Peter Francis (AKA Pete) Dunstan's memory board

Vale The Black Captain By Matthew Tomich on October 5, 2015 | 5 Comments Late last night, Pete Dunstan — The Black Captain — passed away. He was 43. I never met Pete. I wish I had. He started writing for Life is Noise in February 2014, a little before I took over as editor, but we were in different cities for so much of that time that we never met in person. Working with Pete was the best part of this job. His writing was so visceral and thoughtful. No one could talk about the depth and nuance of doom or black metal like him. I still contend that he was the best music writer in the country. His passion for dark and extreme music was infectious. I discovered so many amazing artists based on his recommendations, and I know his championing of obscure and interesting sounds influenced the music tastes of so many people who read his work and listened to his radio shows. I encourage anyone who knew him or appreciated his work to go back immerse yourself in his writing. Months ago, Pete told me about his time growing up in Peru, first at a mining camp in the Andes, and later in Lima, the capital, where he lived with one of his teachers while finishing high school. He touched on those early years last months when he wrote about the new Drowning Horse album. It’s one of the most compelling pieces of music criticism I’ve ever read. There’s so much more to those stories, easily enough for a memoir, but I’m grateful he got a chance to commit some of the memory of those early years to the page. After he published that piece, we had a fascinating conversation over email about the way that kind of visceral music takes on near-religious significance. I don’t want to paraphrase and sacrifice the impact of what he had to say. I hope he wouldn’t mind me republishing his words: “I find myself lately often almost apologetically saying, “not to come across as evangelical or anything, BUT…” All in the context of this music and sharing it with others, being a part of things like RTR. And so on. With the protracted shift towards the totalitarianism of “the economy”, widespread cultural obsessions with materialism and the vapid, this prevailing almost medievally fearful neo-conservative tenor, that spiritual void seems to be even more raucous in its hunger than ever (to me, at least). The apparent phenomenon of this music branching out even further in what it is trying to do, drawing inspiration from such a greater range of influences than when I first encountered it, moves it closer to my own sense of a creative ideal, heightening this perception of a “religious” aspect. Even thinking all this beforehand, there was something about the way the Yob gig made me feel that was almost unsettling. That often seems to be the case with anything to do with music, really. Just when I think I have a sense of how far it can take my feelings, something else happens that is like the dam bursting.” Pete was an evangelist — of good music, good people and good ideas. More than anything, I’ll remember his passion. Pete is survived by his wife, Lucia, and his daughter, Sophia. He was a loving father and husband, a thoughtful writer, a compelling broadcaster and a tremendous human being. He will be so very missed. Vale The Black Captain. From Rae and Phil To our son Peter. May he rest in eternal peace. He came to us as a “fine son”, lived a life on his own terms, and grew to be a loving and devoted husband and father who was prepared to do anything, make any sacrifice, to ensure that whatever happened, the best interests of Lucia and Sophia were secured. Pete was a burning intellect which manifested itself in so many different ways throughout his life from teaching himself to read before kindergarten, becoming self taught in music composition, appreciation and the playing of several instruments and the development of a breathtaking imagination which manifested itself through his music and his written word (his honours thesis read like a Tolstoy novel much to the chagrin of his supervisor) and the orchestration of role playing games in which he was forever the grand master. Pete had a deep passion for things which interested him, which included his eclectic range of music appreciation (too broad and profound to be detailed here), appreciation of sports; especially AFL, world football and American football and baseball (he was a fanatical supporter of the Fremantle Dockers, Arsenal Football Club, Denver Broncos and the Boston Red Sox) and the culinary arts (if you were making a meal for him you best be sure you had researched the appropriate wine accompaniment. Conversely those things that fell outside of his fields of interest suffered, like his early education and his rebellious nature. We were once asked to take Peter to another school following his submission of an essay on the shortfalls of the Nixon administration which the school found to be “controversial”. He refused to waste time on algebra. Amazingly, 15 years later as part of a university science degree, he taught himself the calculus and elements of statistical analysis that he had never seen before. We can but ask “What more might there have been?” Needless to say we are going to suffer this loss and the “what might have been” for the rest of our days but his presence and his legacy lives on through his beautiful daughter Sophia, God bless her. We wish to thank you all for being here today to celebrate Peter’s life and to share our grief for him being taken too soon. From Melanie To my dearest big brother and our bestest Uncle Petey. Once again you’ve thrown me a curve ball of challenge, designed to push my boundaries and look within to find what is really there. Sadly this time, it is to find the words for a farewell expressed far too soon. Your humour lit up our lives and we will remember it daily. Whether it was bedtime stories to Lilly in one of your many comical voices or blindsiding me with ground breaking inappropriate jokes, you guaranteed us side splitting laughter. You were a mastermind of broadening horizons. You would force me to push my own and discover how much the world has to offer. You taught