Kiko Loiacono (1968-2022) was a larger-than-life figure, both in personality and in stature. His entrance into any room was always noticed – a tall figure with a shock of white hair, flamboyant clothes, and an infectious smile that was generally accompanied by a conspiratorial twinkle of the eye as he gleefully shared news of a new favourite band, the latest gossip or an unprintable scurrilous rumour, all delivered in his unmistakable thick Italian accent, apparently untouched by more than two decades living in the UK.

Proud to call himself a Romantic, a Feminist, and a Revolutionary, Kiko lived for music, and was passionate about politics – “¡No pasarán!” He was a man of many obsessions, mostly related to music which was a huge presence in his life from a very early age. As a child he was given money to go to the music shop and instead of an instrument, he spent the money on records. Later, he wondered how things might have been if he’d become a musician but life had a different path for Kiko. After many years as a pharmacist, he finally followed his heart and started a new chapter in a career that allowed him to be directly connected with music, and able to employ his generous and caring spirit. Dr Kiko was born (as The Quietus put it, “The pharmaceutical industry’s loss is the touring industry’s gain”) and he was able to fully devote his time to the music industry, building a successful business as one of the UK’s most loved, in demand and unique tour managers. Tour manager, it should be said, hugely underplays the role he had in connecting, nurturing, encouraging, and supporting artists – with many of them becoming lifelong friends.

Kiko was born in Italy, eldest brother to sister Amelianna and brother Antonello. His family, including mother, Beatrice, and father Peppino, continued to be important figures in his life after he left Italy in 1999, arriving in the UK as a young man obsessed with British music where he soon counted his idol, the late Tony Wilson, as a friend. Kiko remained a proud Italian, keeping up with his team, Lazio, and his favourite Italian soap operas. He was especially proud of Italy’s cuisine and a wonderful cook, occasionally bringing fresh burrata, horsemeat and orecchiette pasta back from trips to visit family in Bari to share with friends and loved ones – always accompanied by a taste of Amaro Lucano liqueur from his home country.

Anyone who ever visited Mercurio House would have seen some of his obsessions displayed proudly, the walls and shelves beautifully decorated with mementoes, posters of his favourite artists, flyers to gigs that were important to him, and an enviable band t-shirt collection. His East London home was shared with Calimero the cat, and over the years became a shrine to both the musician Nico and his late cat, Mercurio, whose ashes were mixed with Kiko’s and scattered in a place dear to both of them.

Kiko was many things to many people, but above all he was a generous soul. Always supportive of his friends, always quick to lend a hand or find someone who would, and always open minded. He got great joy from other people’s happiness, and his own passions were graciously shared with friends and with the procession of independent artists that travelled in his infamous tour van – which was, of course, as flamboyant as Kiko: the final iteration was red, emblazoned with a lurid green logo designed by Pete Fowler and an unforgettable tiger print interior.

Kiko was happiest travelling, for work and for pleasure, and his lifestyle journeying across continents make it harder to accept his physical presence is no longer here. His vibrant spirit, his boundless friendship and his frequent maxims live on, all to be read with that distinctive intonation – “Life is sad sometimes, but it is always beautiful”, “Kiko is love”, “Everything else is propaganda”.

Take care, Dr Kiko.