12 SEPTEMBER 1992, Page 44

The Point

was not where it went but where it led him, how he found it in the music, out of it and back, each chorus

risking more, the changes unrepeatable, already way beyond transcription like his wide-mouthed braying laughter, bracelet slung on each wrist, percussive signet fingers, then that grin and all he'd ever tell them: Sure it's dangerous,

and when you see me smiling you know I'm lost.

John Mole