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From My Personal Archives: A Tribute to Kevin Gilbert

April 30, 2007

This piece goes back more than a couple of years for me, and I have learned a lot more about Kevin since writing it, but the core ideas and sentiments are as true today as when I first wrote this piece. I hope you’ll take a moment to discover a musician of incredible talent and range, and someone we lost much, much too early.

Genius is a grossly overused word. . . However, the word applied to Kevin Gilbert.


The Late, Great Kevin Gilbert

“How can you expect a child to understand the sickness of the world whose eyes are blind? The dying man inside this little boy is questioning his once upon a time.”
–From ”There Was A Little Boy”
Words by Kevin Gilbert from the TOY MATINEE album, 1990

”My name is Kevin Gilbert. My album is called Thud. I was born with a piece of J.C. Penny stainless steel flatware in my mouth, and I scratched and clawed my way out of the upper middle class ghetto of San Mateo, California to become the feared yet loved pariah that I am today. I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling buildings and crushing ice. I write award-winning operas and translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees. I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I can cook two-minute eggs in less than a minute. I have been known to remodel subway stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat dispersion. Occasionally, I trade ribald jests with heads of state.

I have written number-one singles for a friend. I am an expert in glass bricklaying, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Brazil. I breed prize-winning clams. I wrote, produced, and played most of Thud in an overgrown home recording facility which I hand-built with money I earned composing innocuous television scores under an assumed name. I pay my bills on time. I don’t perspire. I think reverb is dishonest but sometimes necessary. I, too, have written and produced material for Madonna, and refused to have sex with her. Using only a hoe and a glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from an attack of ferocious army ants. I read ancient Egyptian manuscripts in the original Sanskrit.

I am an abstract sculptor, a master archer, and a ruthless bookie. I once engineered sessions for Michael Jackson and unknowingly offered him a bite of my hot dog. I own many of Burt Bachrach’s instrumental recordings and periodically annoy the neighbors by playing them at a high volume. I sleep only fifteen minutes a night and do so standing up. It is not true that I performed covert operations for the CIA. I think Peter Gabriel was a brilliant artist until he underwent EST training. I am an unselfish lover, an investor in the Chinese stock market, a rabble-rousing herdboy, and an inspiration for freedom fighters everywhere. My dad was a respected physicist, and I changed my name from Kelvin. Children trust me.

After one listen, I can play any song on several instruments. I do not own a television or a blues record. I was the lead singer and chief songwriter of Toy Matinee. I can make extraordinary four course meals using only a spatula and a toaster oven. I believed in and voted for Clinton. I have performed open heart surgery, and I have spoken to Elvis.

But I have never released a solo record.”
–From a self-composed bio, for a PR packet previous to the release of Thud

I don’t know what made me pick up the Toy Matinee album the other day.

Ostensibly, it was to listen to the song, Last Plane Out. But that isn’t what kept me listening to the album, peeling it apart like the onion long since forgotten. Listening to the lyrics, I decided to post them because of their witty relevance. Besides it was a song that very few people knew about.

Next, I started pulling off a few more layers, listening to There Was A Little Boy, Remember My Name, and We Always Come Home. I began to take some time and read along with the lyrics. It was me taking some time to re-discover the musician that I had forgotten.

I hadn’t really ever forgotten Kevin Gilbert, nor had I ever known him, or even seen him perform live. One thing that kept him in my mind was the fact that I had leant a friend a copy of a Limited Edition Bonus CD featuring Kevin’s version of the Led Zepplin tune, ”Kashmir”. That CD, I NEVER got back! It frustrated me, and I thought
about it from time to time. If I ever regret lending one thing out, it was this. The song was not available on his original solo album, THUD, and as far as I knew it was nowhere to be found.

My first exposure to Kevin Gilbert was through hearing an album by rock guitar instrumentalist, Marc Bonilla, called EE TICKET. Kevin was the producer on the album. I had heard the song Slaughter On Memory Lane playing one day at Poo Bah’s and before I knew it, the album was in my possession. From listening to the album I developed an appreciation of two things, one was the virtuosic playing of Marc Bonilla: The guitarist who puts Joe Satriani and Eric Johnson to shame. Listen to “Slaughter. . .”, The Vanishing Wall, Mephisto, or his cover of Procol Harum’s A Whiter Shade of Pale and tell me otherwise. The other thing was I became aware of Kevin Gilbert’s name and his abilities as a producer.

