Ten Months In Love

Next -- eeeek!  -- Stephanie Knows Who. Yeah. Yeah.   Yeah.   YEAH.   C'MON.   C'MON!   C'MON!!!   AAAAAAOOOOOOHHWWW!!!!!!

Certainly something I never thought I'd be singing in front of a band, not just in my car with the windows rolled up.   And what a band.

And finally, in full regalia this time, Old Man.   Hope I don't lose my Iconoclastic Bastard Cred here, but I felt the tears welling up at the end. Nobody saw it though.   Arthur's manager Gene had his two young daughters with him -- and they all came running into the hall to see who in the world was making those noises.   Nice feeling, that.

When we went upstairs afterwards, I handed Dave (who was toting a portable CD player) the CD-Rs that I HAD JUST HAPPENED TO BRING ALONG of my fake Moby Grape and fake Jefferson Airplane projects.   He listened to a song or two and looked kind of stunned.   Oooh, stop it, stop it, I love it!   They passed the player around and all seemed well impressed, which -- as you'll imagine -- felt pretty good.

Arthur was rather happy too, when he arrived.   He finally got comfortable enough with having me come in and out of the dressing room (he's antsy around strangers) that he wanted to chat a bit.   Dave told him I had played with Moby Grape, and Arthur perked up and started talking to me about Skip Spence.   Apparently Skip had sat in on drums and jammed with some incarnation of Love back at the beginning.   Wow, imagine that?

But now, it was -- unbeknownst to me -- time for me to be "tested."   Arthur Lee can pretty much be counted on to test you at some point.   It was my turn now.   And I walked right into it, like the blooming idiot that I am.

"Yeah, Skip was a good drummer, man.   He played drums with Moby Grape."

And before I could stop it from coming out of my mouth, out it leapt:   "No, he played drums with the Airplane.   He played guitar with Moby Grape."

Y'know that feeling, that horrid feeling, when you KNOW you've just said something REALLY WRONG, but you have no idea what it might have been, because you know you were RIGHT?   And now you have to wait and see if the anvil falls on your head?

Dave and Mike had been chatting, over on the other side of the room, and they both stopped -- dead -- and looked apprehensively over at me and Arthur.   Ohhhhhhhh no.   What did I DO?   What hideous error have I made?

Arthur looks up at me from his chair, very innocently; raises his eyebrows, and says in a soft, polite voice:

"Oh.   Were you there?"

Ohhhhhhhh-kay, I get it now.   I was supposed to say exactly what I HAD said, so that we could get HERE.

Well, hell, as long as I KNOW it's a test, I'll be fine.   I gave him my best cheshire grin and answered, "I was there in SPIRIT........."

I had passed.   He smiled back, and gave me that peculiar tap-your-closed-fist-on-the-other-guy's-closed-fist thingy that passes as a substitute handshake.

Thank you, whomever it was who stuffed that thought into my head at the very last possible proper second!

Later on, Mike told me that from that moment on, I was "The Dude."   "Could you ask The Dude to get me another drink?"   At your service, sir, and I doo'd whatever he ask'd.   There's an odd sort of fulfillment in gophering for one of your idols when they plainly seem to appreciate it and don't display any regal Sense Of Entitlement.   Y'know?

We had the idea to angle Mike and Arthur's amplifiers away from them this time, to keep the stage volume down -- and wow, what a difference.   This show was even better than Friday's.

Here's an odd thing: during the show, there was someone out front taking Polaroids.  He took one between songs, just as Arthur made a comedy routine out of looking at his watch to see if he had played long enough yet.   The guy eventually tossed the pictures up on the stage.   Arthur looked at them and dropped them again, and there they stayed.   I scooped 'em up later, before they were swept away with the trash, and -- how about that -- there's me.

By the way, once again, Baby Lemonade (the current "Love") are just an amazing band.   Particularly Mike Randle, the lead guitarist (who plays an achingly gorgeous cream-colored Gibson 335) and Dave Chapple (that is in fact how he spells it) the bass player.   The drummer, also a "Dave," goes by the name "Daddy-O", and, well, why not.   He has a very no-nonsense, workmanlike aura up there, but it belies the way he plays.   Power AND finesse, not a very common combination.   Michael Stuart had it, and so does he.   And finally, Rusty, the "other guitar player" -- who seems, from my observations, to be the glue that holds the whole ship together and keeps it on course and in the right key.

After it was all over, I packed up the guitars again and made sure everything the band would normally have to do for themselves got done for them.   They had earned it.  

There was a bit of comedy at the bar, with Arthur repeatedly trying to push a $100 bill into my hand in an effort to get him a bottle of vodka which Gene the manager had expressly vetoed earlier.   I was afraid I'd lose my Dudeship, or Dudedom, or whatever it was that I had been anointed with.   But this crisis passed over, finally.   More comedy:   a guy had been after me all night to get a picture of him with Arthur.   I had told him that Arthur probably was not going to be into that at all, but eventually he just took matters into his own hands and buttonhooked Arthur himself.   So here's the picture.   Our man is in the center, and that's, um, somebody else on the right.   No idea.

