By Lisa Nelson, sister
From the day his dad took him on a road trip. 4 hours in a car with him singing “Manah Manah” on a continuous loop, to toddling through the doors of a cathedral, his subsequent encounter with its acoustics and the magic of discovering how his little voice could fill and enhance the vacuous space.
Noise, music and sound was like alchemy to him.
Building a working record player from Lego bricks, recording and editing his own radio shows with his friends on cassette tape, the joy of collecting vinyl and the delight in archiving broadcasts from the radio.
He would take great delight in creating and sharing burns.
Whenever he called he would have a new band or comedy show on a cd or dvd to present, as you would a bunch of flowers, as you opened the door.
His humour and generosity was enormous.
Then in later years, he retreated into solitude with his much loved cat (ironically named Brickscratch!!) He found happiness in his own space with his self taught ability to create music, surrounding himself with keyboards and guitars and all of the the noise that created peace within him.
After his death, I discovered recordings he had made only a month earlier.
He had ventured out in the wee hours, to different areas along the banks of a foggy River Mersey, and recorded the foghorns and bells that, living so close to the river all our lives, had been an incedental soundtrack to much of our life.
He had once told me that they had soothed and reassured him through the misty stillness of his nights.
He heard them as friendly voices calling out in the dark *beeping and replying in short deep *hoots.
I hear them now as a brother and sister. “Marco……”
He’s taught me to listen, I hear you.
I hear you.
I miss you. Xx