Jim Demetriou: September 2007

Memorial charity do (16 Nov 2007) >>

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS

On Wednesday evening 19 September, Demetrios Demetriou, known universally on the soul scene as Jim, lost his long battle against cancer. He died in his sleep with his family around him.

For years Jim was something of a fixture at the 100 Club. His long black hair and his frantic spinning created a place of their own on the dancefloor. He loved soul music and he loved to dance; he loved life and he loved being out, so the restrictions that came with being ill must have been particularly hard for him to take. He could have come out more towards the end, on days when he wasn’t feeling too bad, and sat at the back somewhere, and listened and chatted, but he didn’t – not because he didn’t want to but because he didn’t trust himself. For his health, exerting himself too much was the worst thing he could do, but he said that if he came out he would have to dance. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. That’s what the music did to him. But despite these restrictions, everyone who stayed in touch with him during his illness was amazed by his positive attitude, his courage and the complete absence of anything resembling self-pity.

Everyone who met Jim knows what a wonderful guy he was. He was a truly decent man. Lots of people knew him, but no one can recall him making negative comment about anyone. He didn’t need to try to be nice, as most of us do; it seems as if he simply didn’t think bad thoughts.

His tolerance and openmindedness was reflected in his broad taste in music, and even though northern was his love, he had a deep respect for many forms of music. He was a step or two ahead of most of us when it came to modern technology, and it was natural to him use his knowledge for the good of music. For years he broadcast a weekly soul show on the internet called Soulcast, which rightly gained a large and dedicated following. Despite the effort that it involved, he continued with Soulcast until he was physically unable to do so.

I’ve been trying to think of my own, favourite memory of Jim. I thought it might be seeing him upside down doing a handstand on the floor of the 100 Club, pocketfuls of change scattering all over the dancefloor. It took a good proportion of the crowd to gather it all up. But it isn’t that. My favourite memory of him is seeing exactly the same thing happen about ten minutes later.

By Ben Summers

-------------------------------------------------

For me, one of the wonderful things about Jim was the way he interacted with people. Jim had many great attributes, but in this regard he was even more special.

When Jim talked and shared time with you, even if just for little while, he, in giving you his undivided attention and showing a genuine interest in the things that happened in your world, could make you feel special, too. He listened. He cared.

Everything was fun for Jim. Life was fun. It was there to be enjoyed – everything was an experience, to be learnt from and appreciated. Jim was quiet, unassuming, modest and above all, sincere. His emotions and sentiments were always 100 per cent genuine. He was also passionate: passionate about life and everything it entailed, and in particular, music.

It was through music that I first met Jim, at a soul night held downstairs at The Phoenix pub on London’s Cavendish Square. We were sat at the same table and at some point in the evening struck up a tentative conversation. Telephone numbers were exchanged and we said that we’d look to stay in contact.

That was around 1986-7, if memory serves me well, and Jim would have been 18 or 19 years old. We became friends, and over time became good friends (I hope). Thanks to music, and a shared love of it, I have countless memories of him; and for those I’m thankful.

Jim’s passion for music went way beyond just listening or dancing to records – although he certainly did both with a tremendous zeal. He trained as an electronics technician and specialised in repairing audio equipment – everything from your home stereo to professional PA systems use at venues large and small. His home and bedroom were filled with amps, pre-amps, turntables, homemade speakers and all manner of electronics and audio equipment.

In the late-80’s and early-90’s Jim was a volunteer helper working in his spare time at the radio studio of Central Middlesex Hospital. He had is own weekly show there, broadcasting his own brand of soul to anyone who cared to listen.

One of the key considerations for any hospital radio DJ is that you must always have a sympathetic play list – playing songs that relate and refer even remotely to illness, dying, heaven and such is just not allowed for fear of upsetting the listeners who, after all, were hardly there through choice. Tracks like “Three steps to heaven” were a definite no-no!

Jim invited me on to his hospital radio show as a guest several times. The last time was to be when we got carried away with the music, forgot the prime directive of the hospital DJ, and with great enthusiasm announced and played Ray Charles – “I don’t need no doctor”!

Around that period, Jim and I started to do a bit of DJ-ing together. We did nothing grand: a run of a few weeks at a couple of backstreet pubs in my neck of the woods - the void of London’s EC1 that lies between Clerkenwell and Hoxton - where we played to grim-faced and usually unreceptive locals.

This didn’t bother us, for all we wanted to do was share the music, share the soul. Certainly we weren’t earning any money from our ventures, with what little payment we received usually failing to cover costs. Still, it was fun and one night we met a guy who claimed that he was the drummer for The Flirtations when they toured the UK in the 60’s. Whether that was true or not, we never did find out, but it was a pleasure meeting to the man and hearing what he had to say.

