Published April 2002 Entertainment Today <www.ent-today.com>

Love On Earth Will Be Again 

After years in obscurity (and a few in the penitentiary), legend Arthur Lee brings back his seminal rock band, Love 

by Aaron M. Fontana 

Arthur Lee walks into Jerry's Famous Deli in Studio city, his six-foot-plus tall frame sporting, from toe to head: reddish brown cowboy boots, dark jeans, a colorful long sleeve pullover with blue lions on it, pitch dark Ray Ban sunglasses and an American flag bandanna worn under a black cowboy hat with a leopard skin band. 

He looks like you're supposed to know him. 

In fact, one can almost imagine the husband half of a pudgy Midwestern couple clandestinely pointing at him and saying something like: "honey, I think he's famous." Or a Japanese tourist nudging her travel mate so that she can look at the rock star: "Sore wa Jimi Hendrix desu ka?" 

"Jimi Hendrix wa shinimashita," would be the more in-the-know partner's reply. 

Yes Hendrix is dead. And Lee, who thought back in the '60s that he'd knock off sometime soon - in his 20s, had been his prediction - has lived on much longer than his colleague. 

"A couple of years anyway," says the 57-year-old Lee, now sitting across from me at one of the outside tables, a corn beef sandwich in front of him. He laughs as he says this. And I laugh after him. 

But if one knew his story, they would probably guess that there was some weight to this patly-delivered reply of Lee's. Because, even as he walks, dresses and talks like you should recognize him, most people don't. Though they should. Or, rather, they should now if things had gone a bit differently then - which they didn't. 

The year was 1964. Lee, who was born in Memphis but who had spent most of his life up until then in Los Angeles, had recently come back from an "about 20-minute" stay in San Francisco, as he recalls, to form a five-piece called the Grass Roots. There were other bands before this of course (Arthur Lee and the LAGs, The American Four, to name a few), but this early manifestation was the beginning of something big, which centered on mostly Lee's songwriting/arranging talents; as well as those capacities of once Byrds roadie, singer/guitarist Bryan MacLean and guitarist Johnny Echols. When another band of the same name scored a minor hit, Lee changed the name of his to Love; and he, not long after, replaced two of his Grass Roots with drummer Alban "Snoopy" Pfisterer and bass player Ken Forssi. 

Soon after, Love, as most accounts remember, became the most fantastical thing on the Sunset Strip, not only for their ethnically-varied lineup (Lee was sometimes called the first black hippie), but for their unique psychadelic garage band sound. In 1966, the band released their self-titled debut on Elektra, which had, up until that point, not dealt with rock bands (the label would later sign the Doors, partially as a result of Lee's urging). 

And two wondeful albums followed: Love's Da Capo, which, with its unpredictable changes and use of varied instruments, (Lee added two musicians for these sessions) began to show a growth on the part of the band. (Love scored a hit here with their Armageddonic "7 and 7 is"); and Forever Changes, a perfect album of string sections, baroque stylings and sheer lyrical and sonic creativity, that has made the top 10 on just about every major critics list, even into today. 

But there were problems. Though Lee's music tended to eschew the hippie, lovey-dovey mentality (what era song do you know that mentions snot drying on the protagonist's pants?), this was still a time when drugs were free and everywhere; and Lee's band was not above experimenting; or for that matter, abusing; and, apparently, nor was Lee, from his big house on the hill, where he could look down on the city. 

In fact, the band - which had, under Lee's behest, gone through various lineups for each album - had become so disorganized and apparently addled by the time Forever Changes was to be recorded, that Elektra had originally planned to use session musicians for the album. Luckily, though, Lee's musicians - which still included Echols, MacLean and Forssi at this time - got it together at the last minute for what would ulitmately be their last outing. 

Specifically about Forever Changes, Lee says this: "See, I planned to retire when I was 21. So I wanted to write something that would last, something that would stand the test of time. And so far I think that it has. But I did it intentionally. I put that integrated band together intentionally. I was playing for all the marbles man. As far as financially, it didn't quite fall the way I wanted it to." 

To make things worse, while other acts at the time had kept busy touring to promote their albums, Lee tended to hold fast to his Los Angeles, which made it difficult for the band to get the exposure they needed. Lee speaks about this time: "That wasn't by choice. That was because it just wasn't the right time. I couldn't get the right guys together. To make a long story short, they were strung out man - what can I say?" Addressing the idea that he was reclusive and thus averse to travel, Lee says: "I haven't [toured a lot]. So it would look like it's true. But actually, I did want to travel. But it's one thing to want to do something and it's another thing to get the right person to put you in the place you want to be." That person, presumably a tour manager with a heavy enough fist (where was Sharon Osbourne when you needed her?) to wrest the drug paraphenelia out of these wreckless and talented youths' hands and get them on their bus, never materialized. Nor did the expected fame that most everyone had foreseen for the band. 

