Every beat of my heart
This is the bass-drum head from the kit I used as a member of an R&B band in 1964-65. Last week, two days after I’d taken it to the recycling centre as part of a general clearout of superfluous possessions, a mid-evening collapse on a platform at St Pancras station saw me in an ambulance, where a pair of paramedics gave me an ECG that showed I was suffering from cardiac arrhythmia.
What kind of a drummer, even an ex-drummer, suffers from arrhythmia? To injury was added insult.
I was admitted, via A&E, to St Thomas’s Hospital, directly across the river from the Houses of Parliament. For the first four days I was in a ward on the seventh floor, in a bed by a window giving me a view across the Thames that would cost you £5,000 a night were it a hotel room. At some time during those first four days under the care of the National Health Service the monitor showed that my heart stopped for four seconds — I thought only Aretha Franklin could do that to me — and then restarted itself.
Long story short, there was another episode that led to a rush into the Intensive Care Unit, and from there a day later to an operating theatre where a cardiac pacemaker was installed. My problem had been caused by bradychardia: the unnatural slowing of the heartbeat. The pacemaker will ensure that it won’t fall below 70 beats per minute. In a couple of months, a second procedure will lower the safe limit to 60bpm.
That sounds like a nice, steady, medium-pace lope, which probably suits me now. And thinking about it set me to imagining the possibility that one day, when you have a pacemaker fitted, it might come with a variety of settings, based on the characteristic approaches to tempo of great drummers. Naturally, I thought of jazz drummers.
Which button would I want to press? Elvin Jones would be too turbulent, Art Blakey too disruptive, Tony Williams too hyperactive, Tyshawn Sorey too unpredictable. Sunny Murray? Not sure I’d want my heart to run on free rhythm. If I were younger, I’d opt for Billy Higgins, not least because, along with that amazing sense of lift, I’d probably get, as an extra, the lovely smile he always wore. But I’m not young. So the graceful swing of either Kenny Clarke or Jimmy Cobb would do for me.
Anyway, the point of this profoundly self-indulgent story is that between one Sunday and the next I spent part of the time wondering what our elected representatives were up to in the big building on the other side of the river and the rest of it marvelling at the astonishing amount of kindness and consideration shown towards me by the skilled, wise and compassionate NHS staff whose job was to save the life of someone hitherto completely unknown to any of them.
I didn’t get the name of the young female maternity nurse who was getting off the same train and immediately came to my aid, or those of two more fellow passengers, a pair of young women doctors, who stayed with me until the ambulance arrived, or those of the two paramedics who took over, made the initial diagnosis, and decided that St Thomas’s would be the best place for me, or that of the doctor who triaged me in A&E and sent me up to the seventh floor.
But thereafter I did start writing down the first names of as many of those who helped me as I could catch: nurses, doctors, cleaners, cardiologists, electrocardiologists, radiographers and others. Those names, unsorted by function or rank but in more or less chronological order, give a sort of a portrait of the health service that is a riposte to those both working hard to destroy it and to divide us by undermining the stability of our post-colonial, multicultural society. Here they are:
Abdul, Melody, Beth, Eva, Cielo, Jonathan, Alma, Lily, Simran, Isaac, Angelo, Favour, Aba, Aboudin, Lina, Mehari, Precious, Nabila, Chris, Parth, Tracey, Izabela, Konstantinos, Serena, Gloria, Anoup, Shawza, Rawlston, Diego, two Clares, Richard, Sabeen, Emma, Terry, Elorine, Nikki.
I know the NHS is under strain and imperfect, and I’m aware that it was my good luck to find myself at St Thomas’s. But while I was waiting to be sent home on Sunday, the doctor in charge of intensive care at the hospital walked past on his rounds. I told him that while it had been in most respects the worst week of my life, it had also been among the richest. I’d been given an unexpected opportunity to experience and be grateful for human relationships in public service — comradeship among workers, empathy for strangers — at their best. Something I’ll never forget.
thebluemoment.com 
Beautiful story, thank you for sharing it. So what became of the drumhead?
Mark Pepper Pike, Ohio USA
Wishing you well, Richard.
I also had a spell in intensive care following emergency surgery recently. Makes you realise how magnificent the NHS staff are.
Sending best wishes, D
An excellent article Richard, and a timely reminder that despite the many annoyances, disappointments and failures that public service providers seem unable to prevent or improve, there are also many reasons to be grateful and we should be mindful that those in the front line are not steering the ship. I hope the second procedure goes well and wish you a full and lasting recovery.
