Sunday's when I was around ten or so would consist of going down
to Battersea Park in the morning and running around the track or
hanging around whilst Charlie did his training, he did athletics
three times a week, Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and after
the Sunday sessions we would drive up to Hanover Square where
Radio London had its broadcast studios, and he would sit still
in his tracksuit and play his records for a couple of hours.
There would be two people on the 'phone's and whoever was in
town would come in and do a session, Dr Hook, Johnny 'Guitar'
Watson etc and I would go from phone room to studio on tiptoes
and bring the bits of paper with the names of the winners of the
competitions, watching for the red light.
That's my
childhood memory, Sunday's with my Dad. Then we'd come home for
lunch with the rest of the family and then go to a park or art
gallery together, until we had visited all the parks in London,
all the art galleries and we had our favourite spots. Monday:
return to prison, school, and be submitted to a week of horror
before returning to our weekends. Saturday morning's my mum
would go to Sainsbury's in Balham but we would go to the Reggae
record shop behind it and sit and listen to Reggae in the booths
all morning whilst Charlie flicked through the lps and 45s. In
fact everywhere we went he would find the record shop and flick
through the records, that physical movement, of plucking out an
lp from the trough and turning it over, reading its tracklisting,
and then asking for a certain track to be played, and going into
the booths and putting on too big headphones to listen to the
music.
During the
athletic season we would go to the various tracks around London
as he competed in races, running for Belgrave Harriers.
Athletics and Records, the obsessions of my Dad. I joined in, I
trained with him three times a week until my late teens, running
down in Battersea, under the chimneys of the Power Station where
his Dad had been an engineer. Running. Playing records.
What does your dad
do the kids would ask me at school, what's his job. Well he
plays records, no, what's his job? He's a record producer. What
does that mean? He plays records.
Other kids parents
had normal jobs, they were nurses, worked at the post office. I
never really understood what he did. Everyday we came home for
lunch and Charlie and Gordon would come up from the basement
where they played records and continued their conversations
about whatever work they were in the midst of doing and we would
have lunch and go back to school. And when we came home, Charlie
and Gordon would still be in the basement having their
conversations, listening to music and we could go down and sit
around and listen to the music being played or drift back up to
the kitchen, work and family life weren't ever really separated,
the office was in the house, they were always there, working,
listening to music.
He once told me
this story- because he couldn’t avoid telling me it – and,
typically, he never mentioned it again - about a trip to
Barcelona with Buffy.
In the middle of
the city a purse-snatcher suddenly grabbed Buffy’s handbag and
ran off with it. Charlie, who must’ve been sixty-odd at the time
– in his shoes and, I guess, cords and waist coat, immediately
took off in pursuit.
I can’t remember
how long the chase went on for. Five minutes - ten minutes -
through the back streets of Barcelona. I feel sorry for the
purse-snatcher who didn’t really know who he was dealing with.
It ended with an exhausted purse-snatcher catching his breath on
a bench and Charlie standing there, demanding the bag back. And
of course he got the bag back.
Charlie was pretty
much an olympic standard 400m runner; around 60 seconds; the
hardest race, he told me was the 400m hurdles. He excelled at
that too.
Shaking off my
inactivity I sometimes played football with him on Clapham
Common where he could walk into any game; whether the South
Americans’, the Africans’; the free for all; serious football
games but whosoever; he was welcomed.
He wasn’t a flashy
footballer: accurate, tight, generous passes. A relentless work
rate.
He was not a
dancer as I recall but he knew his way around a football pitch.
The initial
resistance of any of the youngsters - to this white-haired old
geezer playing football - soon evaporated when they saw him
move. Oh boy! Charlie could shift!
I would end up
sweating and retreating to goalkeeper duty long before Charlie
wanted to take a break.
We would talk
about anything and everything on the walk back to his house;
discussing football moves; techniques. His interest in what I
was doing- in what other people were doing, never stopped.
I remember
otherwise tense moments in the back streets of Clapham – moody
teenagers hanging out – would be instantly dissolved with that
slight nod of the head – an important gesture in South London -
here’s the man who played football Sunday, how you doing?
Lovely to read all
the celebrations of his life. I’m proud of him and what he
achieved. Proud to have had him as a father.
Playing out Johnny
Cash tonight and a whole lot of tunes that he put me onto. Miss
him badly.
Charlie was quite
simply the most important musical influence in my life
The astonishing list of tributes that has mushroomed since last
night is moving not only because of the sheer numbers of people
(from music biz pros to his former postie) who've taken the
trouble to say something, but also for the depth of feeling, the
warmth, the respect, the sense that they had not only been
inspired or entertained musically but touched by a decent human
being, a good man.
Reading through the whole lot again this afternoon, that's what
strikes me more than anything
This,
from someone who worked on his classic Radio London show
captured some of the feel of those great programs:
To be part of his radio programmes, even in a small way, was a complete joy. It
was impossible not to be affected by his honesty, integrity, sense of humour,
spontaneity, intelligence, kindness, wisdom, warmth and humility.
For two hours on Saturday night on BBC Radio London, Charlie would set the
barrier impossibly high – often there were two live sets, sometimes with artists
turning up halfway through, usually having to sound-check during the news. It
felt like Charlie’s party once a week but the listeners were not only invited
but felt part of it too. Charlie would be chatting and laughing with a guest,
reminiscing about something or other and then almost without thought, he’d be
live. There was no change in persona.
