Rubber City Review

“Tim, you’ve just spent another post exhuming a dead blues guy. Are you listening to any music recorded since, say, 1964?”

Another nasty missive in the RCR mailbox (family members can be such pains in the ass!). But it reminded me I should step out of the comfort zone of my own collection now and then and find out what those kooky kids in Brooklyn and Portland are cramming into their smart phones.

Eh, screw that… Let’s head down to Nashville and sample the latest release by alternative country artist Buddy Miller – “The Majestic Silver Strings” (alright, it’s been out for a year now, but for me that’s brand spankin’ new). I’m always leery of these all-star projects, even with a supporting cast this good: singers Patty Griffin, Emmylou Harris, Julie Miller, Lee Ann Womack and Ann McCrary (who sings on Dr. John’s “Locked Down”), and guitarists Bill Frisell, Marc Ribot and Greg Leisz (pedal steel). But the end result is far more cohesive and rewarding than I expected. Highlights include McCrary’s duet with Buddy on a jumpin’ version of the Mickey and Sylvia tune No Good Lover, and a spirited take on George Jones’ classic honky tonker Why Baby Why. But I think my favorite is this twisted lullaby about those little pills that keep us from leaping out the open window (written by Ribot and sung by Womack): Meds

Sister Sparrow and the Dirty Birds

Here’s a band from Brooklyn I can wrap my head around… I caught Sister Sparrow and the Dirty Birds a few weeks ago at the Beachland Tavern in Cleveland (my buddy Bob Basone and his Akron-based band Wesley Bright and the Hi-Lites rocked the opening set). I knew I was onto something special when the Birds hit a heavy, soul-drenched groove from the get-go. Then lead singer Arleigh Kincheloe took the stage and I felt like an alcoholic at a Jimmy Buffett show. This pint-sized powerhouse had us at “Hello Cleveland” and begging for more after tearing through some funky originals and even a blistering, old-school version of The Rolling Stones’ Miss You, which showcased Aleigh’s brother Jackson on harp. The band is loaded with talent, including a first-rate rhythm section and some scary horn players (two of them spent some time in Ohio studying at Oberlin College). Here’s a little taste of what you don’t want to miss if Sister Sparrow and the Dirty Birds land at a club near you (from their new release “Pound of Dirt”)… Make It Rain

Nephew Dan took a little time off from The Black Keys’ recent European tour to record a tune with neo-soulman Michael Kiwanuka. I’ll give full credit to RCR supporter The Coppertone for turning me on to Kiwanuka’s EP, “Tell Me a Tale.” I was blown away by the steamy title track, which shows up along with the EP’s Worry Walks Beside Me on Kiwanuka’s new release in the UK, “Home Again” (expect a 7/31 release date in the U.S.). His sweet spot is Bill Withers-influenced acoustic soul – one of several spices that end up in this slow-burning original (I’m also getting a taste of The Band, baked in the Jamaican sun). “Lasan was recorded at Ray Davies’ Konk Studio in London,” Dan said. “We never met before the session, but everything came together pretty quickly. It was recorded, mixed and mastered in two days.” And now it’s the B-side to Tell Me a Tale. Check here to see if Kiwanuka’s June mini-tour of the eastern U.S. and Canada is coming your way. Lasan

“Hear my father on the radio singing ‘take me home again.’ 300 miles from the Carolina Coast and I’m skin and bones again. Sometimes I wish that I could get away… sometimes I wish that he’d just call. Am I that lonely tonight? I don’t know.” I met Justin Townes Earle at a show in Columbus several years ago and made the mistake of mentioning his father, the great singer-songwriter Steve Earle. Bad move. As you can tell by the lyrics to the lead song on Justin’s new album, “Nothing’s Gonna Change The Way You Feel About Me Now,” he has a fairly complicated relationship with the old man. And he didn’t exactly warm up to my casual mention of seeing his dad play at a fundraiser in Nashville. Note to self: If you ever run into Justin again… Am I That Lonely Tonight?

Think of The Beach Boys at their peak, back when they started experimenting with hard drugs… What if Old Man Wilson took away their T-birds and surfboards and moved them to Cleveland, where they had to work all day in a machine shop and rehearse at night in a rat-infested garage? They’d probably sound a lot like Dr. Dog. I passed on the Philly-based band’s first few albums, but gained a new appreciation of their highly original pop-rock when I came across this little gem from their latest release, “Be the Void.” You can still hear the same trippy harmonies, but the music sounds a little less quirky than their earlier stuff, with fatter rhythms and more focused arrangements. And it all seems to come together on this tune: How Long Must I Wait

Alabama Shakes

Lots of online chatter about “Boys & Girls,” the new album by Alabama Shakes… not to mention this nice, lengthy article in the Sunday New York Times. Not all of the chatter is coming from true believers (as one guy groused on Twitter, “The Alabama Shakes album does nothing for me”). OK, I get the fact that they’re not exactly creating a revolutionary new form of southern soul. But it’s hard to deny the sultry swagger of this tune – and the band’s powerful lead singer, Brittany Howard. I think I’ll stick with them for awhile… how ‘bout y’all? Be Mine

