In my 10-or-so strange, wondrous years working as an "underground musician," one of the strangest and most wondrous experiences I had was sharing the stage with the late Arthur Lee (aka Arthurly), notorious singer and songwriter for the legendary L.A. band Love.
Sometime in the early 90s (don't ask me about specific dates—I am not among the date-obsessed, and someone else involved in the tale will likely remember better than I), J.Z. Barrell and myself were asked to put together a pick-up band to play a few shows with Arthur Lee in NYC, primarily to support the imminent release of a compilation/tribute CD of Love and Arthur's music, We're All Normal and We Want Our Freedom, to which Uncle Wiggly, David Kilgour, Eggs, Das Damen, The Mad Scene, Fly Ashtray, The Television Personalities and other bands of note at the time had contributed. In actual fact, the release was delayed considerably by the cost of bringing Arthur to New York and paying his hotel bills etc. The lineup consisted of J.Z. and myself on guitars, my fellow Uncle Wiggly member Mike Anzalone on Bass, and George Berz from Gobblehoof on drums.
To say that Arthur Lee had a bit of the schizophrenic about him is to make a complimentary understatement, but the minimal practice time the band shared with him was bizarre and memorable for many reasons. Arthur first cut our set list in half ("don't do that anymore, WON'T do that, can't remember the words to that"), trimming it down to a neat 7-8 songs, but the essential crowd pleasers remained; we did "Signed, DC"; "7 and 7 Is"; "My Little Red Book" and a few others. Arthur mumbled mostly to himself, joked hysterically about his own lyrics ("You made me come, I had to see the clear light") and wandered off after about 30-40 minutes. We were so READY, having learned the songs right off the albums, that it hardly mattered; Arthur, of course, knew his own songs like his blood children.
The gigs were amazing (one at the old Knitting Factory on Houston St. and one at Keep Refrigerated in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, the art/music space run by WFMU's own Fabio Roberti, et al.) I had never known such unblinking attention from an assembled crowd; those closest to the stage were especially rapt at Arthur's every breath. All the unfocused, schizoid energy Arthur had displayed in rehearsals was completely gone—he was a man in his element, singing his songs to a loving audience. His focus and showmanship were giving me chills as I strummed out his tunes a few feet away. Not too many musicians of my ilk have had the privilege of sharing the stage with a living rock legend and knowing the spiritual buzz that goes with such an experience; for this I am eternally grateful to Sloan Johnson (who coordinated the shows and CD release), my fellow players, and to Arthur of course.
At the Knitting Factory show, the 2 bands I was in at the time, Uncle Wiggly and Smack Dab were also on the bill, and Tall Dwarfs Chris Knox and Alec Bathgate were in the audience, as well as a great many other friends and colleagues in the underground pop scene. To say that this was one of the best days of my life, up there with my wedding party and the birth of my son, is no exaggeration.
In the years that followed, Arthur Lee fell into bad, cocaine-fueled times, going to prison in 1996 on weapons charges. After his release, he came back triumphantly in 2002, touring with a re-vamped Love lineup performing the classic Forever Changes album. Just this year, Arthur was diagnosed with lymphoma, and after a brief struggle with the disease, passed away in his hometown of Memphis, Tennessee, on August 3 at the age of 61.
Goodnight, sweet Arthur, I didn't know you very well, but I'll never forget your music, or the brief moments I spent sharing in your wild glow.