Next thing I knew, I heard the song Last Plane Out play on KLOS one day, and I instantly became hooked, like so many others. For a while there, KLOS, particularly morning men Mark & Brian were singing the praises of Toy Matinee and the talents of Kevin Gilbert. He and Toy Matinee were the local band that were being plugged for a while.
I picked up the Toy Matinee album at Poo Bah’s and began listening to it. I was keenly aware of Kevin’s talent, particularly his rich voice. I gave the albums repeated listenings and over the years became a fan.

Once again, it was Mark & Brian who were beginning to tout Kevin’s next project, the album THUD. There were two songs which were pushed. The single off the album was a cut called Goodness Gracious. It was just what a single was supposed to be: catchy, easy to sing along with, with the right amount of energy. The other song, was Kevin’s cover of Kashmir. The song was originally recorded after THUD went to press. Mark & Brian played it because they believed in the song, and in Kevin. When I first heard it, it was a revelation. He had managed to take a song that I had managed to fully abhor, and turn it into an instant favorite. I had two problems with Zepplin’s version: One was Robert Plant’s voice. I have always considered Plant’s voice as way too screachy, squeeky for me. The other was the way the song plodded along. . . duh-nuh-nuh-duh! Duh-nuh-nuh-duh! Duh-nuh-nuh-duh! Anytime I listened to it, I couldn’t help but think ”PICK UP THE PACE DAMN IT!!”

The first time I heard Kevin’s cover of the tune, there was the matter of the tabla drum, acoustic guitar, and twang of the sitar. This was a really nice touch. Then came the words “Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dreams. . .”, and the words flowed with rich resonance and depth of soul. Further into the song, with the song’s most memorable lyric “And my eyes fill with sand. . . As I scan this wasted land.” Gilbert overdubs his own vocal, causing an eery effect to further punctuate this vision of the desert. And after he utters the next lyric “Tryin’ to find where I begiiiiiiinnnn. . .”, a percussive shock of drums pushes the song to the next sonic level. At this point, Kevin removes one of the beats, leaving the song with ”Duh-nuh!
Duh-Nuh! picking up the song’s pace until it is like blood coursing through the heart of a prize fighter. Gilbert’s voice becomes like the crushing impact of the fighter’s fist to his opponent’s soft nasal cartilage. Gilbert had nailed this song.

There was some controversy later that year, when a tribute album to Led Zepplin was released with many different artists contributing their version of a Zep tune. Kevin’s version was left off the album, to the shock of fans and music industry insiders alike. I am firmly convinced that it was not because Kevin was not famous enough to be put on the album, but quite frankly it put the original to shame. It wasn’t too much later that Page & Plant recorded an album and went on tour. And what do you know? On the tour and in the live version of Kashmir they had a live tabla drummer and sitar player join in.
Soon after hearing these songs on the radio, I ran to pick up the version of THUD that included the bonus cd which was stuck in a poorly packaged paper envelope taped to the front of the album. The album, I listened to but I wasn’t ready for the album at this point, and it got traded in, but the bonus CD I kept. Later, I got into a arguement about the greatness of Gilbert’s version of the song, and in order to resolve the matter, I leant my only copy of Kashmir to a guy who has not returned it to me since.

At a certain point, I learned that KG was a fellow customer at the record store, and that his studio called Lawnmower & Garden Supplies in Pasadena (which is exactly what it was in a previous lifetime) was also where he lived and worked. To me it was cool that the record store had a sort of local celebrity like KG. Of course, he was
anything but a celebrity, and from all the accounts that I have read of him, he was a very accessible, humble, and down-to-earth guy.

I remember one day walking into Poo Bah’s and asking my guy what Kevin was up to at this point. I know I was thinking that it had been a while since I heard anything from him, or seen his name on anything. That was when I learned about his death. Gilbert died in an accident that had been caused by some personal risk-taking and carelessness. I don’t want to go into the details of what I was told, because by some, he might be judged harshly. Suffice it to say, he was very sad when he left us, and has to be in a better place than he felt he was in when he died.

