John Peel (by Al some days after the great broadcaster's death)

I only knew about him for the music he played, but what a lot of music: wandering shocked around a record shop on Tuesday, every CD in which I had any interest reminded me of Peel in some way. For a non-musician, he had the biggest impact, and more; and these are a few personal thoughts after some sad reflection.

I didn’t see one of his all-time faves Mark E Smith apparently acting a twat on Newsnight, or hear former colleagues / sparring partners Noel Edmonds and Chris Moyles pay tributes perhaps unexpectedly tender, but I did listen to the Peel programmes superbly presented by Steve Lamacq and Mary Anne Hobbs last week, which were excellent in pressing home John’s commitment and personality: through playing some of the tunes he made famous, retelling some excellent anecdotes and, I think crucially, in playing some brand new songs from his current favourites – he was always about what was new.

Then again… another regular feature of his shows was of course "the Pig’s Big 78”, as introduced by his affectionately-nicknamed wife Sheila: recordings so ancient that surface noise seemed to be a part of them.

So, his show was really about what was different; though there were bands he would always come back to, Captain Beefheart and the Fall prime amongst them, very rarely would I hear on his shows a song I had ever heard before. And what difference between each of the songs! Rock ‘n’ roll, reggae, country, punk, unclassifiable sub-genres of techno and dance, fey indie and one-minute death-metal. The variety became familiar when introduced in John’s informal but informative manner – carefully spelling the names of more unpronounceable Japanese acts, like a friendly librarian – and, when the tune had faded away (“to a sort of nothingness”) appending it with his own obscure verdict (“play the blues, Lucille” was a regular quote of approval), or segueing into something else entirely. A favourite juxtaposition of mine is one that came about on the annual listeners poll, the Festive 50, a few years ago, but it goes to show the DJ’s own breadth of taste: a delicate lament for a former love from ace country singer Laura Cantrell is followed by a grinding plea for vengeance, Shellac’s ‘Prayer to God’. Unfortunately I used to pause my tapes from recording when Peel would start talking (to allow more space for taping music, so I can’t berate my younger self too much) although in rooting out some old session tapes this week I did find my own early attempt at sampling, which involved some technical problems in the studio: “oh no, what on earth is happening, earthquake zone, errr!”

The “playing records at the wrong speed” has become a cliché threatening to overshadow Peel’s meticulous ear for detail when it came to planning his shows. And I remember the fear of an emergency tape kicking into the programme, should the music become too quiet to broadcast: Mogwai were notorious victims during an Evening Session, leading to some glorious improv between songs from Pavement during a live set for Peel in ’97.

As a listener from the mid-90s, I can’t say it was Peel himself who turned me onto all the bands I heard in that period. By this time he had paved the way for the Evening Session, and the similarly more free-spirited style of Mark Radcliffe and Mary Anne Hobbs. But where would all these have been if not for John Peel, and what of the bands played on all these shows? I can’t see them being in existence. And Peel was always the master.

I still remember the first time I heard him play Belle & Sebastian’s ‘The State I Am In’, which seemed epic in its narrative proportions, and Melt-Banana around the same time, which was a short burst of screeching and scratchy guitars. I had never heard anything like them. The first self-released recordings from Bearsuit, who somehow manage to be a cross between the two, were also given memorable airplay. Demos, too from equally small bands who never even went on to greater things but were a pleasure to hear, like Senseless Prayer, for instance; and Souvaris, a band I vaguely knew and excitedly phoned to tell them (“we’re on the radio?! Quick, get in the car and switch it on!”). And that classic roots track about being a cabbage (Misty in Roots). I remember hearing dance-based music and eventually coming to appreciate the mix. I remember classic Peel sessions being an opportunity for bands to record dodgy covers, like Mogwai singing Guns n’ Roses, or to unveil a new sound, like when the Delgados first went soft. More recently, live sets from Knifehandchop and Lightning Bolt particularly stood out to me (to describe both as having their roots in drum n' bass would not give half an idea of their sound). So many names. Glastonbury coverage was a prime opportunity for festival anecdotes: when interviewing Mogwai’s Stuart I don’t remember much discussion of their quiet/loud music, but I do recall Peel failing to DJ on a one-record deck at Buxton in 1972, and a debate on their most-hated words. No other DJ could get away with going so far off the track, or making it so entertaining.

It was at Mogwai’s ATP festival in 2000 that I met John Peel. My friends and I had been on the beach writing the name of our fanzine in the sand (A Cheery Wave from Stranded Youngsters). On the way back through the dunes we spotted Peel wandering along, with not a hopeful musician in sight giving him demo tapes. Of course, we had to shyly say hello and I offered him a copy of the current issue: it was mostly full of bands I must’ve heard because of him, but the great man insisted on paying me for it. He made a joke to us about a nearby pub sign, 'the Royal William: burgers, chips, beans': "I thought of taking a photo for my son, that's all he eats." Then we let him alone.

Later in the week he even mentioned it on air, read out a little of Lee’s Beefheart article (“high notes were played with the feel of low notes” – “I think that goes some way to explaining it”) and gave my address – three times. It raised sales by at least fifteen copies, which was actually very impressive...

To advertise the next issue I got another mate to e-mail him, and although Kev made the mistake of addressing him as “Peelie” (“I never liked being called Peelie”), he duly obliged with the details.

A few small anecdotes, but good moments, and any listener will have their own memories.

His show was all about promoting all forms of independent music, and his name will forever be associated with quality sounds. In the tributes I’ve read – and there are very many, all pointing out what impact Peel had on their individual lives – it’s often said that it seemed John was talking directly to each listener at their own radio, be it under the duvet and past their bedtimes, at a desk at late-night homework, or on the Internet overseas. But there was also a feeling of community that came from being involved in this open musical world. And that's not just because of the music. As a “celebrity” appearing on TV he was one of the few with genuine personality; on Room 101 once to gripe about his pet hates, instead of making biting jokes mostly talked about his family in the most touching way – and was therefore an unlikely candidate for the series Grumpy Old Men, amusing as he was. It’s for Home Truths and Radio 1 he’ll mostly be remembered.

He was a conduit, but more than that, he was a top bloke.

Thanks John.




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John Peel driving - from CWSY#1