Hapy Birthday Rob and Dean

May is far too expensive.

Two of the closest of my inner-circle both notched up another run to their respective innings in the past two days.

In a rare candid (ie. not sarcastic) moment, I feel I should reflect upon this with at least a little respect.

Firstly, Dean, who as a co-conspiritor in the Floyd-world and in the studio and then in music that displays slumberous adeptness, can be charged with the honour of rehabilitating my (then) shattered confidence as I was jettisoned from my previous working collective (as they sodded off to make their music elsewhere leaving me feeling like the proverbial rug had been pulled from beneath me), by inviting me into his working collectives and making me (oh, how this decision has caused him much aural-pain -- both hammond and stupid question induced -- since) his keyboard player of choice...

I think it's fair to say I will be forever indebited to the man who takes nearly all of my hair-brained suggestions and over-enthusiasm in his enormously laid-back stride.

I really have no idea where, musically, I'd be today if Dean hadn't placed a call to me to ask if I'd be interested in joining him in the Floyd show. Or even if I'd still be on this whole bloody roundabout. Or still in the playground at all for that matter. I don't know. But I can't underestimate his role in keeping the roundabout turning.

Since then, the emergence of The Expert Sleepersas a creative collaboration and his sterling work on the Anubis record which, due to him, actually got finished(!) and will be mastered next month, have all grown from the inital spark of musical telepathy and empathy that became evident the first time we played together. And, too, the effortless collaborative spirit that dwelt within.

I don't think it's feasably possible to put into words the truth behind what Dean's extraordiary musical mind and unfeasbaly amiable temperament actually represent and mean to me. It is, undoubtably, to his enormous credit and my enormous good fortune that I would be hopelessly lost without his immensely creative, rich mind; unfeasably passionate musicianship and wonderfully ebulliant spirit. Resemblences to former, deposed, long-since-decapitated English monarchs not wishstanding, the man is a giant (metaphorically speaking, obviously) among men. And this I mean.

And then there's Robert. If I had to make a list of those who've most affected me on a musical and personal level, Robert's would be right amongst the very top names on both.

To say I seem to share a creative artery with Robert would possibly be the best way of describing it. He's rather like a co-joined twin connected by the creative artery, the one that supplies the life blood to our ideas. I have never before felt quite such a telepathic connection. It's fair to say, that aside from the best impersonation of me I have ever seen, Robert can predict me rather better than any meterologist can predict the weather.

It's hard to quite describe our exact relationship as it's so unorthodox. The only thing I can pin point it to it's like having a twin brother who looks nothing like you, is six years your junior, but can compare totally in mind and spirit. Obviously, that's only my take on it.

When I began working and writing with Rob all those years ago, he was a teenage punked-up ball of energy with long hair and wristbands. I introduced him to Yes and Genesis. He brought the Tee Shirts, girls suddenly stopped asking for his number, and he began to worship at the alter of the mighty anorak. I often wonder what sort of monster I unleashed.

I always had the belief that with the right tools, the mind could run wild and create at a frightening pace. Robert sets that pace. A hyper-creative person who works at lightning speed and always has a backlog of musical ideas, many of which are among the most exciting and interesting I've heard. There's the common streak again. He chomps at the bit to get to work, musically on an idea and will push it and push it until he's satisfied he's broken it's back. The drive is quite overwhelming for one so normally indecisive.

As a person, there are few who are as warm, generous of time and spirit and fun as Robert. He's a soul-brother of the truest nature. In fact, the term should have been invented for him. As English as the drizzle on a grey Sunday, he is imbued with a quick and feirce wit that indicates his intelligence, which he self-depricatingly puts down at every concievable opportunity.

I know of few other people I enjoy the company of as much. My life would be so much emptier for not having him.

Happy birthday to you both.

Immense love and hair-loss,

Uncle Bald