One of the saddest aspects of his life is his relationship with another musician, and former lover Sheryl Crow. From all accounts that I am aware of, Kevin helped Crow to the top. Her debut album, ”Tuesday Night Music Club” is named after the place that Kevin introduced her to. It has been said that he and the other members of the TNMC wrote 70% of the album. KG asked pushed for her to be brought into TNMC and he later asked her to play keyboards on the Toy Matinee tour when Patrick Leonard was unavailable to tour. This was yet another of her earliest breaks in her career. Kevin and Sheryl had a relationship that came to an end around the time that the Tuesday Night Music Club album gained it’s success and both had won a Grammy for the album. When success arrived, it is said Crow left Gilbert for
a ride to the top, leaving Kevin once again in obscurity. This part of his life clearly had a major impact on him, and even in his music.

The lyrics to his song “Leaving Miss Broadway” say it all. . .

Miss Broadway you say you’re puzzled by this reaction that you get
It seems you’re always wanted by the men with which you pet
Yeah, why do they come calling with chests that heave and sigh
When all you did was laugh with them and touch them on the thigh?
These legions that surround you, these victims of your charm
You keep their fires smouldering cause their burning keeps you warm
And this sexual harassment that follows you around
Is just a way to clear the deck for some new prospect that you’ve found.
And I know that you believe each new invention of the truth
And I know the next five minutes are what you’re trying to get through
But the man who really loved you, and believed you all along
Has seen the truth and shuddered and is singing you this song. . .
I’m leaving Miss Broadway
You can’t have my words anymore
I’m leaving Miss Broadway
You’re game’s already played
Now I’m just rain on your charade.
I saw you on TV taking credit for my work
And I knew if I said anything that I would be the jerk
There’s always some ex-boyfriend, some jealous has-been clown

Trying to muscle in the spotlight, trying to keep the lady down.
There’s this comfortable old story about the man without a clue
Who rises to the top on a work a woman had to do
But political correctness just won’t accept the inverse true
We just can’t see painted toenails on the foot that fits that shoe. . .
I’m leaving Miss Broadway
You can’t have my love anymore
I’m leaving Miss Broadway
I guess I lost my taste for your carrot in my face
It must be very chilling to stare at your blank page
When integrity is selling and sincerity’s the rage
So you work your practiced dogma, your ”I’m a victim” cry
You’ve come a long way, baby, you can smoke and drink and lie. . .

You begin to understand why there are very few Sheryl Crow fans amongst Kevin’s followers.


To have this piece be a catalogue of sadnesses, is to do a disservice to the man’s life and talent. Kevin Gilbert in his work, was writing, producing, and performing rock and pop music that was on the surface accessible and catchy, but the deeper layers reveal his progressive bent, and a deep sense of melody, harmony, and dissonance. Close observation of his lyrics reveal the exact same results.

In his writing, you can see that he had a sense of humor, a poignant sense of life and knew the importance of being real and faithful. Many of his songs, particularly on THUD have grey overtones to them, and perhaps in real-life, this was the brightest color that he saw. But instead, I would rather think that he was at a point in his life where he was walking around in a haze. If you listen carefully, you will notice the comfort in which he sets his music in a minor key. At times, it is disquieting to hear. And feel. . .

Song For A Dead Friend
written by Kevin Gilbert

Danny my friend
I think you knew me better than I ever knew you
Cause you read every chapter
And I just glassed right over them and pretended I knew
But I believed in you
I loved you for your brilliance
And your way of making everything absurd
And I relied on you make me see
The foolishness of paragraphs that were better as one word
What could I have told you to make you think again
We draw the same conclusions but we choose a different end
Cause when you tear it down it only looks more ragged
And when you build it up it only looks more fake
So why not let it be at least until tomorrow
And then you just might see your sad mistake
Cause life had more to give than what you take
Danny my friend
Forgive me if I break our rule but I think it’s overdue
I really cared about you
And I didn’t think that I could love a friend
As much as I loved you
And we were always friends
We were Captain Jim and Billy
The superhuman crime-avenging twins
Oh I’m gonna miss you

And I truly am alone now
Because there’s no one to congratulate my sins
I wish I could have been for you a more consistent friend
The chapters that I skipped I’m going to have to read again
But when I tear it down it only looks more ragged
And when I build it up it only looks more fake
But I can’t let it be cause part of me died with you
And there’s lots of pages missing from my book
Cause you had more to give than what I took

Even now, I find myself still learning a lot about him and his music. He could tell stories in his music that were powerful. His music was seductive, and he was pulling you in to hear something more than you were looking for. . .

