Nik Turner, original saxophonist, flautist and van driver for Hawkwind, died last Thursday at the age of 82. Turner was a crucial element of the band between 1969 and 1976, rejoining them for a further two year stint in 1982. Outside of Hawkwind, Nik was involved in more projects than you could shake a stick at over the years, working, at one time or other, with artists as varied as Jello Biafra, Steve Peregrine Took, Damo Suzuki, Sting, Genesis P-Orridge and reggae star Alton Ellis.
My immediate thought was to feature an early Hawkwind classic in tribute, 'Brainstorm' or perhaps 'You Shouldn't Do That' - seek them both out forthwith if you're not familiar with them. Instead I've gone even earlier, back to the very beginning. From Hawkwind's 1970 self-titled debut, here's the wonderfully bonkers 'Seeing It As You Really Are'. Rest easy Nik.
Robert Calvert died in 1998 following a heart attack, at a mere 43 years of age. While he was with us however, he was prolific, producing a novel, several plays, two collections of poetry, a bunch of solo records and of course contributing to a series of great albums with Hawkwind. 'Spirit of the Age' opened the band's 1977 LP 'Quark, Strangeness and Charm' and back then the song clocked in at nearly 7½ minutes, but in 2009 a deluxe double CD version of the album was issued on the Atomhenge label, with the inclusion of an additional 13 alternative and unreleased tracks. One of those extras is the full unedited version of 'Spirit of the Age'.
The first time I saw Hawkwind live in concert was 8 months after my family had relocated
from London to Ipswich. My mate and I were
each 15 years of age and found that our
tickets for the show had us placed in the
same row, but on either side of the aisle.
Sat on my right, exuding patchouli, was an
exotic young lady, perhaps a couple of years
older than me, wearing a cheesecloth shirt
that virtually matched my own (this was 1975
folks!) and very little else. Soon after
taking my seat, she began to lean into me,
linking her arm through mine and talking
quietly, close to my ear, in a slow, husky
drawl. My pal across the aisle looked on in
envy, while I beamed over at him in gloating
disbelief, despite feeling way out of my
depth in this highly charged situation.
An hour or so later, when Hawkwind took to
the stage, the audience rose to their feet
as one. I tried to stand, but the young lady
grabbed me, pulled me back into my seat,
held me close, looked deeply into my eyes,
threw up all over me and passed out face
first in my lap. A security guy was on the
spot and took her out to the foyer of the
venue, where she quickly recovered, having
'overdone it' earlier in the evening. I
washed my clothes as best I could under the
tap in the toilet, but was a bit of a smelly
mess for the remainder of the gig - it was a
dank, sweaty, dry-ice clouded affair though,
so I doubt if anyone noticed the additional
fug in the air. My mate thoroughly enjoyed
my misfortune and can still be relied upon
to recount the story with amused relish 38
years later.
A quick flick through old ticket stubs and
diary entries confirms that I saw Hawkwind
in concert on five separate occasions
between 1975 and 1979, the first four of
which featured the unique presence of
novelist, poet, singer, songwriter, and
showman, Robert Calvert in the driving seat.
I initially picked up on Calvert a full two
years before the evening of the vomitus
maximus incident, via a 7" single purchased
for 12p in late 1973, from the reduced price
section at Woolworth's in Walthamstow. I must
have been aware of 'Silver Machine' at the
time, but that was the extent of my Hawkwind
knowledge, so I have no idea what attracted
me to the fantastic 'Ejection' by Captain
Lockheed & the Starfighters (essentially
Hawkwind plus Twink and minus Dave Brock),
perhaps the oddity of a, then rarely seen,
picture sleeve single. Over the past 40
years, the song has been described variously
as kraut rock, space rock, even nascent punk
rock. It's all of these and more.
Robert Calvert died from a heart attack in
1988 aged just 44. Had he lived, today would
have marked his 69th birthday, so here's a
little something extra to remember him by,
'Spirit of the Age', a Hawkwind classic from
1977.
A little under two weeks ago,
as I prepared to heave myself
into the shower, I had what
my Mum would have called 'a
funny turn'. It felt as if
someone stuck a needle into
either side of my neck at the
top of my spine and injected
bolts of pure pain which
spread instantly up and
across my skull, leaving me
barely conscious. It was, to
say the least, a scary
experience.
I stupidly tried to ignore
the event and struggled on
for several days, groggy and
unsteady, before finally
calling in to see my doctor,
who referred me immediately
to a neurologist and within
hours, for the first time
since my birth 52 years ago,
I found myself in hospital.
A small bleed to the brain
(subarachnoid hemorrhage) was
a strong possibility - not
dangerous itself, but
potentially a precursor to
something far more serious if
it re-occurred. The specialist
emphasised this point by
snapping his fingers and
saying it could be 'game
over'. Dramatic, but he got
my attention.
Thankfully, after three days
of tests, including a lumber
puncture (straight into the
top five of the all-time most
unpleasant experiences in my
life) and brain scan, the
diagnoses was that I had
suffered a Thunderclap
Headache, which may sound
innocuous, but believe me, is
not. A little rest and mild
medication and I should be
fine.
As the youngest and otherwise
healthiest in my ward I was
witness to the limitless
patience and compassion
offered by the medical staff
during their 12 hour shifts
to old, frail and confused
men, some clearly approaching
the ends of their lives. I also briefly got to know
some remarkable people who
continually overcome
seemingly insurmountable
health problems and are
determined not to 'go gentle
into that good night.'
I may write about a few of
those I met during my short
stay in Bay 7, Bed 26, but I
won't forget any of them.
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