If I were to compile a shortlist of songs I wish I’d written, I reckon there’d be more than one John Martyn song in the top ten. I first heard ‘Solid Air’ when I was eighteen, and the songs seemed fresh and new but at the same time incredibly familiar, like a hymn or a nursery rhyme.

As John Martyn himself pointed out, “Every record I’ve made - bad, good, or indifferent - is totally autobiographical.” The huge variety in style – and, it has to be said, quality - across his recorded output is a fitting testament to the colourful life of the man who created it. I was thinking about this this morning when I heard on the radio that Wendy Cope – a favourite in the running for the title of the next poet laureate – had spoken out in favour of the abolition of the title. Good poetry, she said, could not be written to order. “I believe that the best way for a poet to serve the art is to get on with writing the poems that he or she wants to write,” she said.

If the word ‘art’ means anything, it surely denotes this attitude of saying exactly what’s on your mind through your chosen medium; unmitigated self-expression. Few musicians embody this ethos as completely as John Martyn. I’m not a fan of everything he committed to tape, but I know that when I’m listening to a John Martyn record, I’m hearing a man speak his mind through his music. I for one would sooner have somebody voice an opinion or idea that I don’t agree with than have them tell me what they think I want to hear. In a world where so much of the music we hear is written cynically to pander to the tastes of its target demographic, John Martyn’s musical legacy is a beacon for authentic artistry and for this he will be fondly remembered and sorely missed.