Remembering Jimi

"But you were only nine when he died."

"Yes, I know."

"But you couldn't have been into his music then."

"No, but that has nothing to do with it. I don't think many people around today got to know Mozart that well."

"But we're doing lots of things later that you can a picture of."

"No, it's an anniversary that should be marked."

And so here is a small tribute to James Marshall Hendrix, probably the greatest-ever rock guitarist, who died on September 18, 1970.

No, I wasn't into his music in 1970 - I was probably still playing Rolf's Two Little Boys. But it wasn't too many years later that I heard Voodoo Chile and became immediately hooked.

It goes without saying that he wrote some unbelievably brilliant tracks, but also broke the mould in the way he performed them. The way he wielded the guitar - experimenting with feedback, fuzz and wah wah - was sensational. His stage act was also the stuff of legend.

I have read a mountain of books and articles about his life and seem umpteen documentaries and, in my view, it is not often the critics recognise the variety of his music - from thumping rock like Foxey Lady to great blues like Red House, but also marvellous gentler tracks like Little Wing - one of my favourite Hendrix songs.

But it wasn't just the music that appealed to me. By all accounts he was a gentle and generous man who loved life and loved people.

Sadly, the drugs took hold and the world was robbed of a beautiful human being.

Which is why I think it is worth pausing today to remember Jimi.