his head through his fingers and pen and guitar strings. "Pente" was composed that way, though I wasn't there for that. Liam would pat him on the head and call him "the heart of  DriveSHAFT" as he composed things they'd sing on stage months later.

But, back to John Peel.

There was a presence about him, one of simple normality. Though he was, to us, almost Godlike, when you met him he was this ordinary bloke who loved music and got to play it and listen to it for a living. He got to tell people about new bands he was enthused about, and he got paid for it. "I have the best job in the world," he said to me, "and I never want to do anything else." He smiled, there was a twinkle in his eyes, and I couldn't help but smile back.

There was nothing quite like the feeling when we recorded our first album. The excitement, the magic in the studio crackled in the air, and every day I'd go to work and have that feeling, 'I'd rather be nowhere but here right now'. Playing the Peel Sessions was almost like extending that feeling, getting to take it out of the studio and on the road, and we did. Played up and down the country, little mock Tudor pubs and colleges and theatres; a larger venue each time we returned to a city. It was incredible, those times, those tours, with those people and that music.

John played tracks from the album, before anyone else did. I rang him once, while he was on air, and he told me he'd had a lot of calls about "(You All) Everybody", asking if it was going to be a single. I told him it was planned for our second one, and he gleefully announced that fact on air.

A few months ago, I was listening to his show and he played a  DriveSHAFT song; "Ask Me Again", one I hadn't heard in years, I think.  Music never got old, for him. To John, music was timeless and its beauty, or at least his enjoyment of it, never faded. Charlie got in contact with me not long before that, wanting to get  DriveSHAFT back.  And man, I've missed it, I've missed the music and the buzz and the guys.

Since Charlie disappeared, there's been so much missing. Liam talked about flying back here, trying to get a search organised in more detail, wanting to know more about his flight. Sinjin ... he went quiet, but I see a lot more of him now than I used to. We phone Liam at least twice a week, and he always sounds hopeful for news. Soon, we tell each other. And I? I miss him more than ever, now, when he isn't a phone call away. When he won't just turn up on my doorstep one day, big grin in place, wanting to talk about the old days and get my drum kit out. I always half expected him to; sometimes, I hear the doorbell and wonder if that's him, just come to hang out and play some music.

It was all about the music with Charlie.

If he was here, he'd be devastated about John Peel. And he'd have something witty, insightful, poetic even, to say about it. I wish he was here. I wish I could talk to him about this, about anything. We miss him. With Charlie gone, with John gone .... the music scene right now seems a little dusty and empty for me.

There are no words for how I will miss John. I will miss the Peel Sessions, I will miss hearing his voice, on both Radio 1 and Radio 4.
I will miss having him in my living room and in my life. He made you feel like you were a part of something, and for millions of listeners across Britain now, there is a hole in Radio 1 where he should be. His memory, his legacy of music and passion for it, is as timeless as the music itself. May it never fade.