Flying to New York because of the death of a dear friend must rank as one of the worst reasons to go. Five years ago, I was flying out there because a dear friend of mine, John Falkenberg, had died.

On anniversaries of his death, I pause to reflect on him and his impact. Now, five years later, and parts of the world that we knew and shared have gently unravelled with the inevitable entropy that comes from time passing. Memories grow foggy, darken and dwindle. Connections fade and snap. The lives of those not gone move on in ever-radiating divergence.

This is an attempt to reflect on aspects of those five years, in part drawn from previous less-publicly shared pieces of writing.

It was an absolute privilege to have had John in my life, and to have been a part of his. This photo – from 2002 – was taken on a holiday, him and his soon-to-be husband, my soon-to-be wife and me.

John was my favourite person to talk politics with. Whether UK or US politics, the man knew his stuff; he could read political runes well, and understood economic impact on domestic and international politics in a way I would just listen and learn from. Our cross-Atlantic phone-calls in the midst of election campaigns were particularly important. We’d share our elation, disgust or utter outrage as results came through. John’s pre-election night State-by-State analysis of the Obama elections (yes, there was a traditional spread-sheet of scenarios and tallies) helped my engagement with, and understanding of, what turned out to be nights of elation. And I remember his disbelief at the disgrace of the UK coalition formed in 2010 – and somehow surviving – why wasn’t there rioting in the streets?!

John hated hypocrite, racist, homophobic, gun-toting, idiot politicians with a delicious zeal – and this was pre-Trump! Whilst so many pundits consistently got the potential for Trump winning wrong, I think John would have predicted it, and predicted it early. By following the evidence, he would have steered away from personal bias and wishful thinking; whilst no doubt staunchly supporting Hillary, he would have spotted the fault lines through which Trump would ooze, even when every liberal around him was saying it just “couldn’t” happen. And on election night he would’ve gently nodded to himself – his version of a “told you so” dance – whilst cursing the stupidity of swathes of voters.

John would’ve loved the release of 2016’s Frank Zappa for President album, with its version of When the lie’s so big and a prescient interview with Frank about how he would have approached running for President. His reflection that the media would come to him for comment on anything and everything as the outsider, meaning he’d garner masses of free publicity as a non-partisan candidate seems so obvious now.

John was the only person I have known who actually did throw pieces of malfunctioning hardware at walls. Whether phones or printers, those misbehaving gadgets did get thrown. It’s what they deserved and seemed a very logical response to their inability to do what he expected them to.

I loved John’s music collection. I proudly have and play a number of original US sleeve vinyl albums of his. He introduced me to the Grateful Dead. He loved Hair! as much as I do. And he was a Frank Zappa fan. What’s not to like about all that? Seeing Hair! in the open air theatre in Central Park was a shared highlight. As was he and me seeing Dweezil Zappa’s Zappa Plays Zappa show on Long Island. And he queued for 90 minutes with me outside New York’s Beacon Theatre in 2006 to get front row seats for a PJ Harvey solo set – an example of his love of me perhaps more than his love of Peej.

One of the ways I try to make sense of – and cope with – the world is through music. There are so many great artists out there who have just the right words, just the right sound, provoke just the right memory, and I find comfort in their art.

One year, I decided it was time to do A John F Playlist. Because there are songs that remind me of him; there are songs he loved; there are songs that say something appropriate. I still have the playlist on my trusty iPod and listen to it. Of course, the 34-track long-list had to be honed down so that it could fit on a CD. There were some great “almost but not quite” tracks that didn’t survive the cull: PJ Harvey’s Silence, Tim Minchin’s Not Perfect, Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus amongst others. But some of the highlights that made the cut include:

  1. The Flaming Lips Do You Realize?? (Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots)

This is the gut-punching reality hitter: “Do You Realize – that you have the most beautiful face/ Do You Realize – we’re floating in space/ Do You Realize – that happiness makes you cry/ Do You Realize – that everyone you know someday will die.”

A beautiful song, managing a strong thread through its fragility.