Gene expressed his gratitude for my efforts, and gave me one of those "Love" T-shirts.   He said he had enjoyed my singing, and that he fully expected that it should become a tradition.   Well, um, yessir!

Rusty's final words to me as we all melted out onto the sidewalk:   "YOU are a Good Lad."

Yessir, and very Lad to meet you!

June 5, 2003

Just remember this much:   if you mind your own business, you never get ANYTHING.

But if you stick your face in where it doesn't belong, but you do it NICELY, things can happen.   That's just my Philosophical Nugget for today.   Or whatever day you happen to be reading this.

As soon as I heard about the Forever Changes show, due to hit Town Hall NYC on June 5th 2003, I quickly got tickets and e-mailed Gene and Randle.   "Hi, remember me?   May I offer my services at your soundcheck, wink wink?"   Mike replied "Absolutely!"   and Gene answered "I told you this was going to be a tradition from now on!"

I was keen to do it again -- especially since this short (four cities) tour included an eight-piece orchestra to replicate the entire Forever Changes LP start to finish.   Sing with a full orchestra?   In the dripping-with-music-history Town Hall?   Two days after my birthday?

Let me think about that for a second.

Why YES please.

I got another e-mail about a day later from Gene -- asking if I'd like to "guitar-tech" at the show.   Apparently, since it wasn't a "full" tour, they were just using trusted souls in each city for this duty.   Well, I'd already gotten tickets -- darn good ones, too:   Row G, dead center -- but it was going to be fairly easy to fill the seat that I would have otherwise been occupying.   So, hell yeah.   The job just involves keeping the guitars in tune (mainly Arthur's) and moving a music stand out onstage three times for songs Arthur doesn't quite know 100 percent of the lyrics to, and taking it off when he's done.   My little chicken-brain can certainly handle that.

Plus, there's the added incentive of getting the chance to crawl around the bowels of Town Hall.   This is one of those theatres which, when you enter it for the first time, you stop, shocked, and wonder "Why have I never been here?"   The place is loaded with the weight of history.   Architecturally and historically, it's basically Carnegie Hall's little brother.   It was pre-eminent during the early-60s Folk Boom -- you know, the "I hear there's this interesting New Guy called Bobby Dillon" era -- when, basically, pretty much every show that was too big to fit in the Gaslight or the Bitter End or Folk City ended up here instead.

Well, I was six years old then, so you'll forgive me for having missed that.   Just as well -- J. Eager Beaver's FBI was probably standing outside every show writing down names as people went inside, so they could shoot 'em all with Kill-The-Folk-Music-Loving-Commies Cancer Darts later on.   But of course I'm just imagining that?

The first time I was ever there was in the fall of 1973.   I saw Fanny there!   The place had hardly been used at all for "popular music" shows since the mid-60s, when the stage was graced with bands like The Blues Project.   (Although The Blues Project Live At Town Hall, complete with lovely photo of the deserted theatre, was actually recorded at Stonybrook University.   Oh well!)   In recent years, it's been used quite a bit by artistes like David Bromberg. WFUV sponsors that sort of show there fairly often.

Anyway, I was itching to get back there and walk my way through echoes of the "pahst." But first, logistics.   I have to be at the theater early -- way before soundcheck -- to help make sure the Union Guys and the Rental Guys get everything in the right place, since it's kind of an intricate stage setup.   Lots of risers and extra mics, on account of the orchestra. The rental company has supplied a guy that'll be running the monitor mix -- and Love have their own traveling front-of-house soundman, which is an absolute must for a show like this.   Especially given Arthur's unusual vocal style, which can be a real challenge for a sound guy.   He practically whispers most of the time, but can at any moment launch into Full Bellow Mode, and watch out if you're not ready for him.   The Los Angeles show had apparently gone, um, "Not So Well," and all reports were that the sound was terrible and Arthur was inaudible.   Everyone who wrote about it afterwards universally blamed the soundman, which may have been somewhat unfair given the circumstances.   People closer to the action said otherwise -- that Arthur just didn't "have it" that night.

A lot of folks (including Mike Frankel, who had made the pilgrimage from Flagstaff to LA -- JUST for this show) complained that Arthur's guitar was way out of tune all night, and that whomever was in charge of keeping it tuned just kept making it worse.   Well THIS, I said, is not gonna happen tonight -- or I shall kill myself immediately afterwards.

Sidebar-within-a-sidebar:   I had gotten an e-mail from Mike Randle a couple of weeks earlier, which will be a source of much amusement to you if you happen to be a New York area musician.   He said that one of the orchestra members wanted to buy an amplifier while in New York, since they were going home to Sweden right after this, the last stop on the mini-tour.   Mike's question:   "We're all staying on 46th Street near 6th Avenue.   Are there any good music stores nearby?"