me that my skills are unique unto myself and that I should never let social constraints dictate the path I would end up taking. You leave a legacy of brilliance to a niece who adored you and proudly tells her class, “I’m going to do science like my Uncle Petey.” Your humour has also manifested in her on an epic level. Her boast of doing science is more often than not followed by a list of symptoms she is suffering and proclamation of having either Dengue Fever or Ebola. Her love and knowledge of Dr. Who, specifically the story of Davros and the Daleks will be another testament of yours that will be cherished forever. Our relationship was turbulent to say the least. Everything you touched or took interest in was done with such unbridled enthusiasm and intensity, and as your little sister, I could not help but become a minion to your leadership. As we grew older, this relationship intensified and our brick wall, heart on sleeve, stubbornness and love for each other often erupted in conflict. One memory of this I would like to share as an example was when I was 8 or 9 years old (making Pete 11 or 12) and I was making a chocolate cake for my mum. Pete came into the kitchen and upon learning this cake was, in fact, for mum, and not Bruce Springsteen, flipped out as much as 11 or 12 year old does. I will remember your trademark James Bond eyebrow coupled with that unmistakable maniacal giggle that was a warning to us all that another gem of Pete humour was to be unleashed upon us. I will remember your ability to find humour in the smallest and most mundane of things. I will remember you genius in turning the offensive into humour. We will remember these elements and so much more of you Pete. You are gone too soon my big brother and we will never forget the amazing man, the loving Uncle and the dynamic big brother that you were. You are my John Elway You are my Big Papi You are my Dennis Bergkamp Rest in Peace Hermano From Louis Some memories of Peter that I am able to discuss in public without being arrested. I remember Peter being petrified of my cat Merlin, who ruled Peter with a razor sharp iron claw and would often stand between Peter and the door thus adding several minutes to any task that need to be carried out. I remember the time Peter had to take a dead fish out of the pond at mum and dad’s and rather than bury it, he put it on top of the garden bag and as a result we almost called the fire brigade as we thought there was a fire in the back yard but as it turned out, what we thought was a thick plume of darm smoke was in fact a large gathering of blow flies. I remember Peter making me lay down on the bed in a hotel in Hong Kong with my eyes closed and listen to a 5 minute monologue before he terrified me with Metallica’s Battery and Mater of Puppets turned up to 11 for the first time in my life. I say the first time because this procedure would take place many more times in the life we shared. I remember Peter walking off the job at Farranossi’s Mitre 10 in Leederville after driving a forklift through a roller door. He felt so terrible and emotional over that incident to the point where he wasn’t sure if he could work again. If only he knew that people with a forklift license keep a competitive tally of destroyed property, and that I myself have an industrial air-conditioning unit, a cheif financial officers wife’s car and about 6 roller doors to my name he’d probably feel much better about it. I remember Peter offering me the opportunity to come in to do a radio show with him once allowing me to immortalise my prepubescent voice on cassette tapes all over Perth and now all of the world so I have just found out. Had he not given me the opportunity to do that I am not sure I would have had the courage to go on to pursue a hobby in live music performance nor the ability to converse with anyone and everyone without fear or judgment. I remember Peter “forcing” me to stay up until 4am on school holidays at his house in Stirling Street so that I could participate in folding paper stories with Rick, Warren, Lex, Richotts and Julian. Those moments changed my life, particularly my sense of humour along with many others forever. I will always remember Peter chasing me around the back yard at my Nanna’s house with a pistol that fired plastic pellets. Eventually it ran out and I still had a full cartridge. I was able to turn the tables and unload a full clip into his back as he ran away from me. That happened often actually. I kicked him in the nuts once when we were playing American Football in Peru. I was the qtr back. I made the call and just as he was about the snap the ball to me.... BAM!!!! He got me back two years later. I think we had that deal. An eye for an eye but we always shook hands in the end. I was desinsitised to fear of horror and fantasy at an early age thanks to Pete. He would often read parts of horror stories to me and then somehow try and make them appear real to me. Like the time he read the bit from Stephen Kings It where the photographs start bleeding and then he left one of our family albums open with tomato sauce on it. Or the parts from The Exorcist where the banging and the scratching in the roof could be heard. Peter would read that to me and then go outside at night and throw a basket ball against the wall and pebbles on the roof just to make sure I was ok. I will never forget that you showed me that I can find peace and freedom and a voice through music and to always speak your mind (although I may have chosen a slightly less dramatic approach to that last part). When I close my eyes, I see all the things I should have said to you while I had the time. You stood by me when I lost the plot. You were always kind through my pains and were able to show me joy, through my anger and moments of endless, dark rain. And during our battles with each other, yet the love you showed, still remained the same. I'm grateful for all the times we've shared. Through struggles, and madness, you’ll always be there. I didn't return before your time was up, but I promise to alays set your place at my table and fill your glass with endless love for the rest of my days.