Scott McCready and Grace Brandl pay tribute to a longtime Friend of the River.

Punk Rock Warlord Steve Brandl is no longer with us. A friend and enthusiast of Caught by the River, in word form but even more so in person and in situ, Steve’s passing requires marking and sharing: being Caught by the Reaper-ed would very much make him smile. And for the smiles he gave us, his friends and family, we want to share Steve with you. 

Born Queensway then of Peckham and Hither Green parishes of Southeast London, Steve worked, but work did not define him. What did define him was enthusiasm and love. Enthusiasm for music, clothes, gigs, books, the new discoveries. Love for his family, his friends, and for the things and the happenings that brought people together around the music, the clothes, the gigs, the new.

One of life’s seekers, Steve’s fire was lit through gigs, sevens, fanzines and the immediacy and intimacy of punk rock unfolding before him as a teenage South Londoner. Forward ever backwards never, Steve’s youthful curiosity and passion for discovery did not dip one drop as the decades dialled on. The Clash may have been a defining band, but his next might be right there in that next purchase, or the next, or the next. His favoured addendum to any greeting was “…so man, have you bought any new sides?”, delivered in beatnik-cat jazz voice and offered as entree prior to launching into the fuller meal of telling you all about his own new records.

Dinners with the Brandls were an opening for Steve to DJ at you. “Who’s this then?” he’d challenge with each new selection. As delighted with an answer (“Hahaha. You knows it!” he’d cackle) or an admission of omission (“Don’t know Steve, who?”), your response was simply the next available opening to tell you the etymology of his sounds, old or new. The point was to share, and to connect. Music as bond.

One of life’s connectors, Steve made many, many solid bonds. Our families’ bonds were made permanent through successive summer weekends at Port Eliot. Jo and Sophie roaming the site knowing Steve and I were permanently anchored at the Caught by the River tents; workshopping with the kids at man-kid Pete Fowler’s; enthusiastically ham-fisted sloganeering with the Letterpress Collective, Steve Millwall, me The Pastels; the fishing float I’ve still got from coming last (twice) in “Roy the Boy!” (Steve’s annual greeting to someone he met only annually) Wilkinson’s Music & Nature Quiz. And music music music music. Shine or rain and rain and then some.

We share this picture of our daughters — mine Maisy, Steve’s Grace — in a pre-teen summer, parked on the hay bales outside the CBTR tent, to make you think of your own families and friends and summers. By Neil Thomson and found on the site when we got home, it shouts out loud memories that matter to us and ours. Steve made those weekends, like he made a lot of days and nights. 

Here’s Grace, now 18:
“My dad, Stephen Brandl was someone who you looked up to. Even when he was in pain or feeling low, he would never let us see it. Now I take so much pride in the fact that Stephen Brandl is my father. It makes me proud to have had a dad who tried every medication, every medical trial and endured every round of chemo he could to stay with his family. In doing this our family got seven more years with the funniest, silliest, kindest and thoughtful man, which I will forever be grateful for. He never let his illness stop us from going out for a Sunday roast, or sending me music he thought I would like, or going on holiday and laughing as he tried to pass as a local.

Although there are countless stories I could tell to show you what kind of a man he was, I’ll tell you my favourite. Last Christmas he was fresh out of the hospital but still took himself into London (without mum’s permission) to get us all presents he thought we would like. He got me a Velvet Underground t-shirt (because at every record shop we went into, we had tried to find an album from them) and Patti Smith’s ‘Horses’ (because I had told him how much I loved ‘Just Kids’.) 

My dad and I really bonded over music, I remember it being the first thing we could really talk about, he was rarely seen without his orange portable speaker. I always remember thinking that my dad was so cool for how much he loved music, and I like to think that he has passed this love down to everyone who knew him. Although he is no longer physically here with me, he is always close by whenever ‘You and Me’ plays by Durand Jones. 

During his days at the hospice, he didn’t want it to be sad, he said himself that he wanted us to just be like normal. However, my dad and I did have one last serious conversation, in which he told me how time was going to be the best medicine, and he hoped that one day we could all fall over laughing about the antics he got up to.

I would really appreciate if we did that because although the cards he got dealt were so unbelievably undeserved, I know he would not want to be seen as tragedy, because he was so not one. Please remember him as the best dad, a loving husband, a very proud grandad, brother and forever friend. Also remember, he didn’t run out of steam, he ran out of road. 

I love you dad.”

_{Pete Fowler portrait of the Brandls, commissioned by family friend Caroline Hudson}

Steve’s still unbelievable passing leaves behind his beloved wife Jo, his kids Charlie, Daniel and Grace, his grandkid Ella, sister Pat, dug Simba, a perennially stagnant Millwall FC, a very large record collection, an even larger collection of friends, a truckload of memories and a shit tonne of smiles. He is missed.

_{Steve Brandl meets Millwall Lions uptown at Caught by the River}