It was a chance encounter with Irish fisherman, Gerard Sheehy, that provided Andrew Weatherall with his mantra: ‘Fail We May, Sail We Must’.
Gerard casually mentioned it while driving Andrew from Cork Airport to Skibbereen, where he was booked to play at a festival. It instantly resonated with Andrew, who later had it tattooed in great big letters across both arms.
It seems all-the-more poignant now, in hindsight, five years since the legendary and much-loved DJ-producer passed away. During that time, the void he left has been filled with anecdotes, memories and insights, all helping to shape and crystallise a vision of the personality behind the decks.
It’s frequently been said Andrew was one of the most generous souls on the planet. That he had an electric charm. A warm, caring heart. An energy. He was, by various accounts, a piss-taker, a thinker, a man of the people.
As such, Andrew often saw cosmic wonder in the ordinary. So it seems beautifully fated that Andrew’s tattoo-cum-philosophical-muse would be found in Gerard Sheehy, a humble, young, west Cork fisherman with little to no knowledge of superstar DJs and the champagne festival circuit.
It seems Andrew was always blissfully blasé to reputations and so-called status. In his youth, he was chucked out of school. Famously, it was only his second ever time in a recording studio when he ripped up Primal Scream’s anthemic ballad I’m Losing More Than I’ll Ever Have and transformed it into Loaded. (Admittedly, after some nudging from Bobby Gillespie to let loose on the track).
Andrew himself, in a nod to Orson Welles, described it as: “The confidence of ignorance. I didn’t know I was breaking rules because I didn’t know what the rules were.” Whatever the rationale, it was a pivotal moment in the evolution of British dance music. For it to be so, required a devil-may-care attitude and the kind of adventurer spirit few possess.
He was a high-flying pioneer but stayed committed and true to the fundamental cause – making great music for people to dance to – and was never swayed by the glitz and glamour of the hierarchical DJ arena.
As his profile rocketed, every pop star under the sun wanted to tap into Andrew’s talent. He turned down a string of lucrative job offers, choosing to work solely with artists he sincerely admired. It paid off. He never sold his soul. He shunned the mainstream and tinkered on the fringes of fame, one foot in the camp and one foot ahead of the pack. “If you’re not on the margins, you’re taking up too much room,” he once said.
Forever skirting with the cutting edges of creativity (and reason) can demand constant reinvention, hence Andrew’s seemingly eternal list of collaborations, pseudonyms and musical fronts: Sabres of Paradise, Two Lone Swordsmen, The Asphodells, Frisch Und Munter, The Woodleigh Research Facility, Klart, Aramchek, Blood Sugar, Bocca Juniors, Fort Beulah NU, Planet 4 Folk Quartet, Dayglo Maradona…
Fuelling this incessant fire, Andrew smouldered with a dazzling mix of intrigues and passions – political, musical, literary. While he’ll be remembered for the dance music he created, at heart he was a rock star. Perhaps a reluctant one, but a rock star nonetheless.
He was drawn to the tension of chaotic guitar bands as much as he was to gloopy-rich luminous beats. On its release, he was immediately enthralled by David Keenan’s now-famous novel This Is Memorial Device about a fictional Airdrie post-punk band. And he was as familiar with the work of Julian Cope, Throbbing Gristle and My Bloody Valentine as he was Carl Cox, Brian Eno or Lee Scratch Perry.
It’s a growing testament to Andrew James Weatherall that his life and work is arguably being celebrated now more than ever. A remarkable number of club nights and online tributes have shot up since his passing – fan groups, dedications pages and playbacks, all in his honour. It gives us some measure of the many people he touched and the mould-shatteringly unique kind of person he was.
Then there’s the annual, action-packed AW weekender event, in memory of his birthday, at Todmorden’s Golden Lion, a venue that became something of a spiritual home for Andrew.
The fact that he found an affinity with The Golden Lion is not surprising. For starters, the town of Todmorden is his kind of place. Its inhabitants, his kind of people: leftfield, experimental, off-kilter, passionate, heartfelt. And you’ll not find many live music venues that are host to a sweaty techno night, a doom metal gig, a craft fair, a creative writing session and a UFO meet-up, all in the same week. That’s The Lion for you. An environment that would have suited Andrew down to the ground, I imagine.
It is also very easy to see why he was such great friends with the people who run The Golden Lion, Matthanee Nilavongse (Gig) and Richard Walker (Waka), who are the most charming, idiosyncratic hosts and venue owners you could imagine. They have conjured a magical atmosphere about the place that makes you feel – that makes everyone feel, whether you’re a newcomer or old-timer – like it’s yours, like you belong, like you are safe and free to play, to express yourself. To be.
It all stems from their ego-less belief: “We run a space for people who have a dream and who want to do things.” Collaboration and community are everything. You can see why Andrew felt so at home.
Another shared philosophy, binding Andrew Weatherall with Gig and Waka at The Lion, was a desire to say “yes”. To consider everything, no matter how unlikely, life being too rich with potential to limit yourself. As Andrew said just a few years prior to his passing: “At 52, I’m aware that time is running out. There’s so much music, so little time. The same with literature. I want to immerse myself. I don’t want to flit around. I don’t want to be a dilettante.”
There are few better reality checks. Life is to be lived.
Andrew Weatherall – aka The Guv’nor, The Chairman – left an unbelievable musical legacy behind. But he left much more than that too – memories of a guy who was, ultimately, so damn ‘real’. Raw. Unfiltered.
To be so authentic is a thing of rare beauty. It is an attractive, alluring quality. It can draw people together from disparate worlds. Much like great dance music. The best DJs and musicians are a unifying force. They can galvanise, as one, a gaggle of misfits and outsiders in a hectic basement club on a Saturday night. And Andrew Weatherall certainly knew all about that.
Take the Flightpath
The Flightpath Estate is a collection of Andrew Weatherall obsessives, keeping the weatherdrive – googledrive, web and mixcloud – on course. Follow The Flightpath on Instagram.
