Keith Emerson R.I.P. He will be sadly missed.

Shortly after the death of rock keyboardist Keith Emerson was reported as a suicide last Friday, Greg Lake, his former bandmate in the eponymously named progressive rock juggernaut, Emerson, Lake and Palmer, was quoted on the website of the U.K.’sSunday Express that he had recognized signs of Keith’s depression since the late 70’s, adding that “I have to be honest and say that his death didn’t come as a shock to me.”

“I think its [sic] a very difficult thing to actually describe what depression is... He lived, in the end, this very lonely existence of someone who was deeply troubled, He loved music — that was his main purpose in life... But the music he made after ELP never bore fruit in the same way as it did in the early days.”

He went on to make a plea for others who have similar feelings: “All I would say is that if anyone does have feelings like that, of being so desperate that they think it’s better off not to wake up tomorrow, then please, go and talk to somebody — the doctor, your friend, anybody.”

The statements, sometimes quite harsh even if not lacking in understanding, are in stark contrast to his terse initial statement on his website, in which he stated that “[a]s sad and tragic as Keith’s death is, I would not want this to be the lasting memory people take away with them.”

A very sad facet of suicide is its ability to alter the conversation and taint our memories. Just as for many the death of Robin Williams forever painted him as the tragic sad clown figure, a sharp contrast to the lighting witted chameleon comic genius, I appreciate Lake’s fear that Emerson’s contributions will be colored by nature of his passing. At the same time, I also understand why he later felt the need to openly ruminate on it, and I certainly would never condemn his statement in support of psychological counseling.

But then there is also always the temptation for people who never knew Emerson beyond his work to speculate: “Did the stigma of mental illness prevent him from getting the help he may have needed?” “What if he hadn’t had a gun in the house?” Some have even suggested that internet trolling was a factor in his anxiety and subsequent suicide.

I do think that all of these issues should be brought into open discussion, but I agree with Lakes’ original statement that we should try to remember Keith Emerson for who he was at his best and strongest, a kick ass musician. Let’s remember him as the guy who used to hold down notes on his Hammond organ with giant daggers (gifts from his roadie, Lemmy... yes that Lemmy), while also displaying dazzling, disciplined piano technique. Let’s remember the guy whose use of the Moog synthesizer and collaboration with its inventor, Robert Moog, lead to significant developments in that instrument. Let his legacy include his compositional prowess, and his ability as a performer to arrange older pieces to make new statements and express new attitudes.

A lot of younger people do not know of these things (damned millennials!). Sadly, I find that many people who were not around in the 70s are unaware of a couple of things: Firstly, that Keith Emerson is largely considered to be one of the most technically proficient keyboardists ever to play rock music. Secondly, that Emerson, Lake and Palmer were one of the biggest bands in the world at that time. In their 1973-74 heyday, only The Who, The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin were bigger concert draws.

To be sure (internet trolls be damned), Emerson was no stranger to criticism; in the 70’s Emerson, Lake and Palmer were also one of the most critically reviled bands of the time, usually blasted for being pompous, bombastic, too cerebral and overly theatrical. Outwardly, the band brushed off, or even welcomed such criticism. This was a band that prided itself on something else, creating something bigger, something more grand, mixing elegant composition with sonic experimentation, intense volume, fiery chops and a brash stage show. They were unapologetic. They had no time for people who would slag off their incorporation of music by established jazz musicians and classical composers into performances. If you couldn’t deal Mussorgsky mixed with some Hammond organ feedback, Led Zeppelin was playing across town (and they were a “pure” rock band; they only ripped off aging blues musicians).

And while to some it seemed overly heady and considered, this was a music that the band arrived at organically, mixing the classical training that the members had in their youth with the pop sounds that were coming out in England at the time, all the while emboldened by the experimental spirit of the age. If their music didn’t have a raw sound like classic American rock n’ roll or blues, it wasn’t supposed to. Prog rock was its own beast. It was, and remains, at its best, ethereal, powerful and thought-provoking.

However, while immensely popular in the early to mid seventies, today prog rock is generally a cult affair. Its fans today are a smaller group, but one that is both rabid and discerning, while deliberately dismissive of concepts of cool versus uncool. Prog rock fans are more interested in exploring vistas of sound and atmosphere, music made with skill and commitment and less interested in musical scenes connected to social movements or attitudes. Prog rock fans do not look to music to tell them how to dress or who they should sneer at. It’s all about the music.

And so it was for Keith. He was one of the titans of the genre, leading the charge for musicians of the time, and inspiring artists of the future. Needless to say, tributes poured out in the last few days. Peter Gabriel wrote that “Keith’s passion for good music, whether it was classical, jazz or rock, was in itself one of the things that led the progressive rock movement.”

Adrian Belew, the former King Crimson guitarist who also worked with Frank Zappa, David Bowie and Talking Heads, commented on how he wanted to get sounds like Emerson’s keyboards out of his guitar and went on to say that “had I never heard Keith Emerson playing I might be a different guitarist than I am today. [T]hank you Keith.”

