There is a light that never goes out

Stuart Cable: musician, entertainer, bon viveur, Welshman

THE official death of former Stereophonics drummer-turned-broadcaster Stuart Cable will, following receipt of the toxicology report, be recorded by South Wales Police and the coroner’s office later this month. Cable, found dead at his home in Llwydcoed, not 24 hours after his former band played a triumphant homecoming set at the Cardiff City stadium, is one of a number of deaths across the music business that have blighted 2010.

Cable was only 40 when he died, but he was a classic larger-than-life character and he packed several lifetimes into his four decades on this planet.

For me, as a contemporary of Cable’s, if not an acquaintance, his passing was particularly poignant as, in very many ways, he was living the dream. Well, the dream of any teenage boy who has played air guitar or air drummed in their poster covered bedrooms. Guilty, your honour.

Cable’s childhood and life history is classic Valleys boy made good. Growing up in Cwmaman and largely raised by his mother Mabel, after his father passed away when he was 10-years-old, Stuart had a pretty normal childhood.  He and his elder brother Paul, like many teenage boys living on what was once the South Wales Coalfield, fell in love with heavy metal, particularly the music of Antipodean rockers AC/DC.

This obsession with music led Stuart towards drumming. Legend has it that while he was rehearsing an AC/DC song in his bedroom, he was overheard by neighbour Kelly Jones. They met, formed a bond and, not long after, a band.

Tragic Love Company spent much of the early to mid 1990s touring working men’s clubs in the Valleys until, following a change of name to Stereophonics, a persistent manager called John Brand and a little bit of luck, they found themselves as the first signing to Richard Branson’s V2 label. It was 1996, the height of Cool Britannia.

Their rise in popularity seemed inexorable, but it was also a strange path to fame. They were not the critics’ darlings and even fans would never accuse them as being particularly fashionable or forward thinking. They were, however, a band with integrity and honesty stamped right through them. You couldn’t fault their graft.

This work ethic and constant touring won them increasingly larger and larger audiences and, if they were concerned that they weren’t exactly getting the critical acclaim, they weren’t showing it. Just take a look at the video for The Bartender and the Thief: fireworks, explosions, Vietnam and Cable in a ridiculous US GI helmet. This is a band full of glee and joy. And the 1998 Brit Award for Best New Band? Step forward, please, boys.

As with most things, it couldn’t – and didn’t – last. Complications in Cable’s private life have been well documented and need no repetition here. But it was also clear that the strains between him and the rest of the band were becoming more and more pronounced as the new Millennium got under way.

We don’t know whether it was Cable’s burgeoning media career (hosting the BBC Wales chat show Cable TV, among other things), his frustration with Kelly Jones’ approach to song writing and production, the toll of relentless touring, or the debates over so-called “commitment issues”. But, by 2003, Cable was out of the band.

In his candid autobiography Demons and Cocktails, Cable was reflective, admitting that there were challenges being in the band but also that he had his own problems. Notably, he confessed that he had battled with drink and drugs, saying that fame had turned him into a “coke-taking zombie”. He also expressed anxiety around loneliness and a continued desire to return to his roots.

Notwithstanding that, and – to my mind – reflecting a particularly Welsh streak of stubbornness, Cable went on to forge a second career in the media, including stints on radio stations XFM and Kerrang! Although he didn’t play the drums for a year-and-a-half after leaving Stereophonics, he had started playing again with Stone Gods and formed a new group called Killing for Company, who were down to play at this year’s Download festival, in front of 100,000 rock and metal fans.

Cable, ever the glass half-full optimist, professed to have no regrets, and his valediction is easy to understand. “We achieved so much – headlining Glastonbury, Reading, playing the Morfa Stadium, the Millennium Stadium,” he once said. “If I’d made a wish-list when I was 16 and all those were on there, I’d be a very happy chappie.”

I know exactly what he meant. I was brought up in the South Wales Valleys where adolescent boys of a certain age followed Manic Street Preacher Nicky Wire’s 11th Commandment: “Thou art Welsh; thou shalt like Motley Crue”.  Cable was much the same. His drive and desire to break away from the Valleys, not because he didn’t love them (on the contrary) but because he wanted to simply fulfil his dreams, is both simple, endearing and resonates deeply.

Unlike the demise of former Black Sabbath, Dio and Rainbow singer Ronnie James Dio, (perhaps the greatest singer that heavy metal has produced), or the sad and lonely passing of bassist Paul Gray from Iowan band Slipknot, Cable’s death, although widely reported on the news at the time, hasn’t quite received the reflection that he is due. Cable recognised the preposterousness of what he was involved with but, equally, he appeared to loathe the self importance pomposity of some within the music business.

Paradoxically, for one of rock n roll’s often keenest advocates of excess, he appeared to be one of its most down to earth, humble and engaging characters. The old adage, “You can take the boy out of the Valleys, but you cannot take the valleys out of the boy”, seems particularly apposite.

While he may have enjoyed the trappings of rock star wealth – the overstuffed Bentley, the Cardiff Bay apartment and the mock Tudor mansion, Cable appeared resolutely grounded. I never knew Cable personally but I know what Cable was about. You knew you wanted a drink – no, make that drinks – with him. You know he would be good for the cab fare home. You know he would have been good for that 2am kebab. He was one of us. RIP, mate.