I have had very sad moments these past few weeks after hearing news nobody wants to hear: my good friend Paul Streete passed on.

Our friendship has a long story. We met in the 80s after the band I worked with moved to Sheffield. In my search for new band mates, I was introduced to Paul and his friends. We hit it off right away, and played together for a long while.

Paul had a way of interpreting music and expressing himself through the guitar that felt as if he could make it sing. He was the one who introduced me to how guitars work in a band: what the lead guitar does, what the rhythm guitar does, and the possibilities. It was a pretty formative time for me as a musician, full of good memories of friendship and growth as a person.

Another significant moment came when I was around 42 years old and fully into giving music as a profession a last, solid chance. The sort of market I played for at the time was drying up. I prayed, “Lord, what am I going to do?”, and a few weeks later, Paul came to me with the invitation to join a funk and soul band, called ‘Monday Session’, which he had put together.

I was full of doubt, and told him as much. That wasn’t the music I used to play, and I wasn’t too sure about being part of a brass line, either. He reassured me, convinced me to at least have a look. Once I was sitting there with the other musicians he had contacted, I had to smile. He was right. It was what I wanted to do. I played with them for over a year, learning about stage craft, and also about how to play along with a trumpet and a trombone player.

It was during this time that I realised I am more of a soloist than a band player. It’s not like I can’t do it, or that I’m not a team player. Rather, I’m not completely happy in the background, my heart feels the fullest at the centre of the stage. At some point, then, I decided to moved on and become a full-time solo act saxophonist.

The last time I saw Paul him was around three months ago, at the church he attended in Wolverhampton. I sang a song, and he, with the church band, accompanied me. We had a chance to catch up and talk about what was going on in our lives. He told me about near-death experiences and health scares, and about how he was getting on. We mentioned the possibility of doing some music together, however that was not to be.

In his funeral, I played a song to honour him. I have played this song in several styles, including reggae and country. However, back in the 80s, when I first added it to my repertoire, and when I played it with Paul, too, it was a blues version. To celebrate his memory, then, I went back to blues and performed ‘How Great Thou Art’ that way during his service. I want to share said performance with you. Hope you enjoy it:

After the ceremony, my husband told me that Paul would be proud of the way I played this song for him. It was bittersweet and reassuring, as I wanted to honor him in a way that reflected him and our friendship.

To finish this post, I want to thank the brilliant musicians who accompanied me: Leon Small on the drums, Nathan Bailey on the guitar, Alex on the keys, Clive Anderson on the second keys, and Mark Letman, the one who organised the musical tribute and invited me to participate, on the bass. We only had one rehearsal of barely 20 minutes, yet we pulled it off. That’s the great thing about working with masters of their craft.

I will miss my friend Paul dearly.