Get well soon Richard. If there was a commemorative wall with the name of everyone whose life has been saved by our wonderful NHS there wouldn’t be a town big enough to put it in. Ask them if they can do you an Art Blakey setting, specifically his tippy tap drumming on Monk’s October 1952 version of Bye-Ya. That’ll put a spring in your step in no time, once you want a spring back in your step that is. Take it easy.
I think I would have gone for a drum machine, specifically the https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Linn_LM-1 Linn LM-1, as used by Prince. mw
Dear Richard, first of all a good health for you. Thank you for this post. it gives instantly the rhythm of love to my heart and sends a tear to my eye. A tear of thankfullness and blessing.
I have have read a lot of your letters in the past and i am still deeply impressed by the wide range of your musical taste and knowledge that you share with us in such good words.
Thank you and stay on the beat, best wishes from
Ulrich Körner, Augsburg, Germany
Get well soon, Richard. And under the circumstances, extra kudos for a typically elegant piece of writing, striking all the right notes. Grace under pressure, indeed. Sending good wishes, Graeme
This didn’t sound self indulgent in any way. Thanks for sharing such a big experience, for the extra rythmic insights and a moment for us all to marvel again at what the health service can do. Wishing you very well.
As ever, a great piece of writing made all the more personal, Richard. So sorry but mighty relieved to read about your very very positive experience of our wonderful NHS. I emphasise ‘ours’. On the drumming analogy, maybe another is Frank Capp who drummed on Sonny & Cher’s ‘The Beat Goes On’. Sounds about right. Very best wishes for getting well and strong again.
Wishing you a full and speedy recovery. And that is a beautiful observation of our much maligned health service and multicultural society x
I was uplifted by my spells in hospital last year as well…
On the pacemaker, do you know the Clive James/Pete Atkin song “Wristwatch for a drummer”? Well worth checking out…
The Omega Incabloc Oyster Accutron 72
Is the only wristwatch for a drummer
It tells true and it ain’t no bummer
The Omega Incabloc Oyster Accutron 72
Can stand for more than mere immersion
It thrives on whiplash, lurch and shock
Trad, mainstream, bop and rock
Baby Dodds had an early version
The Omega Incabloc Oyster Accutron 72
Man, what a creation!
It’s a mine of information
A vernier scale, the date in braille
Sidereal time, the rate of crime
And the growth of population
It’s got more jewels than Princess Grace
Buckminster Fuller designed the case
Leonardo engraved the face
And did the calibration
And those knobs and screws and toggles
The imagination boggles
The Omega Incabloc Oyster Accutron 72
Without this timepiece there’d have been
No modern jazz to begin with
Bird and Diz were tricky men for a drummer to sit in with
Max Roach still wears the watch he wore when bop was new
Elvin Jones has two and Buddy Rich wears three
One on the right wrist, one on the left
And the third one around his knee
The Omega Incabloc Oyster Accutron 72
Has a warning-bell for free-form playing
That tells you when you’re overstaying
Your tentative welcome with the paying
Customers in the deep decaying
Cellar club with the stained and fraying
Velvet drapes and the stooped and greying
Owner
It’ll count the bars and tell you when
The basset-horn’s coming in again
It’ll see you right while you’re trading twelves
With a synthesizer played by elves
Wear this watch and you’ll keep in step
With Ornette Coleman and Archie Shepp
Why be a loner?
Get the Omega Incabloc Oyster Accutron 72
It’s the only wristwatch for a drummer
It tells true and it ain’t no bummer
So any time the brushes shimmer
On skins and brass while the solo tenor
Slowly blows the lazy phrases
You’ll catch the golden glimmer
Of the wristwatch in the gloom
So softly now let’s sing its praises
For the music in the room
Both beautiful and true
On plushly hushed extended wings
Is flown to me and you
By the Omega Incabloc Oyster Accutron 72
The only wristwatch for a drummer
It tells true and it ain’t no bummer
I’ve always loved that song. “Baby Dodds had an early version…”
Reading your post, I was especially struck by the way you wove personal vulnerability with a profound sense of communal care—how the NHS held you when your heart faltered, literally and figuratively. That generosity isn’t just medical—it’s a living embodiment of the multiracial, inclusive society Britain can be.
