The first time I met Joe Devlin was during a load in at the legendary Carling Academy Brixton in south London. This 6”4 giant of a man walked past me, clad in a black wool Chesterfield jacket, and black size 15 combat boots. People immediately started yelling and dropped what they were doing, to run and jump into his arms. This scene happened many times. People from all over the world loved him. I knew I would follow him into battle any time.
“Big Joe Devlin” as he was benignly known, was much bigger before I met him. He probably weighed 260 pounds during my time with him. He had close cropped black hair and his teeth were not well taken care of. As far as I know, he went from foster home to foster home, which wasn’t good for him. He had a fearsome reputation on the streets of south London, bearing a nickname too scary to pass on. Like all of us, he liked his liquor: Jack Daniels and Coke. This habit led to cirrhosis of the liver, a condition he ignored much to my astonishment. On his birthday night, he had to leave the pub early, in a heap after 10 or more drinks. Everyone was concerned about him.
He was a roadie, guitar tech, stage hand, and was very much part of the crew that I worked with. He built and installed the load in/out apparatus, that precariously chain lifted band’s gear into the Astoria. He was kind of scary looking, but I wasn’t afraid of him, and so he taught me loads about rock and roll, and life. Instead of bending at the knees to unplug wedges or guitar peddles, he would spread his legs, and bend over like a giraffe would, when ground feeding. He would remain calm and apply damage control before, during, and after gigs.
My brother Blaise is a photographer in NYC. He shoots commercial and art based mediums, from cars to models, to igloos and icebergs. He came to London to photographically document notable and outrageous figures in the roadie world there. My mate Jeff let us shoot in his back garden, and along with Joe and Jeff, Blaise started shooting. My job was to go to the liquor store. A Jolly Roger was hung behind them, and a really happy Joe emerged. Jeff loved Joe more than anybody, and it showed as they linked arms at the shoulder, stood back to back, and even posed with a shooter. Joe drank beer, and then more. I told him to maybe lay off, and he knew he should, but didn’t. It was joyous day.
Joe took his own life a few years ago. This story comes from great love and respect for him, and from someone who pulled for him to slay his demons. He had a lot of them, and had to go somewhere else to find relief from them all.
I asked Jeff how it all ended with Joe. He couldn’t or didn’t want to get into it. I understood. Probably better to not know. His girlfriend Allison, while rocked by his death, somehow was at peace with his passing. On every anniversary of this death, the boys in London get together at the pub to tie one on for him.
A picture of Joe hangs in the gallery on my website. Take a look.