There Was A Little Boy
written by Patrick Leonard and Kevin Gilbert

Mother’s crazy but she runs the family
Two older sisters and the boy who’s nine years old
He’s old enough to see the way it’s going
Somewhere the birds are singing
But mother’s all alone

He needs a father but she takes a lover
This man is not a friend, shows no friendship
This man just waits around to play with sister
But he plays too serious, he plays too rough

How can you expect a child to understand the sickness of a world whose eyes are blind? The dying man inside this little boy is questioning his once upon a time

He leaves home early for a loveless world
And he finds what he needs with an older boy
He’s got a couple of things to hide from mother
He hopes she’ll understand, she hopes he’ll change

How can you expect a child to understand the sickness of a world whose eyes are blind?
(There was a little boy)
A world he cannot hope to conquer, insecurities that fester in his mind
(There was a little boy)
No choice, no fault and no way out, no blame, no guilt, no friends, no cure, no crime
(There was a little boy)
The dying man inside this little boy is questioning his once upon a time
(There was a little boy)

The boy was once a strong man, but getting weaker
He carries more than just the shame inside
His mother stays away and faces nothing
She blind ly wishes for a happy ending
How can you expect a child to understand the sickness of a world whose eyes are blind?
(There was a little boy)
A world he cannot hope to conquer, insecurities that fester in his mind
(There was a little boy)
No choice, no fault and no way out, no blame, no guilt, no friends, no cure, no crime (There was a little boy)

The dying man inside this little boy is questioning his once upon a time

Perhaps though, one of the stories that he told in music that was the saddest, had to do with his own life, and in retrospect, his demise. . .

A Long Day’s Life
written by Kevin Gilbert

When I was a boy I would sit by the sea
And ambition’s sirens would sing to me
Songs of a future both nobel and grand
Now here I stand with my back to the wall
Errant in some ways and tired in all
Life is what happens while you’re making plans
At the end of a long day’s life
Oh no, I’m lost and all alone
Battered and broken and scarred to the bone
Oh Love, you’ve never been a friend
But if you’re still listening I’m here at the end
Of a long day’s life
Love came to my house and knocked on the door
I answered and said ”what are you here for?
Go away cause I’m busy looking for truth”
At the end of a long day’s life
Oh no, I’m lost and all alone
Battered and broken and scarred to the bone
Oh Love, you’ve never been a friend
But if you’re still listening I’m here at the end
Of a long day’s life
Two nights now I’ve had this dream where
I’m swimming three miles from shore and
I sink down
Breathe water in, unafraid
It’s peacful here
Don’t rescue me
For three nights running now I’ve had the most unusually disturbing dream
Where I’m a 19th century French painter with a pallet and paint brush
In the rain in an ill-fitting black suit and I’m
Painting perfectly rectangular white lines on an end less snaking desert highway
And people are yelling at me: ”You missed a spot!”
I’m looking for a new Love to show me the way
To laugh at tomorrow and live today
To guide me through these strange and uncertain times
At the end of a long day’s life
Oh no I’m lost and all alone
Battered and broken and scarred to the bone
Oh Love you’ve never been a friend
But if you’re still listening I’m here at the end
Help me I’ve lost my way again
Wandering blind ly I wait at the end
Of a long….

I envisioned writing this piece for two reasons: One was so that Kevin Gilbert might have another chance to be heard by a few people that might not have known that he had even existed. The second reason is because of a piece written by Cintra Wilson of in her column The Awful Truth. Cintra Wilson was undoubtedly one of the bright spots in Kevin’s life. Cintra is a writer published regularly in, and she is someone that Kevin helped to nurture, and find her way in life. The piece that follows is perhaps one of the most beautiful tributes to someone that I have ever read. It is at times preciously invigorating and warming, and at the same time agonizingly tragic and stained with regret.

The Awful Truth: ”In Memoriam”By Cintra Wilson

“Certain people are like big good anchors in your life that hold you to the world, that give you a sense of exalted, meaningful belonging and true comradeship in the highest sense. They are co-conspirators, people who get all the jokes. When someone understands you that well, you can never truly feel alone in the world.

For me, that person was my best friend and lover Kevin Gilbert, the guy I lived in sin with for the year of 1995. He died suddenly over the weekend.

