Hand percussionists everywhere are mourning the shock death of the Segovia of the tambourine, Davy Jones. Before Mr Jones debuted on our TV screens and, eventually, in our concert halls, the tambourine was a much misunderstood instrument. While guitarists, saxophonists and even drummers were feted, nobody screamed out for a tambourine solo. Indeed, many cynically claimed the instrument was only invented to give good looking people something to do on stage.
Then came Davy.
Whilst he appeared clumsy on keyboards and was clearly faking it on bass guitar, his innovative shaking and palm striking inspired a new generation. He used his skill as a dancer to bring a physicality to his hip strikes that made the zils ring on the instrument and in many a youthful heart.
Without Davy, we would never have had Tracy Partridge, who, rumour has it, was an early disciple of Mr Jones. Or that bloke from the Brian Jonestown Massacre who took the tambourine into the murky world of indie rock. Some say Davy’s strengths were as an actor, entertainer, dancer; a son of vaudeville.
I believe he will remembered as the man who liberated the tambourine from the Salvation Army and made it rock. The man who inspired a generation of kids to stand before a mirror and practice air tambourine. Farewell Davy Jones. I’m a bereaver.
