It is with deep sadness that we share the news of the passing of Geordie Walker, the guitarist of Killing Joke, who died earlier today (26th). Walker’s death was confirmed by his close friend Luca Signorelli, who released a statement on social media. Luca disclosed that Geordie succumbed to a massive stroke two days prior, on Friday (24th). He was 64 years old. Walker played a significant role in the influential post-punk band, contributing to their sound from 1979 to 1996, and rejoined in 2002, contributing to all releases. Our thoughts go out to his family and friends during this difficult time.

Signorelli shared the following: 

“It feels like an axe-blow near the roots”, wrote JRR Tolkien to his daughter Priscilla speaking of the death of C.S. Lewis, one of his dearest friends. This morning I got a phone call, telling me that Kevin “Geordie” Walker had died few hours ago in Prague, following a massive stroke last Friday. For millions of people around the world, Geordie was the guitarist and main songwriter of Killing Joke, a rock band of legendary dimensions. Metallica’s cover of 1980 KJ song “The Wait” introduced the band and Geordie’s guitar work to at least two new generations, but I hate to think of Geordie going down in history because of that. Jimmy Page (THAT Jimmy Page, of Led Zeppelin’s fame) considered Geordie one of the finest guitar players ever. But I don’t want to celebrate Geordie because he was a “guitarists’ guitarist”. Killing Joke, the band he spearheaded through four decades of successes and crises, it’s still one of the most influential ever. But others will certainly talk about Geordie’s musical record better than I could ever do. None of this really matters to me now. What I want to remember is that Geordie was, for 40 years, the closest friend and most important person I’ve ever had outside my family.

I met Geordie in 1983 through completely serendipitous circumstances. At the time he was dating an Italian girl. He had come to see her, but his accommodation arrangements were, let’s say, “less than ideal”. He needed a place to crash. Someone knew I had one. So, a meeting was arranged, in the basement of a small suburban house north of Turin. Of course, I knew what Killing Joke was. In fact, I was a big fan. While I was driving back to Turin, in a weird February sunset light I will never forget, I did the normal thing and asked him “What’s the lyrics of ‘Unspeakable’” (a song of their second LP I was very fond of).
Geordie was very tall, and my tiny cheap economy car was, well, tiny. So I remember his smiling gently and leaning forward toward the windscreen as if to soak into that strange light, and slowly starting to spell:

“Fact and figures,
The clock turn backwards.
Fact and figures
Turn anti-clockwise.
Many signposts.
Leading to the same place
I wonder who chose the color scheme.
It’s very nice”.

He went on patiently explaining that “fact and figures” meant “all the available data”. I remember exactly the spot: we were crossing the Amedeo VII bridge across the Stura River. It’s burned in my memory 40 years later as clearly as that weird evening light. At that moment I realized I had found someone who would be important for the rest of my life, no matter what. If you think about it, it sounds as ridiculous and clichéed as any stupid TV movie: young fan meets the object of his admiration, and they become, notwithstanding the cultural (and at the time linguistic) barrier, best friends. It’s ridiculous, but that’s what happened. We became best friends INSTANTLY.

And it was not just that. I introduced Geordie to the rest of my family, including my brothers and my very conservative parents (and grandparents!). He was, as they say, “an instant hit”. My mother considered Geordie a sort of unofficial fourth son right to the day of her death. It was impossible not to get along with him. He was charming, polite, and very funny. The language barrier was not a problem–through a lot of impromptu translation and some laborious sign language, Geordie could make himself understood anywhere and anytime. So began a friendship that went on for 40 years, no matter what, no matter how, no matter when. We never argued, not even once. Geordie was always there when needed. He would call me on my birthday no matter what part of the world he was in. When I turned 30, he flew to Italy just to be with me on my birthday, because he knew it was a difficult time for me. As with all the truly important people in one’s life, it’s not about the amount of time you spend together, it’s the quality. I don’t remember even one moment Geordie was around that was awkward or boring. Geordie had a reputation for being abrasive and sometimes curt with people who tried to approach him, but the reality is that he didn’t want to waste his time with people he didn’t like. And “like” or “dislike” was for Geordie entirely a matter of instinct. It was like a switch that was either on or off.

I could retell hundreds of episodes, but right now even the memory of them is painful. Our silly fishing trips, and that time he had to piggyback me across a stream because I had lost my fishing boot. The time we went to a Malaysian restaurant, and he had to excuse my (frankly embarrassing) table manners with the bemused waiters. The hiking trips in the Alps. The time I spent with him in Portobello when he was living at Sally’s place. The afternoons at the Nomis Studios, in Hammersmith, London, listening to early live versions of the songs that would eventually end up (butchered by a terrible mix) in the LP “Brighter Than a Thousand Suns”. The months Geordie and his then-wife Ginny spent with us in Turin in the early ’90s, often babysitting our daughter. The countless hours talking on the phone, where he would tell me the latest crazy news about Killing Joke, and his infectious laugh. And it’s all gone now. Gone forever.

It’s often said that someone never truly dies if he lives in someone else’s memory. But today I wonder. The forty-year story of our friendship feels like an arc beginning that afternoon driving across the Amedeo VII bridge and talking about “Unspeakable”, and the phone call I’ve received this morning, driving in the opposite direction, less than 1,000 meters from that same bridge. The memories will stay, and Geordie’s music will remain forever. But Geordie’s gone, and there will be no new memories, and no new music, not anymore. You often think, with someone who’s a close friend, that there’s always more time to meet, more time to talk, more time to enjoy friendship. But the reality is that you never know how much time is really left.

“Keep running
Cause it’s nightmare time
Every dimension
Leading to the same place”

 

The band has also confirmed Walker’s death, issuing the following message on social media:

“It is with extreme sadness we confirm that at 6:30am on 26th November 2023 in Prague, Killing Joke’s legendary guitarist Kevin “Geordie” Walker passed away after suffering a stroke, he was surrounded by family. We are devastated. Rest In Peace brother.”