A few of RCR’s more loyal readers might think I wouldn’t have much love for someone as mellow as Norah Jones. Au contraire, mi amigos. I found her first album, the massive hit “Come Away With Me,” to be wonderfully elegant and understated – just the sweet tonic we needed in a post-9/11 world. And to me, tunes like Lonestar have the timeless appeal of classic country… like That’s The Way Love Goes by Lefty Frizzell or even Red Headed Stranger by Willie Nelson. But Jones’ career has taken quite a few interesting twists and turns since her 2002 debut, and her new collaboration with Danger Mouse, “Little Broken Hearts” (due May 1), could be the most daring departure of all. You’d expect Ribot to write a song about pharmaceuticals, but Norah? Happy Pills

Let’s check in with our friends from southwest Ohio, Heartless Bastards… The mighty Erika Wennerstrom and band record a tune for their new album “Arrow” (released in February):

Let’s revisit a couple of albums that had a big impact on yours truly, Brother James and Nephew Dan – basically, the vast majority of RCR’s global workforce.

Marc Ribot (pronounced ree-bow) is one of those wonderfully eclectic guitarists who can’t be pinned down by any simple category. Descriptions based on genres seem useless, since he’s dedicated most of his career to blurring the lines between them. With Ribot, I usually resort to adjectives – urgent, edgy, soulful, searching, honest…

He draws from a rich musical background – taught by Haitian classical guitarist and composer Frantz Casseus and schooled as a sideman for American icons including Chuck Berry, Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke and Memphis’ first family of soul, Rufus and Carla Thomas. You can hear Ribot play fairly conventional chitlin’ circuit guitar on Burke’s classic album “Soul Alive!” (recorded live in D.C. in ’83), then defy virtually every convention on 2005’s “Spiritual Unity,” a tribute to free jazz pioneer Albert Ayler. Much like his old friend and musical soulmate, the late Robert Quine, Ribot is a restless spirit who always seems to raise the temperature of any project he embraces.

“Marc Ribot y Los Cubanos Postizos” was no exception. As the name suggests (prosthetic, or “fake,” Cubans), the project started out as a bit of a lark. But even though Ribot is often associated with New York City’s highly ironic downtown music scene, he’s probably incapable of playing anything that one could describe as jokey or insincere. In short order, the group’s eponymous debut (released in 1998 on Atlantic Records) became a heartfelt tribute to the great Cuban composer and tres player Arsenio Rodriguez.

The timing was right, given renewed interest in all things Cuban following the huge success of “Buena Vista Social Club,” which was released the previous year. But Ribot’s album seemed like the flip side to the Buena Vista coin – far less stately and mannered than Ry Cooder’s Grammy-winning project. One reviewer described Los Cubanos Postizos as Cuban music for the post-punk crowd. Although I don’t really buy that tag, Ribot’s band clearly approaches the Cuban tradition – and Rodriguez’s music in particular – with a far more visceral and contemporary sound than that heard in Buena Vista.

But first, a little background on the project’s inspiration, Rodriguez… Born in Cuba’s Matanzas Province, Rodriguez was blinded as a youth when a horse kicked him in the head. But that didn’t stop him from becoming a virtuoso on the tres and, eventually, one of Cuba’s most popular composers and bandleaders.

Street scene in the town of Julio Reyes, Matanzas Province (photo by James Quine).

You could argue that Rodriguez was one of the great genre-benders of all time, combining traditional Cuban music and African rhythms to create the son montuno – the backbone of modern Latin music. Consider that the driving rhythms of son begat mambo which begat salsa and all the related forms that followed, and you start to get a sense of what many contemporary Latin artists owe Rodriguez and his musical innovations.

A year ago, we used a great song by Rodriguez to add a little extra spice to one of James’ photo essays of Cuba. Here’s a departure from the traditional, trumpet-heavy “conjunto” sound that influenced Rodriguez and much of the island’s music in the previous century. Released in 1963 on Epic Records, “Quindembo Afro-Magic/La Magia de Arsenio Rodriguez” features a sax player and especially strong African rhythms. The album later was released under the title “Legends” and has long been out of print. If you can find it, pick it up… it’s a remarkable outing from this essential artist: Compay Cimarron/Arsenio Rodriguez

Back to Ribot… On “Los Cubanos Postizos,” he and his core band – Brad Jones on bass, EJ Rodriguez on percussion and Robert J. Rodriguez on drums and percussion (both unrelated to Arsenio) – tackle seven songs written or recorded by the Cuban master from the 1930s until his death in 1972. But this isn’t an exercise in faithfully recreating the original versions. The band stakes out its own turf with stark, insistent rhythms and playful accents on organ and mellotron provided by special guests John Medeski and Anthony Coleman. And the main voice throughout is Ribot, either caressing or thrashing his razor-sharp electric guitar. Not your standard tribute album, but I doubt Arsenio would’ve objected… Postizo

