Swan Song for Jon

I originally wrote this as a tribute to Jon McDonald on Facebook shortly after his untimely passing in early 2019. I’m posting it here as a tribute to the enduring influence of a man who continues to mean so much to so many of us.  

During my early years of working in Bangkok journalism circles in the mid-1990s, Jon McDonald was far and away the most influential and encouraging figure. At Thailand Times, he trained me up to take his sub-editor’s job. A year later, when he left The Nation, I inherited his job on the features desk.

Together we co-wrote music stories and other freelance articles for a number of local publications.

As an alpha ringleader, whose charisma, wit and enthusiasm drew people to him like iron filings to a magnet, Jon brought so many of us into his social orbit. Through him, and his other cronies, I met so many cool people and made some life-long friends.

I can’t remember if Jon was the first one to take us to Silom Soi 4, but he was certainly a fixture in the city’s first rave scene, and he was definitely front and center the first time we went to Redwood, the indie bar with the shrine to Kurt Cobain, because we ended up slamming and shouting along to Nirvana’s “Lithium” and “Jail Guitar Doors” by The Clash, with Pradip and some of other cronies from the paper. .

Many have speculated about the cause of his premature passing, but no easy explanations will suffice for such a complex character. After many conversations with his other old friends, and some painful soul-searching, I can only surmise that Jon’s impulsive streak got the best of him, when he was in a vulnerable place, and all his demons ganged up on him at once.

Yet it was that same impulsive streak, combined with his multiple personalities, which made him such entertaining company. One never knew which Jon McDonald would be holding court today or tonight. Would it be the music fan and book lover? The political pundit and socialist? The guy obsessed with serial killers, or the hostile, combative drunk? The rugby buff and motorcyclist? The loving sentimentalist who considered all his friends to be his brothers and sisters? Or the sit-down comedian with the constant quips, “Whenever somebody tells me they’re having a baby, I tell them, ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’”

The fact that he could take on all these different personas over the course of a few hours made him the wildly contradictory, sometimes annoying and often inspiring, character that he was; a man with such a larger-than-life presence that even death cannot diminish him in my memories, nor taint the hugely positive influence he’s had on my life.

Jon’s brother, Pete, asked me if they could read the tribute at his celebration of life in Melbourne. I was honored to contribute something to the remembrances.

Here are some of the comments on the post:

Pete McDonald: “Just like to thank you for the moving tribute to Jon. I honestly don’t think anyone could have summed Jon up in a more concise but moving manner Jim. I know how much he valued your friendship and reading that makes it easy to understand.”Joel

Joel Dela Roaches: “if I die prematurely, Jim Algie, I hope someone will send me off with an equal balance of humour and sentimentality, my condolences for your loss..”

Cameron Cooper: “A fine piece of heartfelt writing… And for those who didn’t know Jon, be assured that not a word of it is hyperbole.”

Valentina Llievska: “We bonded over Cold War rhetoric at Deco. I will always remember your generous first embrace listening to Sparklehorse. You had the heart of a poet and the tongue of a journalist. The debates that raged on until 3am some nights were the best ever until they weren’t. You were over-the-top. Larger than life. Persuasive. You made Scotland in the middle of a polar vortex sound romantic. I love that you tried to solve the Middle Eastern Crisis with the other triumvirate members. If you couldn’t solve it, who can? You loved an underdog. You schooled me on what the statue at the city end of Lygon Street stood for. I’m still reminded of Ned Kelly’s final words every time I pass Raymond Barry’s statue. You were vocal and anti-establishment. A die-hard Melbourne supporter and Fitzroy boy to the core. You hated crossing the Westgate Bridge until you discovered what gourmands we are too. I learned so much from you. You were the most animated person I’ve ever met. A walking, talking bibliotech of knowledge, literature, music and opinions. Half my vinyl collection is really an homage to you now. We didn’t always agree, but you influenced me in all kinds of ways forever, even when I thought I had a good grasp on all of the above. You were beyond generous. You showed us who you were through books and music. The books you gave me are priceless. The associated commentary as you handed me each one still rings in my ears like it was yesterday. “Read this one last, it’s like a punch to the stomach. It’s the book Kerouac would have written if he could have” about Last Exit to Brooklyn. About the Wind-Up Bird Chronicle “this is a story about a man whose cat goes missing”. You had a beautiful way with words. I still laugh at that sentence. The book is, afterall, 600 pages long. And last but not least, on Julian Barnes, “he is one of the-most-ASTONISHING writers to ever put pen to paper”. I’m still in shock. Remember how people mistook you for a Rasputin look-a-like on the Great Wall of China? And how they lauded over you and that wizard length beard? It’s still one of the funniest things I have ever witnessed. Rest now. Maintain the rage. I know you will – resplendent in your I See Dumb People t-shirt.”

James Welsh: “When you write the biography of a friend, you must do it as if you were taking revenge for him.” Flaubert, letter to Enest Feydeau, 1872

Jon McDonald makes a cameo in the nonfiction section of Jim Algie’s book, On the Night Joey Ramone Died, available on Amazon, where we ended up backstage at a Pearl Jam gig during an Eddie Vedder meltdown and went out drinking with Mudhoney in some of Bangkok’s sleazier establishments.