When I started to write this piece, I struggled with the start. Unlike others, I hadn’t witnessed the chaos of Jonny’s music room at school, nor had the privilege of spending a great deal of time with him. This is when I remembered that I still had the VHS recording of the one and only gig (I say gig, more like hastily cobbled together performance to a smattering of our friends/hecklers at Powerleague) that my band Justice performed back in 2004. So after scrabbling around in my loft and finding it, I fired up my VCR (yes I still have one) and pressed play.
And it was whilst watching this tape, amidst laughing at our performance, that the best qualities of Jonny came shining through:
His technical knowledge: Our gig would not have gone ahead without Jonny setting up and testing all the amps, instruments, mics and sound levels; by taking around an hour or two by himself, he made sure we were ready in time to play and actually produced a half decent sound (when we weren’t hitting the wrong notes, that is)
His musical genius: at numerous moments through the gig, he took our songs to another level with an improvised bit on his sax or provided the perfect accompaniment on the keyboard or simply rescued the performance with a metal guitar solo on the keyboard as all around him, the band played different parts of the song altogether, ensuing in a rabble-like chaos.. Only Jonny could have been able to do this: music to him was a second language. As so many have said and will continue to say, his prowess at a multitude of instruments was wondrous (I’ll return to this further below)
His humour: Jonny had an innate gift to say or do something completely random at any point which would have you in a fit of hysterics. One such moment during the gig came after we messed up the ending of our cover of Wonderwall and once all the instruments had gone quiet, Jonny let out a trumpet-sounding parp on the keyboard – it’ll make sense once you see it, but the timing was brilliant.
His laughter – After setting up the mic for one of the songs, he walks back towards camera and says as he passes it ‘I’ve retired again’ and bursts into that oh so familiar high pitched giggle of his, which never failed to make you laugh either.
Aside from this gig, my abiding memory of Jonny was the confidence and time he took to help me write the band’s first song. We were in the rehearsal room at Kris’ house and trying to come up with our first self written tune. Whilst knocking ideas around, I started to strum the first few chords of an Oasis B-side that I’d just learnt a few days before which no-one in the room was paying particular attention to. But Jonny heard it, asked everyone to quieten down and encouraged me to repeat what I played, which I did, and as I kept playing, Jonny plucked out a melody effortlessly on the piano he was sat at to go with the chords and thus our first verse was composed. We carried on in the same vein until we ended up with the body of our first song as a band. That to me shows Jonny’s ability to relate to anyone and help showcase their work; he didn’t think himself above anyone and in particular, if it was about music, he’d be more than happy to help out.
Even though I left Mil Hill County some 15 years ago, Jonny has continued to influence, inspire and befriend people like my cousin who left just last year who has told me of the joy she and Jonny had during music lessons, in the same vein of music and utterly random conversation, resulting in numerous collaborations between her flute and his piano expertise.
It is testament to Jonny that at his most fitting service today, so many people had similar tales of laughter, friendship and music to share – all highlighted by the magnificent tracks performed and played as well as the genuine and heartfelt tributes in word.
Meeting up with my old school friends, Paul, Gary and Kris, the first thing we all noticed is that on the order of service front cover, the picture of Jonny was him wearing his infamous hoodie – ‘that bloody hoodie again’ – and that any time one of us said “Webb” at any point during the day, we couldn’t help but smile or laugh.
Whenever Jonny and I met, he’d have this habit of giving a little bow to me and saying ‘squire’ in greeting. I’ve no idea why – I have no affiliation to royalty or posh circles, so I never did work out why he did this, but that was Jonny for you: random, but friendly. His passing is far, far too soon, yet his impact on people will be entwined both in their thoughts and the music, which will live forever.
Keep on rocking and rest in peace, squire.