In a time when right-wing voices—many intent on fracturing our NHS and eroding multicultural values—are growing louder, your story feels quietly radical. It reminds me of what Billy Bragg has said recently: that true patriotism is rooted in solidarity, in institutions that belong to us all, not in exclusion or rhetoric.
And your drummer’s imagination took me further still. Thinking about a pacemaker set to the beat of Blakey or Roach also made me think of the Roland drum machines—the 808 and 909—mechanical devices that somehow shaped whole genres. But even the greatest machine rhythms came alive only when human beings infused them with feeling. Your story is a reminder of that balance: sometimes we need the mechanical to keep us alive, but it’s the human heartbeat—imperfect, diverse, communal—that gives the rhythm meaning.
Thank you for putting your fragility and imagination into words that matter. May your heart pace steadily—and may your words pulse even stronger.
Ah yes, Billy Bragg the champagne socialist in his 15 room country mansion.
Richard,Please accept my very best wishes for your full and speedy recovery after such a dreadful shock to the system. “Full” for obvious reasons but “speedy” as Mr Zimmerman shall so
Very best wishes to you Richard. Thank you for such a life affirming post ☺️
Great post. Stay well Richard!
Richard — many thanks for sharing your recent experiences — very moving! Sending best wishes for ongoing rhythms and good health, CJ // False Walls
Great post! Stay well Richard!
I wish you a speedy recovery, Richard. Having recently undergone major surgery myself – in St. George’s Hospital in Tooting – I understand entirely what you mean about enduring one of the worst weeks of your life, but at the same time finding one respect in which it might have been the best of weeks. The NHS is just full of fabulous people.
By the way, prior to my surgery I had a scan at St. George’s. To take my mind off this somewhat noisy procedure, I was invited to don headphones and request the music of my choice to listen to for 20 minutes or so. I asked for some jazz, and was treated to a Thelonious Monk selection. I’ve often joked with friends about music that should be available on the NHS but never expected my wish to be granted.
All the best, Richard.
Ah yes Graham when I’ve had various procedures in hospital I always request Miles, most people have heard of him and can access his music easily enough
Beautifully put, Richard. Sorry to hear that you’ve been unwell, of course, but you make an excellent point. All the best to you.
Dear Richard, first things first: get well soon.
Secondly, congrats on having invented a type of music blog that allows submissions like that.
Michael Rüsenberg
Nice one Richard.
One in the eye for Nigel Farage and other denigrators of the NHS.
Hi Richard , oh dear . I had similar a few years ago. Mine was Atrial Fibrillation and I had a cardiac ablation . That was 10 yrs ago and largely untroubled since then . I’m still drumming . Anyhow I think a steady Steve Jordan backbeat would suit you ! Hope your feeling ok and keep writing these fabulous pieces
A lovely piece, though I’m sorry about what prompted it. Personally I don’t think you could go wrong with Jo Jones ticking away inside you.
Glad you’re on the road to a full recovery, Richard! Stay well and let’s have that lunch we promised each other when your fully fit.
I have my own NHS story to tell of the West Mid – as laudatory as yours without the great view! Thankfully, mine was a more minor emergency.
All the best,
Tim
Glad you survived Richard. BestMike CooperSent from my iPhone
Hello Richard, I’m so sorry to learn of your misfortune. I hope that you make a full & speedy recovery. The NHS may well be broken but like you I have always found all hospital staff to be professional in the most difficult of circumstances.
Best wishe
John
Glad to read you’re through that traumatic experience and hope you’re recovering well Richard.
The NHS, imperfect as you say, is the best of us and those who would denigrate it or sell it off piecemeal to hedge funds simply show their ignorance of what this country really is.
As someone else mentioned – the Jaki Liebezeit setting – for day-to-day regular functioning; and for days when you’re feeling a bit more sprightly – the Tony Allen button!
Richard … Beautiful – heartfelt! – piece. So thankful that you are okay.
At a recent UCLA clinic it was thought I might have an irregular heart beat; after a number of through tests it was decided that what I have is a regular iregular heart beat – walking through the world in 5/4 (or 6/8) time instead of the normal 4/4.
Really glad you’re ok, Richard. Get well soon.
All the best from Colombia.
Dear Richard,
It’s gratifying to hear of the support that you were given at all stages of your unfortunate experience, and that you are now out of hospital, and hopefully on the road to recovery.
