(Remembering Jeff Beck)
His peers jealously asserted he found notes
They themselves never discovered on their boards.
They didn’t test the boundaries,
Or explored the infinite possibilities of their instrument.
But Jeff Beck did and some.
A maverick, a singular man
He was always moving and forever searching;
New frontiers and new genres intrigued him.
Rock, jazz, funk, reggae, blues, fusion and hybrid;
The exotic, eastern, cascading Bulgarian compositions;
He was at ease with all forms.
For pitch, tonal purity, visionary sounds,
For soaring, ethereal melodies,
Mystical and dreamy vibratos,
He was one of only one, the eclectic master
Complete with dark shades and a touch of humour.
Even Slowhand deferred and bowed to him
“The secret is in his hands,” he would say.
The same hands also wired hot rods
Restored vintage and classical cars
Before bacterial leukaemia took him.
But Apollo and his kind claimed him;
They felt deprived all these years.