Well, if you're not a New Yorker, maybe you didn't get that one, yeah.   It's one of those Accidental Geography Jokes.   It was as though Mike had asked, "We'll be staying in London right on Trafalgar Square.   Do you know of a good place near there where I can find fifteen thousand pigeons?"

Where was I?   Oh, yeah....I have to get there early.   And I have to drop off the extra ticket -- the one I was going to use myself originally -- with Wayne, who works on Madison Ave.  around 29th street or so.

I made very good time on the way in, so I decide to pay a quick drop-in-drop-back-out visit on a friend -- it's her birthday, but her boyfriend is away in Europe, and she's most likely feeling a bit punky.   Or a whole lot punky.   She works in an art gallery on West 20th street and it's right on the way.   So I find the place, run in, surprise her, give her a birthday hug, and cut and run.   ("Always leave 'em wanting more.")   Elapsed time, about eight minutes.   Then it's off to give Wayne his ticket, and of COURSE I have to battle insane traffic all the way from his office to the venue.   Grrrr.   Well, I did my Good Deed For The Day by popping in on Kerry, and now of course I am PAYING FOR IT.

Got there a bit later than I had intended to, but not by much.   Ten minutes, maybe.   Not bad.   Unfortunately, no one else from the Love Cadre has arrived yet, and the Union Guys and Rental Guys don't know where to put anything, or even how many risers they need to provide.   Hmm, the front-of-house guy was supposed to have gotten there earlier, with all that stuff.   No problem, I've got a copy of the stage plot, right......

.....Right on the kitchen table, at home, where I left it.   DOH!

While our hero stews a bit, let's talk about the venue, now that we're inside:

The "stage door", as it turns out, is nothing of the sort.   In fact, it shares a locked gate with the loading dock, to the right of the lobby doors.   So this is where Joan Baez strode, carrying her own guitar no doubt, back when she was a warbly-voiced unheard-of girly singer.   The Weight Of History!

The backstage stairwells are larger than most of the dressing rooms I'm used to seeing, of course.   Marble.   Up one flight, on each side of the stage, is a dressing room about 18x10, I'd guess, plus its own bathroom.   Up another short flight, and there's a doorway that leads to the halls outside the balconies.   A good way to sneak out and catch part of the show, note to self.   Back down the stairs, and there's a sort of "holding-pen" room between stairwell and stage.   The monitor board would be on the stage-right side, with a small office behind it.   And on stage left, "my" room, which contains a billion road cases (from the rented PA) and a baby grand piano, and still enough room for me, a couple of guitars, and an entire girl scout troop.   If need be, I mean.

Then, DOWN one flight, is the hallway you use to get from stage left to stage right, which goes under the stage itself.   Although you're insulting it if you call it a hallway.....it's cavernous.   There are three more dressing areas -- not rooms, they're not walled -- and this is where we'll put the eight orchestra members.   There's a large color monitor with a camera trained on the stage.   The Catering Lady will set up here as well.   On the stage-right side there's a door to the boiler room and some sort of storage area.

And on the stage-left side, something very curious -- a long hallway with industrial steel shelving loaded to the gills with ten-inch reels of tape.   Quarter-inch, half-inch, and larger.   Most of it in boxes labeled with words I don't recognize as having any particular meaning, but a considerable amount of it just lying flat on the shelves, unlabeled, in piles -- with about ten years' worth (at least) of dust all over it.   What IS this stuff? No idea.

I will say, though, that I sincerely doubt that you will find the Lost Dylan Concert anywhere in there, so save yourself the considerable trouble and expense of breaking in!

Well, anyway.   My "gig" was to keep the guitars in tune, and bring a music stand with lyrics out onstage for Old Man and a couple of other songs, and take it off when the song was over.   This'll be easy.   Except, of course, I left my copy of the stage-plot on the kitchen table and had to sheepishly call Gene and have him fax it to the venue's office.   I had managed to scrape together enough brain cells to bring my own tuner and guitar cord, and had borrowed a digital camcorder so Wendy could capture me-and-orchestra on tape.   She would be taking the bus in, and would arrive later for the actual sound-check, eschewing the Carpentry Phase.

Mike Randle strolled in around 2:30 or so -- he had been wandering the neighborhood and decided to have an early look at the hall.   He was suitably impressed with the place.   He called Gene to tell him so, and to say he'd seen me there and everything was proceeding apace.   Then he laughed and said, "Gene wants to know what you're gonna sing today."   I replied "That's up to you guys."   Then Mike said "Gene says you have to do Revelation" and laughed again.

I put on a mock-snotty expression (yes, believe it or not, I can do that) and answered "Ask him if he thinks I don't KNOW it," and then proceeded to render the "I-FEEL-awright-I-FEEL-awright-I-FEEL-awright-I-FEEL-awright-yep-yep-yep-yep-yep-yep..." section with an appropriate flourish.   Mike applauded on his way back out the door.   My first ovation of the day, and why not.

