Anyone who's been through one of those storms knows that while the wind howls around (hopefully around and outside wherever you are, and staying that way) it doesn't do s with a continuous freight train roar. The wind ebbs and flows, rises to a screaming intensity, even occasionally drops towards a normal conversation rather than a full-on verbal assault.
And if you're in a position to be looking outside, as I was when Cyclone Althea hit Townsville on Christmas Eve 1971, you'd know that the force of the wind brings some strange side effects, like bits of trees that cartwheel and somersault through the air in an almost casual manner.
To me, in percussive terms, a force of nature would be something that sheer strength with a fragile beauty, brute force with a surprising deftness of touch, pile-driving power with pirouetting paradiddles, All of which applies to the work of the gentleman in question.
That's what I scrawled in a Sydney hotel room early on the morning of 14 August 2010. At the time I meant to come back to it, but we were in transit at the beginning of a two-week trip and it never quite happened. Now, looking back on it, I can't think of much to add.
R.I.P. Richie. You'll be sorely missed.
Further reading:
The Guardian A blogger’s tribute