We lost our ‘Uncle Nige’ in April and here are some beautiful tributes to him.

Uncle Nige was my soul brother, my best friend, and my business partner for over 10 years. We named our company Trust Management and wanted our relationship with our artists and each other to be built on that. Within that time, Nige taught me the following important lessons:

• To swear less at people from major record companies because some of them were decent people and kind human beings. Nige was right!
• He instigated ‘do nothing’ days at Trust where we would literally do nothing for the duration of the day. When we measured the results at the end of the day we realised that we were more productive on these days compared to our ‘do something’ days. Nige was right!
• Nige taught me not to be two-faced in the music industry. He pushed me to the limit with my training and I eventually became five-faced. Nige was right!
• We met Lana Del Ray in the early days before her record deal and I was trying to focus on the Pompey v Wolfsburg game at the time but did comment that I thought she was a bit wet. Nige thought that she had the potential to be a global superstar. Nige was right!

The only time when Nige was consistently wrong was always around August each year when he predicted big things for Arsenal in the new season!

Nige was responsible for introducing me to the majority of the people within the music industry including the hundreds of people who have sent the sweetest messages about him over the past few weeks. I will always be grateful for his kindness, time, patience, and energetic spirit across our work relationship and our friendship. God bless you matos!

Dave Cronen / Trust Management

2005 was the start of my 7-year adventure as an assistant at SuperVision Artist Management. Very quickly the company expanded from 3 managers to 16. Suddenly, we had people arriving from all over the British Isles. Needless to say, it was an eclectic mix of personalities, tastes, and artists. Vying for festival slots, support tours, column inches, playlists… and, of course, time on the office stereo.

Luckily for us, Nige wasn’t just an artist manager — he quickly became the heart of SuperVision. The calm and light in the chaos. He could lift the mood of the office just by walking into the room.

Working with him didn’t feel like work — it was fun. It felt like family. The good kind. The kind with hilarious tales of the old days, and emotional rescue missions with cups of tea at the local greasy spoon.

He wasn’t just a colleague; he was a friend. Somehow, he always seemed to know what you needed — a sounding board, a bit of wisdom, a bloody good laugh, or one of his epic hugs. And sometimes, when stress levels were high or things got tense — which, let’s be honest, in music management, was quite often — I’d look across the office at Nige. He’d simply offer a mischievous grin and a reassuring wink — and somehow, that was enough.

He made you feel seen, and valued — whether you were the intern or the biggest artist on the roster. His ability to be genuinely interested in people, to care, and to show up with kindness — that was rare. And we knew it.

And though I am devastated by his loss — and utterly heartbroken for his family and friends — I’m also so grateful. Grateful that I got to know him, learn from him and laugh with him for 20 years.

Nige, you were awesome. One of the good ones. One of the best ones.  Thank you for everything.

Rhian Dunkley

The first time I met Nige was in a big bar in West London near Notting Hill. I was there to meet my future managers. He and Dave were sat at a long wooden table. Nige somehow made the table, and the entire place, feel small as he stood up, smile of warmth on his face, arms outstretched. ‘Hello dear chap’ he boomed, and whether we shook hands or hugged I can’t recall (we’d only just met), but it was always a massive hug to me. He could do that. Make you feel embraced just by looking at you. And with Nige’s brand of presence, everybody around us got the memo I’d arrived too. So we all exchanged greetings and sat together at the end of the table. 

The pints flowed and so did the conversation. We all exchanged our stories. Nige had such a sky wide story to tell of the sizzling blizzard of the music industry and his journey through it, whilst enthusiastically smoking all my cigarettes. 

What a connector, what a bonder, a builder upper, a big hearted, bear hugging, magic bringer, who’d stride into rooms and say yes. He’d take out that black-backed moleskin and pen, hone our vision, and write plans of who we should win over, who to turn his oceanic smile and his contagious belief and enthusiasm towards next. 

It was only weeks back that we found ourselves on the phone, hatching new plans, talking with pride and joy about our beautiful kids. Nige was belly laughing because my email had, in true style, got the day wrong for the call. ‘How had we managed to actually speak?’ he pondered amongst giggles, and should he arrange our next meeting on a Thursday, to make sure we met on Wednesday? We laughed and laughed, taking big gulps of air. Around Nige it was impossible to keep it in. 

I hope somewhere you see and know how missed you are big lovely man.

Iain Archer 

It was never a bad day when you were due to see Nige. I would actually look forward to going to the office knowing I was lucky enough to be seeing him that day. We didn’t see each other that often, maybe once every 2 months, but I cared deeply about him and I hope he felt the same way. Whenever he reached out to schedule a meeting my assistant would ask “30mins or an hour?” For Nige it was always at least 2 and we would tell each other stories for most of that time. I last met with him on April 8th and he gleefully told me stories of Coldcut & Jazz Summers, London Records and Arista. As usual, I was enthralled. He was the best company, the best storyteller, and the most kind and generous person you are ever likely to have met.

Ian Dutt

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