Martin was about one thing : being Martin f'ing McGachy. For many of us in this generation it's exceptionally hard to know who you are and find yourself. He had that unnatural gift of knowing where he belonged and wanted to be, and forged his own way forward through hard work, good times with the people he cared for and an ungodly amount of musical talent. 

McGachy was body and soul, a musician. Multi-talented, borderline savant level of the gift on any sort of keyed instrument. He could play you a symphony on a 30 dollar Cassio, or despite being actually full on passed out on an Upright, easily awoken by anyone yelling "Hey Martin, Bohemian Rhapsody!". Front to back, and just like he started, back asleep. Probably my favourite "Martin being Martin" moment of all time. 

He was kind, understanding and fiercely loyal and protective of the ones he cared about, never being afraid of a little bit of fisticuffs if the moment called for it (guess we can also chalk that one up to the Scottish ancestry too though).

I took for granted nights spent around fires, at the Hardwick, in Jamie's Garage, at Metal House and all over Ontario and Quebec talking about nothing and everything. Stargate, aliens, weird freemasonry stuff. Music, for hours on end, and another one of my favourites, discovering the button on your Roland that was going to crash the ISS by accident. 

I'm gonna miss you man, and I wish we had more contact in the past few years but it's funny how life gets. You figure there'll always be a chance later, but sometimes, there's not. So do me a favour man, when it's my time to go you steal me a Marshall from one of the greats you're no doubt jamming with, and we'll go another couple of rounds. I'll try to be more in key this time. 

Also, while I've got you, please headbutt Roger Waters when he gets there in a few years. Sonofabitch ruined Floyd.