DOCTORED BIRTH CERTIFICATE SURELY? NO?

or tribute to Gary Moore, 58 (R.I.P.)

by rhythm and blues brothers, donplaypuks® intrepid correspondents for musical and wailing affairs

It's always a time to stop, ponder and reflect when a legend passes away, especially someone like the great Gary Moore from Belfast, N.Ireland of a suspected heart attack in a hotel room in Estepona, Spain on  6th February 2011. 

Moore came from that genre of solo guitarists like Jimi Hendrix, Carlos Santana and Jimmy Page (of Led Zep) who gutted your soul with their matchless compositions and renditions.

The world shed a huge collective tear for the prematurely departed Gary Moore who penned those immortal lyrics of nostalgia delivered in smooth and infused shattering Rock Blues style with Phil Lynott (Thin Lizzy) that tear at your heart:

PARISIENNE WALKWAYS

"I remember Paris in '49.

The Champs Elysee, Saint Michel,

And old Beaujolais wine.

And I recall that you were mine

In those Parisienne days.

Looking back at the photographs.

Those summer days spent outside corner cafes.

Ooh, I could write you paragraphs,

About my old Parisienne days."

Not long after, well into his autumn years, an 85-year old surly manipulator (as opposed to the bright and youthful looking 58-year old Gary Moore) unleashed on an unsuspecting world his sordid autobiography. As the old man reflected on the Paris of 1949, never drank Saint Michel and old Beaujolais wine, neither looked fondly at old sepia stained photographs nor wrote cheerful paragraphs about his old "Parisienne" days, he lost a grand opportunity to secure his place in the history books as a popular and respected ex-PM. 

Where Moore had dazzled us for decades with celestial strains, instead, there was an abundance of excuses, raw vindictiveness, plain self-denial and vitriolic, vengeful hate from the old man in his winter of discontent. Vinegar - sour, acrid and rancid - flowed in copious quantity rather than intoxicating wine as malevolent venom and lies spewed forth in contrast to Moore who gave us sweet honey, divine melody.

When news of Moore's demise spread, many who knew him only by his music felt a great loss as tears welled up in their eyes. They thanked God for Moore's gift, generosity and legacy.

And when eventually that old man goes to meet his maker, as we all  must one day, who shall pause to shed a tear for him? Shall anyone come to praise him and shall "the evil that men do lives after them; while the good (if it was there in the first place) is oft interred with the bones?"

What truth is there in the birth certificate below and is it not all about doctored legacy?:

gary moore/phil lynott - parisienne walkways

gary moore - still got the blues

donplaypuks® with your autobiography, man!