The lads began arriving around 3:30 or thereabouts; Wendy got there at about the same time, I think.   I started unpacking and tuning guitars.   Arthur, oddly, is still playing the same cheapie -- a white Fender Squire.   LOOKS like a Strat, but that's all.   It's a cheesy little thing and I'm surprised that's what he uses.   Still, he doesn't play it much, just on a couple of songs, and I almost suspect it's more of a prop for him than anything else.   I must have had a "look" of some sort on my face as I was tuning it, because Chapple walked over and volunteered "He's getting a new one."

The orchestra members came in in a couple of bunches.   Big happy pink faces.   All Swedish music students, apparently.   I think the first show with the orchestra was in Sweden, or maybe the UK.   Someone made the wise decision that it was a better idea to just drag the 8-piece orchestra around on tour than trying to find the time to rehearse a new pick-up group in each city from scratch.   Smart move, and it showed.   They knew the songs inside-out and backwards.

It took quite a while to get everything set up and ready.   There had been a considerable delay since the crew didn't have a stage-plot to look at.   No matter, plenty of time......?

But, no.   Town Hall is in "The Theatre District," and there's an odd rule about halls in the Theatre District in New York:   the stage has to go dark at 6PM.   Whatever you may be doing, you have to finish it at 6.   I dunno, maybe it's some sort of union thing or something.   Makes sense, I guess, if that's it.   Anyway, that left roughly an hour.   Apparently the band usually takes more time than that, and they definitely wanted more time on this particular day, since they'd have a singer and could concentrate on their playing.

While we waited for the crew to finish setting up -- interminably, it seemed -- Mike Randle was quaffing a Bass Ale and telling me about some sort of difficulty they'd had in Chicago with some sound guy or crew guy or something -- not one of their own people, but someone that worked for the hall.   Nothing, apparently, could be done unless it was done the way this fellow was used to, or something like that.   "So we were at the mercy of Ed.   Everything had to satisfy Ed.   Nothing was gonna happen unless it was okay with Ed.   I HATE shit like that," he hissed in disgust, and took a long slow drag on the bottle to ease his bile.

I nodded sympathetically and answered, "And it's always 'Ed', isn't it?"

Upon which Mike did a geyser of a spit-take worthy of Steve Allen in 1962 -- halfway across the front of the stage.   Kids, don't try this at home!   I thought he was gonna die.   Chapple walked across a few seconds later and said "What's this stuff all over the stage," upon which Randle lost it again.   Luckily, he was dry this time, and looking dutifully for a towel.

Fun at sound-check!   Beer Arc!

So, we're going to get just an hour, then.   Fine.   I'm disappointed, of course, but I'm lucky to be here at all.   So shaddup, sonny.

The band starts playing A House Is Not A Motel, just to warm up, since it doesn't require the orchestra folks.   They caught Wendy napping, they started up so fast.   She quickly fired up the camcorder and caught most of it.

[At the end of this page there is a link to the videos.   Just so you shouldn't have to take my word for any of this.]

I seemed to recall that this was one of the songs Arthur played guitar on in December, but they were already well into the intro and so I just sang.   The speakers out in the house weren't on yet, and my monitor was kind of faint.   But it sounded okay.   (When I saw the video later, though, here's the poor kid with his gums a-flappin' like all-git-out and ain't no singin' to be heard.)   I grabbed the guitar and saddled up about midway through and played the rest of the song.  

By the end of the last verse the house sound was finally coming up, sort of, and I hear ya callin' my NAYAYAYAYAYAYAME, you bet.   Ooooh, how I wanted to crank it up and join Randle for a double-lead solo at the end, but that would've been a tad presumptuous.....(even if it IS that way on the record) so I just played the chords.

By now the orchestra (five strings and three horns) were in place and just about ready to go, and Rusty called out for Alone Again Or. It occurred to me in a flash that the two-part (and sometimes three-part) lead vocals on that song are kind of intricate -- they intertwine in a snakey counterpoint, rather than just following the usual standard rock-and-roll harmony "You take the high part, I'll take the low part" stuff.   I figured I'd better walk over to Rusty and find out what was what and who was I?

He sang my part for me, quickly, and it turns out they've reworked it to make it more conventional.   Cool!   So that went off without a hitch.   Sounded great.   What a rush, hearing the orchestra explode behind me during the chorus!   "I..... will.... be.... a.... LONE."   Wow. The video, at that moment, shows me bouncing up and down and grinning like an idiot.

From there right into Old Man. I had a feeling I was gonna choke on this one....well, I had done okay (just!) in December, but this time that string section was going to be there, and I knew that when I heard it there'd be Lumpus Majoris in my throatus.   I squeezed out the first few lines of the song in what's left of my Choirboy Voice, trying hard to sound like the record, and IMMEDIATELY got in Lyric Trouble by referring, for some reason, to a "small brown ivory ball."   Oops!   Must have sounded alright musically though, I guess, because I heard a couple of the Swedes go "Ohhhhhhhh!" That felt good!

