People affect our lives, sometimes to such a degree that we never forget them.

In Memory

Marc Laurence Dormand

My earliest recollection of Marc was the day I walked into a music store looking to find out about bass guitars and drums. He had a foot up on a Marshall amplifier and guitar was resting on his leg, belting out the intro sequence to "Ain't talking 'bout love" by Van Halen. My life changed that day.

A few months later Marc sold me my first electric guitar. From that day our friendship started taking shape. During a difficult time, Marc and his mother opened their house to me and I was privileged to spend a lot of time with him.

My fondest memories of Marc include:

  • Pouring over guitar mags and old GIT notes until all hours of the morning.
  • Listening to old cassettes with the volume as loud as it could go without waking anyone in the house. Something we failed at miserably.
  • Playing 12 bar blues in the garage through a Peavey practise amp and a cassette recorder on the floor, capturing every moment.
  • Rewinding and fast forwarding old cassettes in the car stereo, to listen to his favourite bits in songs.
  • Getting scolded for not fretting notes correctly or practising without a metronome.
  • Being hauled off to music stores and introduced to store owners and other musicians.
  • Watching gigs and getting breakdowns of each band member's history as a musician.
  • Hearing his stories of the time he spent in L.A. at GIT.

Marc had phenomenal attention to detail. Nothing he did was good enough unless it was perfect. He often didn't follow through with musical ideas because it wasn't sounding the way it did in his head. He constantly toiled with himself, seeking to be the musician's musician. He never missed an opportunity to tell me how much better analogue is versus digital. I was always astounded when he told me how, in his youth, he would slow down cassettes to work out the pieces being played.

Marc would always take the time to listen to pieces of music I had recorded. Then with a thoughtful face, and trying to be as polite as possible, he would highlight errors I had made and offer advice on how to fix them.

Marc was always quick to crack a smile followed by a silly, sometimes inappropriate, one liner. It usually got the desired result though, a smile from the other person. Marc's strength might have been failing but his enthusiasm never did. There was always a spark of hope that tomorrow would be the day the struggle would finally pay off.

I thank the Lord for allowing me to get to spend as much time as I did with Marc. I thank the Lord, that after all Marc's struggles, He saw fit to take him peacefully. His memory will continue in every piece of music I write and every time I pick up a guitar or listen to the bands he introduced me too.

In closing, I would like to read Psalm 103: 15-18

"The life of mortals is like grass they flourish like a flower of the field. The wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. But from everlasting to everlasting the LORD's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children, With those who keep his covenant and remember to obey his precepts"