We were inseparable, knew each other inside and out. He was a handsome prince of a guy who really helped me in my life. Generous beyond belief. He moved me into his castle, got me a great psychiatrist and helped fix my brain, stunned me with his wit and affection, bought me a car, took me out to dinner every night, and really showed me what it was like to be truly loved by a good man. He was the most talented human being I ever knew. A bloody musical genius. Picked up a cello one day and just started playing it. He was quite famous in some musical circles for writing and performing a lot of deeply personal rock songs with a lot of wordy lyrics and massive integrity. He never had the raging commercial success as a musical genius that he so richly deserved, despite the fact that he’d won a Grammy. He
got standing ovations when he performed, and regularly received embarassing poetry from love-blistered fans, which I sometimes ”accidentally” wadded up and threw away.

We had a rocking relationship. For two consecutive Thanksgivings we danced out in the patio of our friend’s family’s house, singing the Johnny Hartman-John Coltrane album to each other: ”You are too beautiful, my dear, to be true… and I am a foooool fo-or beautyyyyy…” It was our little tradition. Once it was in the rain, the second time it was just really cold. We spent Christmas at his idyllic parents’ idyllic home
– it was completely idyllic. He gave me the computer I’m writing this on – ”You need to have the right tools,” he told me. We sat together in bed in the mornings and watched tapes of ”I, Claudius” and ”The Singing Detective” over and over and over, holding hands, eating pancakes. We looked at sea otters in the zoo and marveled for a long time over how in love they were, then we took hallucinogens and reenacted them. We ice-skated together in Vancouver, all wobbly and hand in hand like happy idiots. We took sleeping pills and got second-degree sunburns in Cabo San Lucas, and ended up covering each other with aloe vera in the hotel room the whole time – it was still great. We wrote funny songs together. He was like food to my heart, every second I spent with him I was aware of this delicious love for him I could feel like a tingle in my jaw – my heart always felt like it was stretching like a cat in a sunray around him, actively stretching to catch it all.

There are moments when you feel so good with somebody that you miss them when they’re right in front of you. Nostalgia is built into the moment, and you feel the excruciating pangs of too much joy.

I could never imagine life without him, and now he’s gone.

His death is a complete shock to me. When you have someone in your life who simply understands your every quirky nuance, every gesture, every tilt of the head…the loss of that is unspeakable.

We cut a smart silhouette on the intellectual dance floor, he and I. When we went to movies or the theater, we always found each other more entertaining than what was in front of us. We’d whisper and giggle through everything and annoy people. In restaurants, we’d turn the tables sideways so there’d be less space between us, so we could really talk. I used to show him everything I wrote and he’d make comments… mostly about my lousy syntax. But I’d run to him all excited like a six-year-old with a new fingerpainting to hear what he’d say, because his comments and opinion were so vital to me, because I knew he knew, he had his finger on the pulse. My pulse, anyway.

This grief is phenomenal. It removes all thought and rips you down to your most basic enterprises of personality. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you walk like a zombie with nothing in you but a big grey dead lump of cold pain. The first primal urge I had was to find a swingset. My new beau said it was because my head was swinging back and forth and if my body was swinging too I might re-align, a little. We leapt over the fence of a closed park in the midd le of the West Village at
midnight. My God. I just rocked back and forth for a while, and figured out who I wanted to call, my face swelling up like a bruise from the torrential crying.

Kevin and I had the same psychiatrist – she called me and told me the news.
You imagine or fantasize at dumber moments about that phone call sometimes, but you can’t imagine how it actually goes down: ”I have some terrible, terrible news; so-and-so is dead.” Your face opens up like a volcano, you cry from the depths of the earth, you explode with a clean white agony that slides through all the cells in your body like a flash flood.

We ”separated” in the interest of becoming emotionally healthier individuals in February, with the express intent of getting back together at some point, but we were always in touch. I went to New York and he stayed in LA, but we met up a couple of weeks ago in London just to see each other’s faces.

He told me ”I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I don’t know where my head is going, I’m a little scared.”

I told him ”No matter where you go in your head, we’ll always be tight. We’ll always connect like this.” I didn’t know he was going way over THERE.

He told me that seeing me was like having an amputated limb back. When I left he said ”I’m losing my limb again” with tears in his eyes.

The last time I saw him, he stuck me in an elevator in his posh hotel and told me he loved me. He didn’t want to walk me all the way down because he said he wanted to spare himself the pain of seeing my taxi pull away. We were both crying. My elevator doors began to shut, he turned and walked.

