The singer and songwriter Keith Girdler dies. Cancer. He must have been not much older than me. That’s him on the sleeve of SARAH 99, above. The one after my one with Shelley.
I have extremely fond memories of his band Blueboy, who existed on the labels Sarah and Shinkansen during the 90s. A fantastic band on record and in concert. I still know how to play ‘Popkiss’ on the guitar. All the way through.
For a while I knew Mr Girdler. We exhanged letters in the days people did such things. Then we got to know each other in person, a little. I could go into all kinds of naughty anecdotes, which would probably please him, but maybe not everyone else.
I find out about his death just after my first visit to Hampstead Heath Men’s Pond. He’d have certainly liked that.
Suffice it to say he represents more than a few moments of happiness for me, musically and personally. Oh, and he’s in a few of my lyrics – both Orlando and Fosca.
Actually, I never told him that. And now I wish I had.
I owe him.
I still have the letters.
God bless you, Mr Girdler.
