A tribute to the late Caspar Melville – writer, musicologist, and former editor of New Humanist.
Now that I am in my late eighties, I have sadly become used to losing good friends of a similar age. But the news of the death of Caspar Melville tragically fails to fit that pattern. For Caspar died a few weeks ago at the tender age of 58, after spending a total of twenty-two months lying in hospital and nursing home beds following a serious cycling accident.
My periodic visits to his bedside during all that time were punctuated by modest signs of recovery but more often by news of his further deterioration. He finally succumbed to a combination of pneumonia and kidney failure. His wife, Sarah, as she had assiduously been throughout his long illness, was by his bedside.
Such an early death is always tragic, but in Caspar’s case there is the additional pain of knowing that we have lost someone who was not only a brilliant scholar but also a devoted supporter of humanism.
In interviews, Caspar admitted that his principal research area, the detailed study of existing and emergent forms of popular music “never fell fully within an academic discipline” and therefore made him particularly pleased to have been offered an academic post in the London School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) where his lectures and seminars quickly made him one of the school’s most popular and entertaining lecturers.
Caspar always relished the task of persuading his students and academia in general of the significance of such forms of popular music as acid house, rare groove, reggae, jungle and jazz funk. His knowledge of these specialisms and of music in general was profound.
I still vividly recall the occasion when we went together to a jazz event at the Vortex Club in Gillet Square in Dalston. We were early to arrive and so strolled around the various eating outlets that populated the square. We opted for the Afghan outlet and were busy collecting our take-aways, when Caspar was attracted by the background music. To the stall-holder’s amazement, he not only proceeded to recognise the Afghan group but also named the song they were playing.
Several of the SOAS students expressed their admiration for his teaching skills by visiting him during his long illness and it is to be hoped that a similar degree of recognition will soon be offered by SOAS.
Readers of this magazine will, however, be particularly shaken by news of his early death because of the significant contributions to humanism which he made in these pages. He edited New Humanist between 2005 and 2013 and wrote with verve and wit on such topics as the significance of reason, the folly of creationism, and the need to disestablish the Church of England.
During this time there were frequent debates within the Rationalist Association about the future of the charity, and sometimes testy arguments between those who favoured an alliance with the British Humanist Association (now Humanists UK) and those who did not. That argument has now been settled by an agreement on a merger but it was largely due to Caspar’s skill and patience that the earlier debate rarely descended into acrimony.
Caspar wore his skills lightly. He never paraded his deep knowledge or patronised those with less well-informed views. He was a wonderful, funny, clever companion to everyone who knew him. His tragically early death has deprived the world of a learned musicologist, a committed humanist, a fine and honourable human being – and someone who, for me, will forever be an irreplaceable friend.