On one occasion a friend of mine asked if we’d DJ at a house party he was holding. We happily volunteered for free. The party was held in the basement of his town house. There was even a band – No Spring Chicken – playing classic R&B, rock and soul covers. The band had played regularly at my local pub and comprised four seasoned session musicians. Most noteworthy (to us) was the white-haired keyboard player (called The Professor?) who had accompanied Tommy Hunt on the organ at Wigan Casino.

At that party we DJ’d from 9pm until sunrise, stopping the music for only an hour and a half break whilst the band played.

During the night’s proceedings, Jim had managed to “get friendly” on the sofa with a young lady I’d invited along. It was only a few short weeks later that I announced to Jim that the young lady was now my girlfriend. There was never any embarrassment or awkwardness between the three of us over this. In fact we all got on very well indeed.

My relationship with the lady in question terminated after some seven years. Suffice it to say, my relationship with Jim endured way beyond that!

On the soul scene, thanks to the encouragement and support of Colin Brown and Mark Houghton, we were allowed behind the decks a few times at their East London Soul Club nights, and given the opportunity to share music with a likeminded crowd – certainly one more appreciative that the local pub audiences we’d encountered previously.

Whilst our double-act was never destined for great things, Jim went on to take his passions to great heights through the weekly online Soulcast broadcasts.

Jim never sought any recognition or minor fame through his shows. He only wanted to broadcast music for which he had a great love, and Jim realised that the internet was the perfect medium to do so.

Jim was always amazed when he found links to his shows on the web from people around the world who said they loved what he did. Getting emails from listeners’ impressed him – the fact that they’d found his shows worthy of their attention and had taken the time to write words of appreciation.

On a couple of occasions the sons or daughters of “obscure” soul singers from the 1960’s made contact with Jim to express the overwhelming gratitude of their parent’s because Jim had played a record they’d cut that, as far as they were concerned, had been forgotten by the world a long, long, time ago.

Jim was overwhelmed at such things and his excited reaction was “Wow! That’s amazing. I can’t believe it!”

One of the reasons why Jim stopped broadcasting Soulcast was that he didn’t believe he had enough records to keep his shows fresh and thus his audience happy. He only wanted to play original vinyl where possible and felt that anything else, bearing in mind the nature of the show, would be a form of musical cheating. Such was the depth of his integrity and the respect he had for his listeners.

Recalling Jim at other times, I remember when one night we were at SMERSCH, the tiny basement bar in Hoxton, which had a Cold War décor and an open music policy. Jim was behind the decks spinning the grooves and I was of a desire to sample some of the bar’s authentic vodkas. There was an extensive range. Jim partakes in a few that night, but not as many as I.

Come time to go home after a marvellous session from Jim and we’re wandering through the backstreets of Hoxton and into the City of London – Jim’s going to be kipping on my sofa. To be fair, he’s wandering, I’m staggering...

After about an hour, maybe longer, the conclusion is reached that we’re lost. I know that we’ve gone past St Paul’s Cathedral at least twice, maybe three times, but felt certain we were headed in the right direction every time it loomed in front of us. Eventually acknowledging the hopelessness of our situation we get in the first cab that comes along.

“Where are we exactly?” says I.

“Victoria Embankment, approaching Westminster Pier” the cabbie replies.

Both Jim and I wonder how the hell we ended up by the Thames; we didn’t even see the Thames! What’s more confusing for us is that I live off Old Street, just 15 minutes walk away from the bar we left!

The next day we have a good laugh over the whole thing. But I have to ask Jim – who knew exactly where I lived – why he hadn’t said anything last night; surely he could have pointed out the fact that I was leading him the wrong way.

He exclaimed, “I thought you knew where you were going!”

And that was Jim all over. He’d place his complete trust in you; had faith in you. He believed in you. As far as he was concerned there was no reason why he shouldn’t place that trust you. Jim himself was trusting, open, honest, loyal, and more, and he just naturally thought that everyone was like this. He had no reason to doubt that you had the same integrity as he – it’s all he knew. That made him even more remarkable as a person: he was never tainted by the dark cynicism and distrust that pervades much of our modern lives.

To conclude, and to borrow a line from a dance floor classic:

“The race is not won by the fast, but by the man who endures to the last.”

Without a doubt, Jim endured and in all respects was very much a winner.

By Russell Gilbert

----------------------------------------------------------

Please leave your messages of condolence on the Soul Source forum:-
http://www.soul-source.co.uk/forum/index.php?showtopic=56149

View Jim's "Punter of the Month Award" 2000

----------------------------------------------------------

FUNERAL SERVICE
Jim's funeral took place at St Nicholas Church, Godolphin Road, Shepherds Bush, W12 8JW, on Tuesday 2nd October, followed by burial at Gunnersbury Cemetery, 143 Gunnersbury Avenue, Acton W3 8LE.