A musical tribute to my friend Andrew Bliss (6 Feb 1974 - 5 July 2025).

Having a treasured friend who is two months younger than you - and ten times stronger - die with but four months warning, is a life-blighting shock.

We met in a cafe in Coogee thirty years ago.

I heard him say to the manager (who was his friend) "turn off the music, I hate it!" and I, scorned, said "leave the music on. I like it!". He said "You have spark. I like you." Then he joined me at the table for a straight-to-the-things-that-matter talk and, mid-conversation, ran across the road to the then bookshop, as he HAD to buy me John Irving's "A Prayer for Owen Meany".

He was a friend who was unfailingly honest. He often wore a t-shirt with "I disagree" printed on it; he had a voracious appetite for debate. Being in his presence meant being confronted by someone who had an antipathy of pretence and who saw straight into the marrow of seemingly everything. He would challenge you and challenge you with "but how are you, REALLY?" and fix you with that wilful gaze that left no parachute to escape the uncomfortable space truth often inhabits, yet simultaneously offer unwavering care. He was fiercely loyal. Always there for everyone it seemed - any time, day or night. He was the one who chase after you, when your pain walked down a one-way street. When he said he was there for you, he really was.

His unshielded heart was always open.

I regret lulling into the misapprehension that people leave this earth in chronological order. I never thought he was someone that would go before me. I never thought I had to worry about him.

I always thought we had so much time.

It is unfortunately easy to think this of friends who never impose or demand on your time, and yet time that could be spent with them is so often robbed by pointless stresses that lead you down wily roads away from yourself, and your nucleus of value and worth.

Writer, cartoonist, satirist, advocate for the Black Dog Institute, he was a unique individual and will be intensely missed. I send my love and thoughts to his family and friends. In his own words “We die because that is how nature works. We are born, we live and we die. But we live on in others…Death is nothing to be afraid of.”

This is my musical tribute to Andrew. I played my own arrangement of Bill Whelen’s “Caoineadh Cú Chulainn” at his funeral. On World Mental Health Day yesterday, 10th October 2025, this single of my recording with harpist Emily Granger was released. My share of the royalties will be donated to The Black Dog Institute, in Andrew’s memory.

Please enjoy this poignant memory as well as Andrew’s profound artwork below.

Artwork © Andrew Bliss

Photos © Sally Walker

Album Artwork © Cole Bennetts