Late to this I know but so I was to discovering the death of the treasure that was Malc. He and I were very close - comrades in music and occasionally art during our student days and a little beyond. We drifted apart, lost contact but for the c occasional encounter at a mutual friend's birthday celebrations. So it wasn't until the end of last year that I stumbled across his obituary online having thought it would be nice to get back in touch. It hurt and it still brings on the melancholy.

In memory I'd like to remember a little here.

Malc and I went out as a duo playing Sheffield folk venues. I was sort of the Jazzer to Malc's folkie - he was ever the experimenter. I joined a band with him - a seven-piece called Long Lankin. It had a degree of notoriety in Sheffield for doing outrageous things to traditional music (as well as knocking them out straight with some grace).

He was an infuriating perfectionist in all he did. For instance:he hauled me in to help him complete two large murals he had been commissioned to do at Sheffield University SU and a Sheffield night club because he realised with each half finished that he wasn't going to make the deadline.

And we laughed a lot. A lot. I would love to be able to have a session in a pub with him - reminisce a while, drink a lot. I have some recordings of his singing and playing to take me back and a few of his marvellous birthday cards. I can still see him: hair, stoop, waistcoat, roll-up and fierce concentration on the fretboard, holes, skin of whatever he was playing.

He was loved and admired. He played, it seemed anything. He made his own bloody instruments. Even back then he knew so much folk music and his passion was immense. His penchant for sardonic one-liners has been preserved in his artwork.

Malc was a gud 'n if ever there was one.