Why people like Barry Middleton are so important.

The British Blues internet community shed a public tear or two this week when the news broke that a great stalwart, defender, supporter and fighter for the music, Barry Middleton sadly died following a courageous struggle with bad health. Barry was a big man, both in stature and in the manner of his contribution, who spent much of his life immersed in his support for the blues and his illness did little to diminish the vigour of that support.

The roll call of those paying tribute is impressive – not just because of the famous and recognisable names who have published their sad farewells – but also because of the hundreds of musicians and blues fans who were quick to recognise the contribution Barry had made. These are the pub musicians; the bands on the road; the thousands of fans who, week after week, go to see those bands; those in the blues arena, the broadcasters, the reviewers, the bloggers, the club owners, who know from experience exactly how hard it is to run a venue, promote, fund, encourage the up and coming and stay forever cheerful in the face of adversity.

Starting out at The Station Hotel in Shropshire in the 70's, founding the Ironbridge Blues Club (still going) and taking over the famous Running Horse in Nottingham in 1991 where he established the Nottingham Blues Club, Barry never stopped promoting the blues. For many, the famous 'Runner' stood as a beacon to those working musicians who plough their tough rough furrow across the country. It shone out with a welcome light of encouragement to countless bands, singers, songwriters - many now household names. I have been told more than once, that when the knackered gig van clattered to the door, you knew there would be a houseful of knowledgeable fans and a slightly irascible but hospitable landlord. However, the symbol that the 'Runner' became is not just some dreamy romantic hindsight. It was the vibrant personification of one of the important ways of how the blues survives in this country.....the grass roots, alive and well and, despite the fearsome odds of escalating costs, pub closures, hard graft, long hours and really stupid by-laws – flourishing with a fistful of humour and cussedness.

Barry had a few clubs and pubs, but his name is now also indelibly and forever linked with the British Blues Awards. If ever there was a list of ways of Sticking Your Head over The Parapet to get shot at, then running an awards programme must be in the top ten. Nevertheless, Barry and a small band of quietly dedicated blues fans went ahead and turned the BBAs into a coveted possession voted for by tens of thousands and growing every year. Sure enough, at the beginning, the criticism rained in ranging from the 'it's fixed, it's meaningless' to the 'I wasn't included, so it must be rubbish' brigade. Well, people like Barry Middleton don't give up that easily – and nowadays, you won't find an award winner anywhere who isn't bursting with pride at their recognition.

Barry stood as an inspiring representative of that band of individuals across the country who relentlessly live out the Curtis Mayfield adage of 'keep on keeping on', looking forever on the bright side of the blues and the beautiful musical world that comes with it. You will know people like Barry Middleton. They are our life-blood. They are those ridiculously optimistic, slightly mad blues people from Nottingham to Newcastle, Edinburgh to Derby, from Skye to Sutton, from Richmond to Rye who keep the wheels turning and the pumps primed. Losing Barry reminds us of his and their importance - so in our sadness we should raise a glass to that.

I am glad I knew him - and now I leave you with a Cheery Hat thought. I like the idea of Barry wheeling up to the pearly gates and being met by St Peter. “ You won't need the wheels, old boy. The beer is free and you've got a seat by the bar. But the really good news is, I think I've discovered this terrific new blues band and I'd like your opinion...”

Goodnight.

The Blues Man in The Hat

Pic by David Stephenson