I’m listening to Love’s LITTLE RED BOOK (written by Burt Bacharach) having learned from the BBC News that Arthur Lee passed away yesterday in Memphis.

I am a child of the 60s. A hippie punk. Not a Deadhead. Love was our group. He was the ‘black hippie’. Maybe Love would have been more of a success if he hadn’t clung to the West Coast.

After 3 superb LPs featuring his velvet voice, shimmering guitars, and funky bass, Arthur Lee went solo. He never attained the same stature of his career with Love, but his songs haunted the minds of millions.

In 2002 a friend of mine announced he was putting on a two shows of Arthur Lee at a Polish meeting hall in Brooklyn. I called Andy Pollock and two girls in their teens. “You have to see this show.”

Andy needed little convincing, being a Love fan. Free passes and offers of drinks coerced the teenagers, who were converted after the first song by the psychedelic song writer. His band had been formed by young fans mad for his music. This wasn’t a nostalgia tour. Arthur Lee was resuming his throne as hippie god.  

I had forgotten how much I missed him and sang along with every song. I knew all the words and I don’t know all the words to LOUIE LOUIE. Arthur glowed with the pleasure that he had not been forgotten after a prison stint for wild gunplay.

“Do you remember me I’m the one you talk about.”

I found myself next to Ivan Julian from the Voidoids. We exchanged a smile and sang along together.

My friends thanked me profusively for having brought them to what the youngest girl said was the best concert she had ever seen.

The next evening’s show was equally rewarding.

Arthur Lee is gone. The music remains.

I was lucky enough to find a DVD of a 2002 London concert.

Today I’m playing LOVE, DE CAPO, FOREVER CHANGES,

Forever changes.

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