nakedape
Well-known member
I'm sure many Barfers have enjoyed Martin's sax over the years. I had a special relationship with him. He was playing the National Anthem at all my early little League openers, I hung with his son Rafa, he let us backstage at Zero concerts and others he was playing in. Generous to a fault.
He actually died 2X. Once flatlined in NYC after falling from a loading dock just as a paramedic team cruised by. Saved! This time the big C got him. My dad called from the hospital where he works to say, "don't bother with a visit, he's comatose". Bogus.
He was truly a product of the counter-culture. He made poor food choices and ingested some other things not healthy, but you had to love him. When we were teens, we would wait to see Jerry's BMW go down the dead end street and find an excuse to visit Martin and try to convince Jerry THIS was the best pot ever grown. Then Martin would take the "gift" and shoo us out. His basement was an ever changing form of piled instruments and the impromptu jams they encouraged.
In his later years, Martin remarried a young (cute) fan and had another child. She was nine when he died a few days ago. He hung in there so long by the time he allowed himself to be admitted, he was gone. He will have one hell of a memorial concert, somewhere in Marin or SF, maybe more than one. If you knew him or were ever touched by his blazing, heartfelt sax solos, come out share some love for his departed soul and surviving family.
Martin and his cohorts essentially did for jam bands what Elvis did for rock. Trailblazer. Known to all and loved by all (except his witch of an ex-wife) he was quicker to forgive and forget than anyone I ever met. "YOU guys stole my weed plants? How fucking much is left? Oh, cool. Did you cure it right?" A seemingly unstoppable force of human/musical nature has been stopped. I can't link, but his friend and another basement regular, Paul Libertore, wrote a nice summary in the Marin IJ...Thanks Mister...NApe
He actually died 2X. Once flatlined in NYC after falling from a loading dock just as a paramedic team cruised by. Saved! This time the big C got him. My dad called from the hospital where he works to say, "don't bother with a visit, he's comatose". Bogus.
He was truly a product of the counter-culture. He made poor food choices and ingested some other things not healthy, but you had to love him. When we were teens, we would wait to see Jerry's BMW go down the dead end street and find an excuse to visit Martin and try to convince Jerry THIS was the best pot ever grown. Then Martin would take the "gift" and shoo us out. His basement was an ever changing form of piled instruments and the impromptu jams they encouraged.
In his later years, Martin remarried a young (cute) fan and had another child. She was nine when he died a few days ago. He hung in there so long by the time he allowed himself to be admitted, he was gone. He will have one hell of a memorial concert, somewhere in Marin or SF, maybe more than one. If you knew him or were ever touched by his blazing, heartfelt sax solos, come out share some love for his departed soul and surviving family.
Martin and his cohorts essentially did for jam bands what Elvis did for rock. Trailblazer. Known to all and loved by all (except his witch of an ex-wife) he was quicker to forgive and forget than anyone I ever met. "YOU guys stole my weed plants? How fucking much is left? Oh, cool. Did you cure it right?" A seemingly unstoppable force of human/musical nature has been stopped. I can't link, but his friend and another basement regular, Paul Libertore, wrote a nice summary in the Marin IJ...Thanks Mister...NApe