[In retrospect, though, I guess that's actually spelled "Ojjjjjjjj"......?]

I held it together pretty well right up until "I know the old man would laugh....." -- that's where the strings swell up and really make their presence known, followed by the horns on "You were so lovely...." and that's where I choked.   Gaaaah!   No tears, just a little catch in my throat.   I actually looked up at the ceiling and beseeched Bryan Maclean for help, hoping he wasn't a practical joker and wouldn't make me start singing the words to Softly To Me instead.....

Well, Bryan turns out to be a pal, and I made it.   Almost.   Right at the end, on the last line, "Fine old man, now,"   I almost broke wide open.   Wet eyes....undetectable, I think.   What a big dork!

And there it is, dear reader -- off to your right, there -- "That Pose" again.   You may remember it from the Monks story!

Still, as the insistent little string-section obbligato fades out, I hear applause from the horn section.   And Randle walks over, beaming, and puts his hand on my shoulder and shakes his head in some sort of wonderment.   I think I wrapped an arm around him and fell over.

Why yes, I did......

Well, it got easy after that.   Sort of.   I had my usual will-the-first-note-of-this-line-be-on-pitch-or-WON'T-it cliffhangers.   They started the second half of You Set The Scene without telling me that it was the second half -- and I began to sing the opening line right over the orchestra's entrance, which has completely different chords.   Eek!   I bit my tongue and listened to that gorgeous interlude -- and then, of course, I promptly got all choked up again on the first line ("This is the time and life that I am living" -- or is it "the time OF life?" I've never been quite sure of that one...)   I made it back out alive, though.   I had been dreading the line "I wanna love you but, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh......" but I nailed it.   Knew it, too.   Made sure NOT to do a little Victory Lap.   I also successfully resisted the overwhelming temptation to launch into that little proto-rap thingy at the end, that had been buried and hidden away from posterity until the new reissue a couple of years back.   Right before that, during "....it is time, time, time, time, time"   I was actually doing a modified pogo, which thank GOODNESS is not on the video.   Just as the last line starts, the camera pans over toward the orchestra...and you can see Rusty looking toward stage left and laughing his ass off.   He just MAY have been looking at the singer....

As the song ends, the trumpet player decides to add a very jarring little flourish to the last chord, as a joke.   I was half-wishing he'd keep it there for the show in case anyone in the audience wasn't paying attention.   Not likely in either case.  

And finally, racing the clock, it's The Red Telephone.

I was having some nagging little pitch problems by this time -- I always have trouble with single sustained notes, they never seem to appear in quite the right spot and I end up sliding into them.   "I'll feel much better on the other.......SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE.... [of this A-flat!]"   Ouch.   Ouch.   Ow-WEE.   Well, it's not the kind of thing most people would even really notice -- even though *I* sure do -- and it's just a friggin' soundcheck anyway.   So RELAX fer chrissakes, Poofy-Head, and try to remember to BREATHE while you're at it, um Gottes willen.

I hadn't consciously been doing an "Arthur Voice" throughout these proceedings, really -- though sometimes I inevitably slipped into it just by reflex.   I was doing a SERIOUS Bryan Maclean rip on Old Man, though!   Still, the rest of the time I was just concentrating on singing the right words with the right notes, and not being an Arthur-imitating hot dog.   But at the end of this one I couldn't resist: "They're locking them up today, they're throwing away the key....."   Ha!

And oops, suddenly it's time for lock-down.   They're, um, throwing away the key, as it were.   We're done.   Damn. I had just hit stride!

And I wasn't the only one disappointed.   The band were having a ball, and so were the Swedes.   I'd like to think I had something to do with it.

Well, the boys are pretty happy with the way it sounded.   We went downstairs and the Swedes seemed happy as well.   I got some compliments.   Since there was nothing much more that could be done at the venue due to the lock-down, everyone scattered.   We went outside after another long wander around the nooks and crannies of Town Hall, and in front of the theater we found the entire band, looking for all the world like The Bad Boys On The Corner.   A couple of ticket-holders were out front ALREADY, clutching shopping bags and such with LPs they hoped to have signed.   They had no idea that Arthur was nowhere near the place, of course, and they didn't seem to be bothering the band, or bothering WITH the band for that matter.   Perhaps they had missed the earlier shows and didn't know whom they were looking at.

We walked over towards Times Square, since it was a very rare Nice Day in the New York area.   Spring, this year, had never come -- not as such.   We had the typical Couple Of Warm Teaser Days in March, and then the Winterhammer fell back down, and stayed down well into April.   Then it warmed up, and started raining.   And CONTINUED raining.   All through May.   We did not have three days in a row with no rain for the entire month.   And here it was, June 5th.   Little did we know that for the first three weeks of June we would not have TWO days in a row with no rain, not once.