A heart needs a home.
Best wishes,
Gregor
Yes, what a great mix of the musical and the personal/political/social. Born in February 1947, ie a month before you, I’m lucky to have so far not required much help from the NHS, but thank you for reminding us all of its importance and value, particularly in the current political climate.
Best wishes for your recovery.
so good to still have you with us Richard, hopefully we can meet for lunch when you are fully recovered. in the meantime take care, and try to stay fully in the swing of things
Clyde Stubblefield for me. Get well soon Richard.
Jazz, bloody hell… oh Richard – wishing you well and maybe stick to some light brush work Roy Haynes style for a little while…?
Beautifully expressed. A lovely tribute to the angels of the NHS, to those wonderful drummers, and to your own elegance of expression and humanity. Get well soon.
Hi Richard,Lovely artic
What an awful thing to happen to you, and what a beautiful piece of writing in response. And the Aretha flourish – inspired! As my friends and I move through our 70s we have more call on NHS services – for conditions ranging from mild to terminal. And the response is pretty universal ‘ people slag off the NHS but in my case the treatment was brilliant and the staff, though under a lot of pressure, were just fantastic.’ Sounds pretty similar to your own experience. Get well soon.
Its good to know that kind, proficient and caring people still fight for us every day. Often we don’t realize this until lightning strikes us. Recover quickly and fully.
Dear Richard,
Very best wishes for a full recovery.
i agree strongly with your comments about the staff of the our NHS and their professional and compassionate help, which I also experienced two years ago at Watford.
I always look forward to your articles, and will continue to do so.
Could I suggest the late wonderful Louis Moholo, who relentlessly drove on the Brotherhood of Breath, when we were all so much younger!
Dear Mr Williams,
I was very sorry to read about your week.
But, as ever, you’ve turned it into something beautiful.
I hope your recovery continues at a Barrett Deems pace.
Best wishes,
Tim Riley
Wishing you a full recovery and a future of good health.
What a beautifully written homage to the NHS and the multicultural staff that keep it going. It reminds me of Homerton Hospital by Beans on Toast.
Thank you
Dear Richard – a very wry response to your cardiac incident, and a generous tribute to the NHS. Thanks for this, in the circumstances – all the best for a quick recovery.
Richard, beautiful writing as ever. Reduced my wife to tears. Late to the party due to work commitments and flash flooding down here but belated good wishes from deepest West Penwith from a fellow member of the ex-drummers saved by the NHS union.
On the drummer front, an honourable mention for your comment, over 55 years ago, in your MM review of ‘John Barleycorn Must Die’, of Jim Capaldi’s inimitable ‘rimshot precision’ on ‘Empty Pages’. Best, Tim
Hi Richard,
A very well written edition of your Blue Moment and one that inspires the reader to think deeply.
Your list of caring NHS staff, however, makes me think of all the medics in Gaza who have been slaughtered by a State that is aided and abetted by most of the lawmakers who sit in the building opposite your hospital room.
I wish you a full recovery and look forward to many more excellent columns. Hopefully, also, you can say something about the need for jazz musicians to speak out more loudly about the tragedy that is daily unfolding. Only Maggie Nicholas comes to mind from one of your reports as a brave soul who can not sit quiet.
Get well soon.
Glad you are making a recovery, Richard. I had a quadruple heart bypass recently and would second your celebration of the wonderful, diverse, talented and loving people who work for the NHS. And those drummers you mentioned, of course!
Glad you are OK, keep the. posts coming I enjoy reading them.
Wishing you a speedy recovery and many years of good health and continued blogging. Your posts are always a great read and this one is particularly touching and memorable.
Comradeship a beautiful word and concept which recent Governments have tended to disown. As for drummers difficult to look past the effortlessly swinging Jo Jones
Dear Richard,
I was shocked and moved to read this. Shocked to hear what had happened to you: moved to read your eloquent praise of the NHS treatment you received. I hope the pacemaker enables you to return to a full life.
The drummer I would turn to would be Big Sid Catlett. He was adept in any idiom from New Orleans to Be-bop. You could almost track the history of 1940s jazz through his recordings.
You and I sometimes run into each other which is not surprising given you live in East Twickenham (I think!) and I live in Twickenham. I am a very good friend of one of your ex editors, Tony Lacey.
Please get well,
John Seaton
Thanks, John. Please give Tony my best regards.