  1. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds The Weeping Song (The Good Son)

This one just captures the sadness that pervaded John’s circle of family, friends and acquaintances: “This is a weeping song/ A song in which to weep/ While we rock ourselves to sleep.”

There is always – seemingly – enough sadness for one more cry. I don’t know if John knew Cave’s music, but I do know he laughed at some of the outrageous selective quotes I told from Cave’s The Death Of Bunny Munro as I read it at Long Beach one summer.

  1. Bob Dylan Political World (Oh Mercy)

As Bob sings “We live in a political world”, I miss John in my political world. Hardly a political day goes by without my wondering, “What would John have thought?” and sometimes having a good idea of the answer, but often not. Many years back, through a work colleague who had joined the House of Lords, we had dinner at the Lords and a tour of parliament. John loved the over-the-top pomp and glitz, and the ludicrous history there (the Queen’s robing room had him in stitches).

  1. Frank Zappa Half A Dozen Provocative Squats (200 Motels)

John’s favourite Zappa lyric (not one for me to type out in full here), which he would sing out loud as he danced around his apartment. A few months after John’s death, we had been due to go to the premiere of 200 Motels in London. It was a bittersweet experience, as he was supposed to be in the seat next to me, laughing along at the total freak out that the performance was. A little twist was that the orchestral staged version didn’t actually include this lyric!

  1. Original Stage Cast Frank Mills (Hair!)

Simply John’s favourite song from Hair!, this original version was his favourite.

  1. Julian Cope The Black Sheep’s Song (Black Sheep)

I don’t know that John ever heard this, but it reminds me of him, and of me and him: “I am the black sheep of this flock/ And I can answer to no one./ I see you are the black sheep of your flock, too,/ Methinks it takes one to know one.”

I loved my conversations with John when we were both seemingly thinking and believing the same things about the world, black sheep in the flock together.

  1. Broadway Stage Cast The Flesh Failures (Let The Sunshine In) (Hair!)

Okay, so one of my own desert island discs, this, but somehow Hair! needed a second representation: “Singing our space songs on a spider web sitar/ Life is around you and in you.”

The joy and sadness this brings me every time I hear it mirrors the joy and sadness I feel when remembering John.

  1. E.S.T. Believe, Beleft, Below (Seven Days Of Falling)

Another one of my desert island ones, this is just about the most perfect four and bit minutes of lush jazz imaginable. Esbjörn Svensson, the pianist who led this trio, also died far too early. But in this piece I feel he found the elusive link between pure music and the soul.

  1. David Bowie Heroes (Heroes)

This is one of those tracks I regularly hear and think “That’s John”: “We can be heroes, just for one day.”

It’s no overstatement to call him a hero. The changes he made in the lives of so many were heroic. The way in which he lived his no compromise life was heroic. His capacity to care was heroic. His thinking was heroic.

  1. Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here (Wish You Were Here (Experience edition))

“How, how I wish you were here.”

That sums it up. The version (John would indulge me in this) has, of course, to be the right one. Not the one from the special edition, half-speed mastered, vinyl album I bought in a now-defunct New York record store. Not the standard vinyl version or the remastered CD version. But the one sought after for decades by Floyd-heads and finally released as part of the Experience edition. This has the legendary Stephane Grappelli violin improvisations in it, and he brings another layer of poignancy to an already perfect track.

 

So those are some highlights from my John F Playlist. I think he would have liked it as a compilation album, though would not have agreed with all my rationales for the choices. But I know he would have known how much love had gone into pulling it together, and would have (quietly) enjoyed that.

 

I’m not a big one for anniversaries. (I like to think my generally internally-focused reflective thinking is something John “got” and perhaps recognised.) But I will play my “John” playlist today.

And I’ll raise a glass of something in the evening, though I’ll save a tequila on ice with lime – in memory of a good man and his favourite tipple – for the weekend.

 

And so, back to entropy.

Lawrence M Krauss wrote that “Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded…. You are all stardust.” I’m glad the stardust of John still pervades this world.

 

Miss you still, John.