Anyway -- we strode purposelessly across Times Square, and on a whim (an expensive one) I decided we should go into Leo Lindy's.   Why not?   The place has been an area fixture since well before I was born, and I'd never been in there.   So we had two wonderful and enormous deli sandwiches which cost, I think, about twelve thousand dollars.   No matter.   It's, uh, the ambience, you see.   It was The Shock Of New York come home to roost, after spending the whole day with four nice LA boys!

Well, anyway, we got to soak up the ambience -- SERIOUS ambience.   Not one member of the wait staff would ever see age 60 again, and had probably been working there since the Korean War.   Not to imply, of course, that the Korean War took place on 43rd Street -- but then again, I can't say for sure.   I'm not making that mistake again.   "Oh, were you there?"

We strolled slowly back to the theatre, just before seven, and went in.   Quite a crowd outside now.   I wanted to walk around the inside of the place with Wendy's digital camera and take some pictures before the humans came in.   This is a "real" theatre, after all, and no photography of any kind is allowed.   So I wanted to do this now and then ditch the camera in a safe place.   And you see the results, scattered thickly around this document, don't you then?

Finally, Arthur arrives, toting a couple of ladies and the infamous Edgar.   Edgar is a New York fixture.   And whenever Arthur is in town, Edgar is with him the entire time, and this time was no different.   Arthur remembered me and said softly "Hello sir, how are you?" He had a cane, which he was relying on heavily, having hurt his foot several days earlier. Various reports had it sprained or broken.   All I know is the guy had a cane.

He left the dressing room, Edgar in tow, leaving just me, Daddy-O, and the two girls.   They both rolled their eyes as Edgar shadowed Arthur out of the room, and one of them said "I thought maybe he was gonna leave."   She might as well have hoped for her own pancreas to hop out onto the carpet and sing I Found A Million-Dollar Baby In A Five And Ten Cent Store.   In Chinese.

I went out after them and down to the stage, and re-tuned all the guitars.   Nobody's gonna talk about ME on the goddamned internet tomorrow, pally, unless it's to say how CUTE I am.

Randle's guitar is a goooooorgeous Gibson 335, cream-colored, with tone for miles and miles.   He's damn lucky he got it back!   Rusty plays a beautiful Rickenbacker, the perfect yin to Mike's yang.   Chapple wields a trusty old Fender bass, and looks like he was probably born wearing it.   He's got the look down.   He almost doesn't have to play.

And suddenly people are coming in.   I went back upstairs, where there's a bit of a commotion because no one has bothered to write up set lists.   A short panic ensues, and finally I pull a black Sharpie out of my pocket and take it upon myself to make up five lists. So if you grabbed a set list that night, dear reader, it wuz me what wroted it.

The set list for these shows is almost unnecessary, anyway.....they open up with the same three songs every show, and then straight into all of Forever Changes.   Arthur can't really see the set list very well, so Dave just calls out the next song to him. They have a six-or-seven-song encore segment listed out, but they haven't been doing more than one or two for these shows, because by the end of the set Arthur's foot is bothering him quite a bit -- so usually it's just 7 and 7 Is and Singing Cowboy and outta-there.   They decide on the fly.

A couple more wanderings around the environs, and I grab a couple of cans of Diet Pepsi and a bottle of water and place them carefully in my stage-right cubbyhole.   The band will want water during the show, I imagine, so I distribute some around the stage.   And I duct-tape the set lists onto the floor.   Thus ends my pre-show duty.   Except, of course, to go get 'em and bring 'em out.

So let's bring 'em out!

The audience roars for a while, of course, but the band doesn't start playing.   The first song is My Little Red Book, which of course starts with THE most identifiable tambourine flourish in the history of recorded music, and nobody ain't goin' nowhere nohow until Mr. Tambourine Man says so.   And tonight, just like at the Bowery Ballroom last summer, he wants to say a few words first.   I find that really endearing.   The audience is screaming, and you have the power to make 'em scream even more -- or, completely shut them up.   And he just put up his hand and started telling the audience, in that incredibly soft muted speaking voice, ("They're locking them up today.....") how happy he was to see all of them and how he was gonna do the best he could do with his bad foot and all....I should have thought to ask the band why they didn't encore with Busted Feet from Vindicator, but it didn't occur to me till the drive home.