Oh, God, Kevin Gilbert, wherever you are, I hope you know I loved you more than anything alive, and when I lay on my back under your piano and listened to you play your brilliant music I counted myself the luckiest girl in the world. You were beautiful inside and out, and I hope you’re rocking the biggest stadium in Valhalla, with the flames of a billion Bic lighters from your angelic fans guiding your soul ever upward to God. May you be infused with all light in the universe and blaze in blinding love forever like the star you are. Don’t forget me. ”

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13 Comments leave one →
  1. Pedro Augusto permalink
    May 14, 2007 9:45 pm

    Great work!
    Kevin was a genius, and you discribed him with honor.

  2. May 14, 2007 11:55 pm

    Muito obrigado, Pedro!

    What part of Brazil are you from? I have friends in Rio and have spent time there and in Sao Paulo.

    Glad to have you make it this way! Do you know Porcupine Tree? I’ve got a couple of pieces here on PT, and one more on the way. Keep your eyes on this spot!


  3. Pedro Augusto permalink
    May 15, 2007 3:55 pm

    Hi Darshan 😀
    I born in Sao Paulo, but i live in a smaller town since my 8 years. I always go there to meet friends and catch some nice shows.
    Porcupine is AWESOME! I hv almost all albums of them in MP3. Like them we hv Spock’s Beard, Flower Kings and some more fantastic 90’s prog bands.
    R u musician?

  4. June 20, 2007 4:02 pm

    Very touching.

  5. June 20, 2007 6:09 pm

    Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read. If you don’t know Kevin and his music, I highly recommend doing so!



  6. June 17, 2008 4:24 pm

    hi ,
    Gilbert’s music will live on if you just keep turning people onto it. I decided a while ago to teach people how to play his music on guitar , and to tab out his songs, as no one was doing it. You can find my efforts on youtube search for jmorrell22 I hope you enjoy them and pass them along to other Gilbert fans who may need help playing the songs. Peace.

  7. June 17, 2008 4:36 pm

    Hey John. . .

    I do know your stuff, and I think it’s great what you are up to. I also think I have seen you on one of the Yahoo! Gilbert lists.

    Thanks for keeping the fires burning. . .



  8. Michael permalink
    August 5, 2008 7:58 am

    Wow. What an amazing testament to a brilliant, creative life. I was poking around looking for some way to hear a clip of Gilbert’s version of Kashmir (which I had heard originally on Mark and Brian) and I came across your page. I still haven’t found his version of Kashmir again but thanks to you I did get a chance to remember just how talented though tortured Kevin Gilbert was.

    Thank you.

  9. Andrew permalink
    October 3, 2008 1:13 am

    Thank you very much for this, my friend. I was very moved by Cintra Wilson’s piece about him. I hope to God someone feels so deeply for me when I’m gone.

    I’ve never seen that piece written about Sheryl Crow. It’s true, though, that I’ve never been able to listen to her after learning a bit more about what happened. Whenever I hear her lyrics about how people just need to lighten up about her on stuff, I think–does that include Kevin Gilbert? I don’t want to be unkind to her, but I’ve never been able to listen to her music since hearing about his death.

    I remember seeing Kevin with his band Giraffe, in San Jose, my hometown. I think he was playing at the Cactus Club, but I’m not 100% sure. I remember seeing the giraffe-spotted guitar, and Kevin doing his theatrical gestures in his Miami Vice-style jacket. What I loved was that he played “I go Swimming,” by Peter Gabriel. Not just a song by my favorite artist ever, but a b-side! One no-one usually ever heard anywhere.

    Here in San Jose, we have a great DJ called Greg Stone, who still plays him on his “Stone Trek” show every night. It’s great music.

    Thanks for the site! Thanks for the music Kevin. God bless.

  10. Beth permalink
    January 14, 2009 8:25 pm

    Love the site and the tribute.
    Not sure where you can buy Kashmir, but I know that you can listen to the live version on

  11. Brian permalink
    July 15, 2009 4:40 am

    There is another world and we will all see him at the proper time.

  12. July 16, 2015 11:22 am

    I’m late, but, I thought both articles were completely, utterly, heartbreakingly moving. I had forgotten about Toy Matinee and just recently wondered whatever happened to that group that did that song that began “Greetings from Sodom, how we wish you were here.” I couldn’t even remember the name of the song. I felt like I’d lost my best friend when I learned he had died and am still in shock, even though it happened nearly twenty years ago. The world will never know its loss of this truly beautiful talented soul.

    By the way, you probably know that you can listen to his version of Kashmir on You Tube, which is where I heard it. Thanks for writing.


  1. Kevin Gilbert | ayuo world music art poetry dance

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