Eventually, Lee dropped his entire first lineup in 1968 in lieu of pickup bands, which he used to put out other Love albums, none of which gained the notoriety of the first three, despite the fact he got Jimi Hendrix to play on one of the tracks therein. In 1972, Lee released a solo album - Vindicator - and in 1974, he tried his hand at putting together another Love - but these things paled critically compared to Forever Changes. Lee continued to play on, however, most recently collaborating with the band Baby Lemonade, who in Lee's opinion became Love when he took up the lead slot for them. 

But it wasn't just obsucurity from great fame that plagued Lee. Stories vary by publication, but it is widely known that in 1996, Lee became a card-carrying victim of California's third strike system. According to the most accurate account, Lee may have gotten into trouble on a couple of state drug charges over the years, but it was two particular incidents that eventually sent him up the river for over five years. In the early '80s, Lee was arrested for breaking into his girlfriend's apartment, apparently to set fire to the place. For this felony, he received probation. 

In 1995, he was arrested for discharging a firearm, as well as for having possession of said firearm. As one account goes, Lee's neighbors were complaining of the noise emitting from his apartment one evening; and soon after, Lee's gun was fired into the air outside. Despite claims from Lee's friend, Doug Thomas (who flew in from Australia three times to testify on Lee's behalf) that he was, in fact, the one who fired the gun, the jury went ahead and convicted Lee for the crime. As a second-striker, the judge threw the proverbial book at Lee, giving him 12 years and four months jail time. 

But a third appeal (the defense claimed that the prosecution's case was not well founded) got Lee out in December of 2001. 

Lee doesn't like to talk about his time away, as he calls it. Though he will admit while incarcerated he spent time working on his music. He did this, he says, without the use of any instruments, which he claims he could have gotten access to if he wanted. "Yeah, but I didn't want them. I didn't want to do anything like that. People wanted me to be in bands with them, to be in bands together. It was not a pleasure cruise - you know what I'm saying?! And I didn't want to think like that at all." 

While in the pen, Lee also worked on his memoirs, which are now in the hands of an editor and, if all goes well, should come out some time next year as a book. Lee, in fact, refers to these handwritten notes often. When he is purposely vague, he reminds me that I should read the book - which will cover his pre-Love days up until 1974 - when it comes out. When he talks about an old friend who gave him the name of one of his new songs - "Love on Earth Must Be" - he ends up avoiding the question of who this friend is or was? Is he alive or dead, I ask. "You gotta read the book," he answers. 

Lee also becomes a little evasive when I ask him about the rumors that he is now clean and sober. "What, are you on one of those trips of rehabilitation," he begins. "where you do what I say you do and you're rehabilitated? I ain't on that trip. I do what I want to do. What's clean and sober to me is clean and sober to me. What's clean and sober to me is a lot cleaner than it used to be, I'll tell you that," he finishes with another laugh. 

But he gets a little more serious when we get to the topic of regret: "If I said [I didn't have them], I'd have to be telling a big, old, fat lie. Of course I have regrets. But there's nothing I can do about it." He goes on: "In this life, I learned one thing from a guy by the name of Bill Cosby, when his son Ennis got killed. He said something that stuck in my mind especially where I was. The interviewer asked him, 'how do you feel' or something. And he said, you know, 'bad things happen.'" 

But even though it's true that bad things happen and even if the past is gone, sometimes, it's also true that forever can change. 

These days, Lee has reformed his Love - under the name Love with Arthur Lee - with old band mates Baby Lemonade. "I don't want pickup bands anymore," he says. "I think that the band I'm working with right now, they're devoted to my music. And I'm like equally dedicated to them. And I believe in them." And Lee seems for real, for he and his new Love - singer/guitarist Rusty Squeezebox, guitarist Mike Randall, bassist Dave Chapple and drummer David "Daddy-O" Green - are in fact on the cusp of embarking on a 24-date tour in Europe, where the band has always gotten good responses. And Lee even admits that he's gotten in the habit of exercising to prepare his body for the shows. "I don't want to have a stroke or a heart attack because of a certain burst of something that is out of the norm." 

Lee also says he continues to write his music. Though, he admits that he'll first clean out his closet of old songs, which he plans on recording, before he dives headlong into any new stuff. "I don't think my writing has anything to do with today's dance or today's rap," he admits. "My music is not like that." He later admits that, since "everyone seemingly liked Forever Changes, a few of those songs are going to be on that order." 

One song, of course, will be called "Love on Earth Must Be," which Lee also says is one of his philosophies. It's an optimistic thought. But then the man himself sounds positive: "I think the people I am working with now are really going to impress the world. And like I said, I wouldn't be in it if I didn't think I could do or be the best. I think my voice is better now than it ever was." 

A natural pause settles in until Lee looks at me and uses his voice to say, "so, my friend, I hate to eat and run. But I got to go." And with that, he slides out of his seat. Leaving his barely-touched sandwich on the table, he walks onto the pavement next to us and crosses the street. 

As I sit there finishing my iced tea, the couple sitting behind me ask me who I was just speaking to. I want to say: you should know. But instead, I give them the straight answer. 

Maybe in the upcoming days, they'll find out for themselves, as Love on earth will be.