[This breathless interlude reminded me of a similar experience 22 years earlier.....at the first-ever New York show by U2.   May 29, 1981, at the late non-lamented Palladium on 14th Street.   Yes, yes, I used to love U2.   I still think their first LP is one of the most brilliant things I've ever heard.   And right after Boy came out here in the States, they headlined a very odd three-act bill consisting of them, Joan Jett, and Teardrop Explodes.   Wow.   Teardrop were amazing....that was the only time I've ever seen Julian Cope and he did not disappoint.   Joan Jett was, well, Joan Jett.   This was 1981, before she was the Queen Of MTV.   I had loved the first couple of Runaways albums but didn't really care much for her solo stuff.   She sure did work hard, though.   Whipped the crowd into a frenzy.   And U2 had to follow that.   They came out on stage -- just a bunch of KIDS, really -- and began their set with The Ocean. The quietest song in their repertoire.   No fist-pumping, breast-beating, or dancing.   And it was truly effective.   More artistes ought to try this gambit.]

Anyway, don't take my word for it.   The top photo is from later on in the show, (just so you can identify whom you're looking at) but the bottom one is from the opening song, The Ocean.   Real atmospheric-like, and my hat's off to 'em for trying such a bold move.

Anyway.....back to the present, shall we?

Finally, the Tambourine Hand goes up in the air.   And you know what?   Karl Jung was right.   There really IS a level on which a whole roomful of unrelated minds can connect with each other.   I fancy that everyone in the whole room knew, when they saw that tambourine go up in the air, that it was gonna be My Little Red Book.   I HEARD it in the air.   Can't explain something like that, you just had to be there.

I couldn't get a sense of how it sounded out in the room, of course, but this was Town Hall and there was no need for worrying.   The stage sound was perfect, I could hear every note.   The vocals sounded great, if a little bit muted.   From all reports, that always seems to be the way with Arthur -- it takes him a few songs to hit stride.   People tend to blame the sound man for such things, I've noticed -- but, seriously, you can only turn a mic up just so far.   By midway through Orange Skies, the second song, I could hear the lead vocal bouncing back at me off of the rear wall, and so I knew a proper balance had been struck.

He was a bit flat on that one -- but honestly, that song is a real test of anybody's larynx, and kudos to him for trying to render it as we remember it instead of having the band drop the key a few notches.   I HATE that.   Sure, I'd rather hear somebody sing their old chestnut in a lower key than not hear 'em sing it at all -- but I really have to admire somebody that reaches for the high ones as though he were still a wide-eyed kid like, um, me.

Next, Your Mind and We Belong Together, which I thought an odd choice.   I think it may have been just to give Mr. Randle another song to cut loose on -- and cut loose he does, beautifully.   And then the Swedes wander out onto the stage, ja, and the audience is so loaded with the pent-up fever of anticipation that they can barely stand it.   Arthur gives a quick oral history of Forever Changes and suddenly we're off.

The orchestra makes its first entrance, of course, during the chorus.   "I... will.... be... a... LONE...."   And it's good, real good.   They're on the opposite side of the stage and I can hear them perfectly.   The audience, from my vantage point, look happy but a bit bemused, and I suspect that the sound isn't quite balanced yet.   But in the middle, when that mariachi trumpet solo begins, the entire crowd (including me) collectively lose their minds.   It was ALREADY too much to ask that we'd ever again get to hear this song performed live by -- well, alright, NOT the guy that wrote it, but the still-living guy whom we associate it with, okay?   But it would have been WAY too much to ask that we'd ever get to hear it performed THIS way...with horns, strings and THAT TRUMPET SOLO.   Wow.

One of the girls that had come in with Arthur, earlier, has taken up residency in my offstage wing just as Andmoreagain starts.   She has a backstage pass and she's snapping pictures.   She turns around and says "This is so amazing."   Yup.   Sure is.   I guess I must have been singing along with Arthur, because suddenly she whips around again, looks at me strangely, and says "[blank] [blank] such a beautiful voice."

I'm an idiot.   "Yeah, he sure does.   I can't believe how good he sounds."

She laughs.   "No, no -- YOU have a beautiful voice!"

Um, why, thanky, ma'am.   And she's back to taking pictures.   Lying flat on her stomach on the stage, focusing straight up at Randle, with her black lace panties perched wayyyy up out of her hip-huggers.

None of that's very important, of course, I just thought I'd bring it up.

The rest of the show is beyond perfect, from where I'm standing.   Every time Arthur puts his guitar down, I run out and grab it, bring it off into the wings, and tune it.   If anyone has any complaints about this show, I decide, they are NOT going to be about the boy in the black Martin Guitars T-shirt.

Right before The Good Humor Man Mike was gesturing to me to come out onstage and talk to him.   Oh-oh, must be something very important, judging by the look on his face.   "After the show, Arthur's gonna be holding court in the dressing room and we'll all be downstairs with the Swedes.   Go up to the dressing room and grab ALL THE BEER YOU CAN CARRY and bring it downstairs or we won't get any and neither will you."

So it WAS important.

Arthur's foot is bothering him big-time as the band nears the end of "side two," and he makes a sudden decision to skip Bummer In The Summer.   "My foot can't take it," he tells the crowd, and they laugh, and it's into You Set The Scene.   I wonder to myself if any audience members are going to demand refunds.   That sounds like a joke, of course, but in fact the ad had trumpeted "The entire original album" or words to that effect.

