alas, no more

Well, last night I attended what was billed as the last ever gig for a musical bohemoth. My Gary Taylor is said to be hanging up his sticks due to medical contraints, and I for one think this is not only a shame for music in general, but it is indeed a shame for all those who enjoy watching a drummer who is as enthusiastic about making noise, as he is sweaty.

Never again will the world be witness to a conveyor of more disturbing and rotten humour than perhaps any man should be in possession of. I use the word possession, as I genuinely believe that he owns those jokes, due to the vigour and regularity with which he regurgitates them.

Not only that, but Gary Taylor also administers one of the greatest love-hugs I've ever received from a man, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I've received a few. I'm sorry Ben, I know you were hoping for top spot on my list, but I'm afraid you simply don't have the sheer size that Gary utilises to full potential in his hug technique.

Anyway, before I stray too far from the path on which I set out: Let us all bow our heads for a moment and be thankful, not only for what we have enjoyed during the drumming life of Gary Taylor, but also for that fact that although the drummer is gone, the man, the roadie, the legend and the hugger, live on.

God bless you Gary Taylor, and all who sail in you.