Rab Noakes was in a passionate mood when we spoke for the last time.
He was, towards the end of October, reacting to the closure of a number of prominent film houses in Edinburgh, Glasgow and Aberdeen.
True to type for somebody who thrived on community spirit and collective camaraderie, he expressed his fears for the sort of arts venues where he and the likes of Billy Connolly and Barbara Dickson paid their dues 50 years ago.
“I was born in 1947 and I was a product of the post-war consensus,” he said.
“My dad was a dedicated public servant, in both the Post Office and the Fife & Forfar Yeomanry, and he encouraged me to be what they call a ‘lad o’pairts’ and spread my wings.
“I’ve never forgotten how he regarded libraries, museums and concert halls as places where it didn’t matter how much money you had, it was all about meeting people and learning new things and becoming aware there was a big world out there.
“All his values, and mine, including those I inherited, have been brutally unpicked, devalued and destroyed over the decades and the arts have been shoved to the bottom of the ladder.
“For what? For self-serving greed and limited aspiration.”
Rab seemed full of life, politically engaged, abrim with vim and vigour, and he discussed a number of new projects which were clearly exciting him.
All of which helps explain why so many of us have been shocked at the news of his death at the age of 75.
It took me back to the various occasions when he reminisced about myriad gigs, recording sessions and nights where he and his colleagues conjured up pieces of magic, often in Sinatra’s wee sma’ hours of the morning.
This was a time, as he joked, where you could “wake up the next morning, listen back to the stuff and say: ‘What were we thinking?’ Or, occasionally, give a wee gasp and realise there was something good there”.
Rab’s musical interests were diverse and he could switch between The Beatles and Bob Dylan or Bonnie Raitt and Bruce Springsteen, but it wasn’t fame or fortune which held his attention.
Instead, it was the many shared hours of forging a bond with audiences which enthralled and inspired him, as anybody who has listened to his often mesmerising performances at Celtic Connections and other festivals will be aware.
Then, of course, there was his friendship with Rafferty, one borne from a mutual love for a Beatles classic and a simpatico that was the catalyst for their long bond.
He was a month older than me so we were total, shared-experience soul-mates in the sense of being post-war offspring of the 1950s and 1960s.”
Noakes on Gerry Rafferty
Their journey began on an auspicious day in Partick in Glasgow and St Andrews-born Rab spoke with affection about how everything fell into place as he and his compatriot suddenly found themselves hitting all the right notes.
He recalled: “The occasion was a pre-show get-together on the afternoon of The Humblebums’ first major Glasgow concert in the City Hall.
“We had each been invited to sing a couple of songs. Later, as we were packing up to go, we engaged in a dressing-room rendition of The Beatles In my Life and a lifetime friendship was born.
“He was a month older than me so we were total, shared-experience soul-mates in the sense of being post-war offspring of the 1950s and 1960s.
Rab Noakes, Gerry Rafferty and Stuck In The Middle With You
“Gerry then joined The Humblebums for a couple of years in a duo set-up with Billy Connolly.
“When that came to a natural end, in 1971 we convened in Tunbridge Wells where Stealers Wheel was born.
“The initial performances were Gerry and me as a duo, throughout the UK.
“There was always a song going on and that underpinned everything. I love to sing, especially with other people, and my best companion in that was Gerry.
“I wasn’t ever part of the Stealers Wheel songwriting, but I was present at the infamous bash that spawned the long life of Stuck In The Middle With You.
“We were being wined and dined in the Aretusa, in King’s Road in London.
“It was Gerry, Joe Egan and myself, flanked by the boss of A&M Records, who was quite an aloof fellow, and these producers who were there for the time-honoured free meal – hence the line (in the lyrics of) ‘Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right of me’.
“Gerry thought it was ridiculous these people were talking about the band, but not to it when we were all sitting there in the same restaurant, but then he did find a lot of the music industry ridiculous. Which, of course, it was in those days.”
Eventually, the two men went in separate directions, Rab to an eclectic career which saw him record across genres and excel in everything from blues and Americana to championing the Scottish music he loved, while Gerry enjoyed smash-hit chart success with Baker Street and the multi-million-selling LPs City to City and Night Owl.
But they were never truly apart for very long and, when Gerry died in 2011, there was an opportunity for some of Scotland’s most renowned figures to pay homage to a genuine nonpareil.
And who better to organise the commemoration than Rab, not only because of his prodigious gifts but because he had established a successful career at the BBC?
He said: “At Gerry’s funeral, (his daughter) Martha and I agreed that the best tribute would be a multi-artist concert of his songs in Glasgow.
“Celtic Connections agreed to mount it as a key event in January 2012. It sold out in short order and an additional show was added.
“One was televised and a high reputation of the events remains. I miss him and I always will. In My Life rings in my ears.”
A lot of water has poured under the bridge since the days in 1971 when Rab chewed the fat about performing a concert with Gerry at the Salutation Hotel in Perth.
At that stage, their venues could only aspire to being spit-and-sawdust, since the pub owners lacked the budget to pay for any sawdust. But here was another chance to take the mike.
It was one of those memorable summer occasions 50 years ago when the duo were working in blissful harmony and their homeland was waking up to the alchemy they were producing.
Indeed, as Rab said: “Michael Marra subsequently told me that he and his chums made the journey from Dundee for the gig.”
So many of the lustrous names from that golden era have now left us.
And Barbara Dickson spoke for many when she said: “My dear and old friend Rab Noakes has died suddenly in hospital today. I am shocked.
“We had so much in common – The Everly Brothers, the Flying Burrito Brothers and an enduring love of songs, particularly traditional music. Sleep well, Rab.”
And yet, while their voices have been stilled, for as long as we have their songs and their CDs to hand, we will always be able to remind ourselves of all the young dudes who illuminated the music scene in the 1960s and 1970s.
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