Well, with a start I realize my work is done for the moment -- this is a six-minute song, and unless Mike or Rusty break a string I'm not needed.   I wanna see and hear what this is like out in the house.   So I wait and make sure the song has started up with no hiccups, and then I bolt up the stairs.   Interestingly enough, in Town Hall the backstage area is connected to the balcony and mezzanine area (as I noted earlier) via a single door, with no one guarding it.   Remember that if you're ever up there, folks....go out into the hallway along the side wall (either side) and turn your eyes in the direction of the stage -- there's the door.   It leads immediately to the dressing room (which we weren't using, they were on the other side) and then down a flight of stairs to the stage.   Of course, I would never advise you to USE this information for anything, it's just good to know......

Anyway, I go quickly up to the mezzanine and it just sounds glorious.   Perfect balance, perfect volume, perfect everything.   Wish I could have seen the whole thing from out there, but then again I wouldn't have traded my "perch" for anything.   So, quickly back downstairs, during the strings/brass trade-offs at the end.

As they leave the stage, the band and the orchestra head off (correctly) on the right side.   For some reason, Arthur came off on my side instead, clutching tambourine and cane.   I held the curtain open for him and got another of those "Thank you, sir"s.

I was expecting Gene the manager to come barreling in and demand that Arthur play Bummer In The Summer because of what was written in the advertisements, and sure enough that's precisely what happened.   Ha!   Arthur agreed, Gene left, and it was just the two of us for quite some time while the crowd continued to squeal.   "Where the hell is my band?" he wondered out loud.   Finally they reappeared and Arthur went back out with them.

Arthur apologized to the audience for leaving out Bummer In The Summer and played it -- followed by Signed DC, Everybody's Gotta Live, 7 and 7 Is and finally Singing Cowboy. And it's over.

Arthur came offstage on my side again, with cane but without tambourine this time.   He hugged the girl with the camera and she ran quickly downstairs -- to take more pictures, I assume.   He asked me how to get around to the other side of the stage and I told him it was going to involve some stairs.   He was walking very badly.   He dropped his cane just before the stairway and began a long, painful-looking crouch to pick it up.   I beat him to it.   "I wanna thank you so much for helping me tonight, sir," he said as we headed down the staircase, me in front in case he fell.   There were several not-so-very-lame ways I could have answered that, but of COURSE the only one that popped into my head was the supremely-lame "My pleasure -- you've done more than enough for ME the last 36 years or so."   Well, he liked that, anyway.

Halfway down the stairs, he stumbled, and one hand landed on my shoulder as my heart leapt right out of my chest and ran down the hallway without me -- I guess it didn't wanna be there when Arthur Lee broke his neck while I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE KEEPING HIM FROM BREAKING HIS NECK.   Luckily, my shoulder seems to have been in just the right spot, though, along with my right arm -- Arthur righted himself and we made it to the bottom without further incident.   I led him down the long hallway to the other side, following the little squishy red marks on the floor which my heart -- the cowardly little bastard -- had left while trying to make his escape.   I found him right where I knew he'd be, of course -- right near the Swedes' deli platter -- and stuck him back where he belongs. I may have got him in there upside-down, I dunno.  He's a good little heart but somebody's gotta keep him away from the rolled-up ham.

Okay, okay, there's just a CHANCE that I'm remembering some of that incorrectly.   But the part about Arthur falling -- that was real.

My mission accomplished, I ran back upstairs to pack up the guitars and save tambourines and maracas and such from grabby hands.   I wasn't actually supposed to pack the guitars up, but, heck, I had done it for free in December and tonight they were paying me.   Pack up the guitars.

I got everything off in the wing, and Wendy and Wayne came up.   We all went downstairs and I introduced Wayne to Chapple as "another Swede." There was an extended hang-out period which was uneventful but fun, and then I went back upstairs to pack up my own stuff (tuner, spare guitar cord, all-important hairbrush) and back downstairs.  Said goodbye to the band, and outta-there.

We went out through the stage-door/tunnel, and passed in front of the theatre.   Arthur was inside the locked lobby, where everyone on the sidewalk could see him, arguing with Edgar about something.   Gene was there too, at the merch table, counting out a wad of cash.   I hadn't said goodnight to Gene, so I tried to go inside.   The guard would not let me in, even with my backstage pass, so finally I told him "See that door over there?   The one I just came out of?   I'm gonna go BACK through that door, and through the theatre, and into the lobby.   Watch for me."   And this I did.   I left Arthur alone -- he was into something fairly deep with Edgar and did not seem happy -- but I went and said goodnight to Gene.

He said "Wait, let me pay you!" and I said "No, you're busy, and if you pay me now you'll have one more expense to write down later and you'll forget to do it.   Send me a check." He looked at me in utter amazement, like he had never heard such a thing in his entire professional life -- and likely he hadn't.....