My friend (and friend of innumerable others) Martin Skidmore died last year. He would have been 53 today.
Lots has been written about him (and enormous reams of fantastic stuff was written by him before his death) -he was well-known across a fair few fields and more importantly was an enormously warm and generous friend. There is lots about him here.
To say ‘he loved lots of music’ feels like a gross underestimate of the enormous collection, knowledge and appreciation that he curated. Wu Tang were at least one of his very favourites, though and they’ll always make me think of him.
Fuck cancer.
In a more just world I’d be spending tonight goading Martin into saying rude things about Before Watchmen in the pub. Fuck cancer indeed.