Indeed, Greg Lake did say it best in his original statement when he declared that what he “will always remember about Keith Emerson was his remarkable talent as a musician and composer and his gift and passion to entertain. Music was his life and despite some of the difficulties he encountered I am sure that the music he created will live on forever.”

Hear, Hear.

Saw Keith many times in Manchester with the Nice and loved them. Sadly never really got into ELP other than a few songs. He certainly was a great performer and extremely talented, as were the rest of the band. 

Skirr Cottage Diary.

The morning sun streamed through the bedroom window. The plan to continue with the emulsion painting of the living room fast began to fade. The lure now was a female ring-necked duck that had resurfaced at Tittesworth Reservoir. On arrival at the reservoir there were a few birders with scopes set up scanning the large flock of black-headed gulls from the car park. It turned out an immature Mediterranean gull was concealed among the flock. Very soon it was located and I obtained good views through another birders powerful scope. This was a great start, now to locate the ring-necked duck. I heard it had been spotted earlier in the morning in Crab Apple Bay so I set off following the waterside paths. Redwings, long-tailed tits and siskin were spotted on route. The redwings looked splendid in the bright sunshine. On reaching Crab Apple Bay I clambered through the brambles in the wood to find a good observation site. There were some tufted duck, a few teal, a wigeon and a moorhen, but no sign of the North American migrant. I decided to move further down the reservoir to Fosters Cove. After some time scanning through a group of tufted duck I picked out the duck sporting its white eye ring and pale grey bill with white and black markings at the tip. A great day in the sunshine and two good year ticks – who could ask for more?

Skirr Cottage Diary.

The snow is showing little sign of disappearing; a slight thaw in the bright morning sunshine, but it is far too cold. I decided on a walk up the Old Road and onto the moor. I had in mind an encounter with a short-eared owl that had been spotted in the area although inwardly I doubted it would still be around now snow carpeted the landscape. The walk up the steep Old Road was like tramping up a stream in places, but it was all the churned up mud and deep ruts made by all the 4 X4’s that ‘play’ up here that was distressing. The sides of the track were fast eroding away. Reaching the summit there is a style that lets you enter the moor proper. It was at this point a wave of nostalgia swept over me, transporting me back to my school days. It was here on a weekend nature ramble led by our French teacher named Stan Blyth, a brilliant birder even though he was sight impaired (he could name any bird by its call or song) that I suddenly remembered him telling us that water on the left side of the summit flowed down into the River Dane and on the right the water flowed down to the River Wye. Today the melting snow was flowing freely and I watched the water find its way through the rutted gritstone, gauging a channel down to their chosen river. It’s strange the things that stay in your head. I might add that back at school the following week, instead of a French lesson, we plotted the course of the Dane and the Wye from their source until they merged with bigger rivers on their journey to the sea. I never did see the short-eared owl.

Skirr Cottage Diary.

Well the snow is lying crisp and even. Actually it is not all that even as it is drifting in the wind. The garden shrubs are all covered in great pom-poms of white candyfloss and some of the branches are sagging under the weight. I am reduced to sitting in our small conservatory watching the bird table. I did earlier venture forth to stock it up with a good mix of nuts, seed and suet. It must have come as a shock to the wildlife as so far we have escaped much of the white stuff, but March can be very unpredictable in the Peak, especially over 1,000 feet up in Buxton. The reed buntings are back which is great and all the usual suspects are putting in fleeting appearances. Over in the far field at the back of the cottage there must be over thirty wood pigeons covering the upper branches of a tree like huge dark fruit. Earlier in the day I was treated to the sight of about twenty five lapwings tumbling over through the blur of snow. Yesterday, glancing through the study window I spotted a treecreeper exploring a tall cotoneaster shrub in the garden. Although I have encountered quite a few treecreepers so far this year in local woods, it is quite a coup to see one in our garden up on the edge of the moor; I think I have only two other records in over twenty years. It is still snowing and a mass of jackdaws is wheeling in the stark, ebony sky like a black shadow from another realm.

Great nature artists: Ethelbert White.

The artist wrote (9 August 1956) that this watercolour was painted in late September 1923, and is of Coldkitchen Farm, situated on the southern slope of the North Downs between Guildford and Dorking landscape painter, poster designer, illustrator and wood engraver. Born 26 February 1891 at Isleworth. Studied at St John's Wood School of Art 1911–12. Exhibited at the London group from 1916 (member the same year) and also at the N.E.A.C.m 1916 (member 1921). First one-man exhibition at the Paterson and Carfax Gallery 1921. A.R.W.S. 1933, R.W.S. 1939. Worked mainly in England but also in Ireland, the south of France and Spain. Illustrated several books, including C. W. Beaumont, and Richard Jeffries 1923.