Free Spirit

A lot of rock stars kill themselves by accident. Only a few do it purposefully. Keith Emerson appears to have been one of the latter.

He is destined to be a remembered as a 'prog rock legend' – when perhaps he should simply be hailed as a great musician, and a great and free spirit.

Before the juggernaut of ELP took to the road, Emerson had long paid his dues on the club circuit and found fame as the keyboard player with The Nice.

He added a little spice to his solos by throwing knives into his keyboard and amps. And The Nice stirred things up in the States with their own (wildly superior) version of Bernstein's 'America', particularly when Emerson decided to burn the US flag on stage.

I recall seeing Emerson and his knives at a free concert in London's Hyde Park in an era when the music represented a counterculture – rather than being a willing and greedy part of the establishment.

Emerson was his own man – to the end. That's how he should be remembered.

In The Presence Of Greatness

Russ Payne broke up the Shark Dentists a while ago and formed a new band with a fluid line-up called the Unison Bends. That band has been gigging regularly through 2015 across the M4 delta, from London to Bristol, and is now taking a break until December.

But I've carried on drumming. There's a solo percussion project called Moving Target, which should be completed in November, recorded with the invaluable help of the great Dr Simon Scardanelli. And there's been a bit of sitting in...

I had the good fortune to play at a London street festival with some excellent jazz musicians, including Yosi Marshall on sax, Funky Johnny P on bass and Caroline Cooper on keys. And it was Caroline who said I should call in at a Monday-night jam session at the Halfway House in Barnes... a suggestion that led to the resumption of this blog.

The night I finally made it there, Caroline was on keys, alongside the house rhythm section and some horn players. An endless procession of singers took the stage for some great, old-fashioned swing and ballads.

In the break, the house drummer said I was welcome to sit in... and that there was another drummer in the place who would also play.

This proved to be something of an understatement. When the second half kicked off, there was a man sitting at the drums who had palpable style and panache – even before he touched the kit. And when he played, he played with tremendous skill, subtlety and passion. His brush work was sublime and made me feel like I shouldn't be there. On a ballad, in which one over-ambitious singer began to lose the musical plot, the drummer held everything together and rescued singer and band from disaster.

"Do you want to go on next?" the house drummer asked me. "Yes," I lied. How on earth did I follow this guy?

It's ok, I told myself, just stay within your limits... it'll be a ballad or swing... you're not a jazz drummer, but you can do those.

Then as I settled behind the kit, the singer helpfully told us: "The next one's a rumba."

Well, I improvised and survived, and got away with it. And the next one after that was a welcome uptempo swing number.

It was only later that I discovered the identity of the master drummer who had excited and scared me in equal measures.

Like a real gentleman, he came over to me after the second set, introduced himself and said he'd like to talk. He was Brian Walkley, a veteran from the 1960s, who has played with everyone from Long John Baldry, Elton John and Keith Emerson to Sonny Boy Williamson, T-Bone Walker and Stevie Wonder.

Like all good drummers, he had a fund of anecdotes – like the night he was driving Ginger Baker home... but Ginger couldn't actually remember where home was.

If you are anywhere near the Halfway House, go there on a Monday night. It's great entertainment. And if Brian is playing, it will also be a great education in the art of the drummer.