Despite having a clear sense of what he liked to play, Charlie would freely
allow his guests the chance to choose four or five tracks with no prior
discussion. I couldn’t imagine another DJ being prepared to give up so much
precious airtime. Sometimes I could see him wince at his guest’s choices but at
other times the unexpected listening treat would make him dive into his box to
find something appropriate to play back. The conversation would then leap off at
a tangent. Nothing was predictable. Often he’d change his choice of record 20
seconds before the track was due to end. I’d desperately try to keep up, so that
everything could be logged for the website and PRS. And of course, all of this
was live. Occasionally things went a little awry, but Charlie would steer things
back on course with good humour and self-deprecation.
I have many special memories of those Saturday nights. When Yasmin Levy first
came to the BBC London studio as her song ended, Charlie sat back in his chair
with his eyes closed. There was a hushed silence in the studio before he spoke.
A magical moment - Yasmin’s stunning voice allowed to breathe by a truly
wonderful broadcaster completely at ease with live radio. And when Seasick Steve
came in for the first time when he’d finished his set, he built himself a little
hobo’s nest with various bits of studio furniture. He curled up in the corner
and said to Charlie, ‘man, I’m having so much fun, I ain’t going nowhere, I’m
staying right here forever!’
Hyperbole wouldn't
suit Charlie, all I can say is he had that rarest of gifts: an
utterly unselfish decency, unwavering integrity and a deeply
felt belief in the stories and passions told by people from all
cultures through their music.
Inspirational and
enthusiastic, never a bad world to say about anybody, it is no
exaggeration that he will be sorely missed and mourned in all
corners of the wide world he was instrumental in making a better
place. All we can do is ensure that his spirit endures through
keeping his belief in the self-expression of everybody, and
their right to be heard, alive.
Ian
Anderson, the editor of fRoots
I can only think of one or maybe two other people I've ever
encountered in the "music business" over the last 40+ years
about whom nobody ever, ever, has a bad word.
[In a
radio interview the day after Charlie's death, Anderson said he
had been looking through a
bunch of photos of Charlie over the years, and "I couldn't find
one where he didn't have a smile on his face".
This,
from someone who worked on his classic Radio London show
captured some of the feel of those great programs:
To be part of his radio programmes, even in a small way, was a complete joy. It
was impossible not to be affected by his honesty, integrity, sense of humour,
spontaneity, intelligence, kindness, wisdom, warmth and humility.
For two hours on Saturday night on BBC Radio London, Charlie would set the
barrier impossibly high – often there were two live sets, sometimes with artists
turning up halfway through, usually having to sound-check during the news. It
felt like Charlie’s party once a week but the listeners were not only invited
but felt part of it too. Charlie would be chatting and laughing with a guest,
reminiscing about something or other and then almost without thought, he’d be
live. There was no change in persona.
Despite having a clear sense of what he liked to play, Charlie would freely
allow his guests the chance to choose four or five tracks with no prior
discussion. I couldn’t imagine another DJ being prepared to give up so much
precious airtime. Sometimes I could see him wince at his guest’s choices but at
other times the unexpected listening treat would make him dive into his box to
find something appropriate to play back. The conversation would then leap off at
a tangent. Nothing was predictable. Often he’d change his choice of record 20
seconds before the track was due to end. I’d desperately try to keep up, so that
everything could be logged for the website and PRS. And of course, all of this
was live. Occasionally things went a little awry, but Charlie would steer things
back on course with good humour and self-deprecation.
I have many special memories of those Saturday nights. When Yasmin Levy first
came to the BBC London studio as her song ended, Charlie sat back in his chair
with his eyes closed. There was a hushed silence in the studio before he spoke.
A magical moment - Yasmin’s stunning voice allowed to breathe by a truly
wonderful broadcaster completely at ease with live radio. And when Seasick Steve
came in for the first time when he’d finished his set, he built himself a little
hobo’s nest with various bits of studio furniture. He curled up in the corner
and said to Charlie, ‘man, I’m having so much fun, I ain’t going nowhere, I’m
staying right here forever!’
Charlie has been one of the best reasons to be
involved in our scene in the UK, and one main reason why it has by and large
remained a decent place to be. Truly irreplaceable. If we were doing one of our
lists ' Top Human on Scene', he would stroll it
A massive
heartfelt thank you to Charlie for being such a lovely fellow,
for being so quiet and unassuming, and for being the single most
passionate and genuinely knowledgeable music enthusiast in the
UK
Charlie was such an
affirming man.
From Andy
Morgan, former manager of Tinariwen:
So often when
people talk about our info-glutted digital age, they express the
need for 'editors', 'gatekeepers'...people who can lead you by
the hand and open your ears to whole new worlds of wondrous
sounds. That was Charlie! He's the model along with Peel and a
few others. And he did it with charm, grace, kindness and
unswerving honesty. He never bullshitted you when he didn't like
a piece of music that you played him. He told it straight and,
to be honest, straight well-informed and fearless criticism is
the thing that every talented artist needs MOST.
His generosity and
spirit have been invaluable to my life. And to so many others.
Reading through people's words, it is incredible to know how
countless we are who have been touched, inspired and transformed
by the sound of his world.
He once told me
this story- because he couldn’t avoid telling me it – and,
typically, he never mentioned it again - about a trip to
Barcelona with Buffy.
In the middle of
the city a purse-snatcher suddenly grabbed Buffy’s handbag and
ran off with it. Charlie, who must’ve been sixty-odd at the time
– in his shoes and, I guess, cords and waist coat, immediately
took off in pursuit.
I can’t remember
how long the chase went on for. Five minutes - ten minutes -
through the back streets of Barcelona. I feel sorry for the
purse-snatcher who didn’t really know who he was dealing with.
It ended with an exhausted purse-snatcher catching his breath on
a bench and Charlie standing there, demanding the bag back. And
of course he got the bag back.
Charlie was pretty
much an olympic standard 400m runner; around 60 seconds; the
hardest race, he told me was the 400m hurdles. He excelled at
that too.
