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Mac's obituary
IRISH TIMES 15 March 2008 said:NEIL MCPHERSON - "Mac" to Dublin's rock journalists - was the man who'd take all your unwanted promo CDs and give you a few bob for them.
It didn't matter whether it was Westlife or Weather Report, single or album, on vinyl or CD, Mac, who has died aged 57, would happily take it off your hands and give you a decent price for it.
He'd flick through your pile of assorted records, and tell you the history of each one. Some would spark off a stream of stories and reminiscences, usually involving a long-ago concert or rock festival, or a lost weekend with some rock 'n' roll legend or other. Then he would add your offerings to another 20 piles of discs still waiting to be sorted through.
His musty premises at Camden Street in central Dublin was so packed with secondhand records, you could hardly move, but he didn't mind when you brought in more stuff to add to the ever-expanding stockpile. As long as Mac's Records stayed in business, Dublin's music hacks were never short of beer money.
But Neil McPherson was more than just a favourite second-hand record shop proprietor. To those who knew him well, Neil was a poet, a musician, a raconteur, a shaman, a friend, a lover and an inspiration.
Before he sold other people's songs for a living, he wrote his own; one song he wrote five years ago details the pain of his illness with both poignancy and gallows humour: "I'm through with hailing taxis now/The hearse knows where to go".
It was typical of Mac, that he would find humour even in the darkest depths of despair. His friend Mick Sawtell compared his humour to that of Peter Cook: "He could make you laugh with one simple, clever turn of phrase."
His humour and quick wit were also apparent to anyone who spent time in his company. Visitors to Mac's Records would come in search of obscure vinyl artefacts, and stay for the erudite wisdom of its proprietor.
Neil McPherson was born in Devon in 1950; his parents separated when he was six, and he was raised by his father in Bristol along with his two brothers, Ian and Alec, and one sister, Pat (also known as Liz).
His father, a seaman, was conspicuously absent for much of his childhood, and by the time he reached his teens, Mac was already getting into trouble. He was sent to an approved school after being caught shoplifting, and there he joined a bible class and began writing his own prayers.
As a teenager in swinging 1960s England, Mac enjoyed the vibrant music scene, and eagerly embraced the hedonism of the time, but was also searching for deeper answers. He joined CND, the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, and experienced an explosion of the mind when he took the drug LSD at 17.
As the hippy dream died, Mac moved to Manchester, where he descended into heroin addiction, but a visit to the Glastonbury festival in 1971 set him on the road to personal salvation. It was there he heard the teachings of the 13-year-old Guru Maharaji, and became part of what was known as the Divine Light Mission.
For Mac, though, meditation was a personal journey, and he shied away from being part of a cult, preferring to practise in his own private way. He liked the guru's message that the answers could be found within. He remained a student of Maharaji for the rest of his life, and the teachings of the guru would sustain Mac's spirit during his long, debilitating illness.
He moved to Dublin in the early 1980s, and opened Mac's Records in the George's Street Arcade. Later, he would expand his vinyl empire to take in premises on Camden Street, and in Bray, Dún Laoghaire and Thomas Street, but the George's Street shop remained at the heart and soul of it all. He became a friend and guru of sorts to Dublin's rising rock stars of the time, and counted such bands as The Hothouse Flowers, Interference and The Black Velvet Band among his soulmates.
He met his lover, Joe Campbell, at a Dr John concert at Liberty Hall, and the pair remained close throughout those halcyon days of the 1980s. They parted in 1990, when Joe moved to London, but Joe will never forget Mac's "childish grin" and constant singing. "He'd sing lines from Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan, but he'd also make up his own lines," recalls Joe.
Mac never had much of a routine, but he would always set aside time to meditate every day, even in the worst days of his illness.
When Mac was finally diagnosed with Hepatitis C, he was relieved to finally know what it was that was making him so ill. By the time he was admitted to St Vincent's Hospital in May 2007, he could barely move, but he could still manage that childish smile.
Mick Sawtell visited him in the hospital regularly, and was amazed by Mac's zen-like calm. When Mac realised that death was imminent, recalls Mick, "there was no sign of panic. He meditated his way out." On one of his final outings from the hospital, Mac was brought to meet the Guru Maharaji, now going by his given name of Prem Rawat, who was making an appearance at the RDS, 36 years after that first encounter at Glastonbury.
Afterwards, while sitting in a restaurant, Mac heard an ambulance siren passing by. "I think that's my lift," he quipped. "I ordered one earlier."
At Mac's funeral service in Mount Jerome in Harold's Cross, his friend, musician Fiachra Shanks, sang one of Mac's own songs. Mick Sawtell listed some of Mac's favourite things: Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, fruit, scarves, hats, Allen Ginsberg, TV . . .
"He loved being recognised . . . He loved having staff . . . He loved young men but mostly he loved Maharaji."
There has been talk of recording a tribute album to Mac, featuring his songs and poetry, and of perhaps staging a celebratory concert, but now is not the time for talk. Now is simply the time for stillness, calm, meditation . . . and peace.
Neil McPherson - "Mac": born July 28th 1950; died March 3rd, 2008.