Actually, things are fairly sedate up to that point. The first tune is a slow, minor-key rumba that builds beautifully with Ribot’s lyrical guitar. And the second number, with its loping, mid-tempo beat, doesn’t sound like it would be out of place on an album by War – if the band had hired jazz guitarist Kenny Burrell as a guest artist: Aqui Como Alla

Ribot being Ribot, the album isn’t without a few oddball flourishes. You almost have to be a fan to appreciate the way he wraps some spoken wordplay around this fiery solo: La Vida Es un Sueno

Los Cubanos Postizos released a second album in 1980, and I’d argue it’s even better than the first (word has it the band was signed by Atlantic after playing only three gigs together). “Muy Divertido! (Very Entertaining!)” gets off to a strong start with Dame Un Cachito Pa’Huele, another composition by Rodriguez. This one includes a fine vocal by Eszter Balint as well as Steve Nieve on organ: Dame Un Chachito Pa’Huele

Ribot throws three originals into the mix, including another spoken-word number. This one extolls the virtues of New Jersey’s verdant, rolling hills. In a recent NPR Fresh Air interview, Ribot said he’d been listening to a lot of classic Cuban records, and “there’s a lot about distance and exile and wanting to return home – the lost home… Well, I’ll write a ‘long-lost home song’ about not being able to go back to New Jersey for some mysterious reason.” So what does the Jersey native write about? A neighborhood near the Holland Tunnel that sits on top of a former garbage dump. Maybe the post-punk label works just fine: Las Lomas de New Jersey

This next instrumental is one of a handful of songs that take me to a specific place – in this case, the beach… any beach. Sun beating down, sailboats on the horizon, hot woman to my left (wife, of course), cold beer on my right… The song’s title is appropriate given my fair complexion – not to mention the slow burn that Ribot and band create with this one: El Gaucho Rojo

But the strongest number on the album isn’t penned by either Ribot or Rodriguez. It’s a composition by Pedro Flores, a Puerto Rican bandleader in the 1930s and early ‘40s. And once again, Ribot and band do the unexpected – turning Flores’ bolero into a quirky carnival funhouse that would make Tom Waits proud: Obsesion

With the two Cuban-influenced albums under his belt, Ribot quickly moved on to other projects – including the Ayler tribute and, most recently, “Silent Movies,” in which Ribot re-imagines himself as a musical accompanist at a theater that only features long-lost classics.

He also remains a very in-demand session guitarist. Over the years, he’s recorded with a long and diverse list of artists that include Waits, Alan Toussaint, Medeski Martin & Wood, McCoy Tyner, Marianne Faithful, T-Bone Burnett, Elvis Costello, Madeline Peyroux… and The Black Keys. Largely based on Dan’s enthusiasm for the two “Cubanos” albums, the Keys brought Ribot in to play on their 2008 release, “Attack & Release.” As you can tell from Ribot’s searing solo on this next cut, Dan’s instincts were right on the money (nasty tone on this one… and Dan isn’t divulging any trade secrets): So He Won’t Break/The Black Keys

Virtually everything Ribot has recorded demands my respect, but I keep going back to those two records of convoluted Cuban music – and it’s nice to know he hasn’t completely abandoned the concept. Here’s a video of Ribot performing with a new lineup of Cubanos Postizos last year at The Oval in Stuyvesant Town, New York City. Muy divertido de veras!

In my recent post on guitarist Robert Quine, I pulled together a few personal stories while carefully sidestepping any attempt to define his musical legacy. That’s better left to those who can speak with a lot more authority on all of the disparate influences that came together in downtown NYC in the mid-‘70s – punk, new wave, no wave, avant garde… I’m sure someone will argue that I’m already using the wrong terms here.

Art Garfunkel, The Boxer

I can’t even lay claim to my favorite Rob story. According to his friend The Hound (whose blog is listed at right), Rob was once punched in the face by Art Garfunkel when Rob told him that his act with Paul Simon was “for people too dumb for Bob Dylan.” So my cousin may have been the only person on the planet (other than Simon, maybe) who could say he was sucker-punched by Art Garfunkel.

My post on Rob certainly gave me a greater appreciation of the size, scope and reach of his output over 35 years as a working musician. And sometimes it takes an unexpected source to really drive it home – like the jolt of hearing Rob’s jagged guitar closing an episode of HBO’s fine new series, “How To Make It In America.”

Now that CD box sets are going the way of the cathode-ray tube TV and, well, the CD, it seems unfortunate that Rob’s career never got the full box treatment. I mean, the German Bear Family label delivers a 12-CD set of the “Singing Ranger” Hank Snow, and we got bupkis on Quine? OK, maybe that’s not a good example – I’m just the kind of nutball who would plow through 12 CDs of Snow.

But a stray comment following one of The Hound’s posts on Rob got me thinking, what would even the most basic compilation of his stuff sound like? Just a quick look at Rob’s discography would scare away even the most disciplined producer. Recordings with Lou Reed, Tom Waits, Richard Hell, Lydia Lunch, John Zorn, Marianne Faithfull, Brian Eno, They Might Be Giants, Lloyd Cole, Matthew Sweet… full-bore rockers, experimental soundtracks, atmospheric instrumentals, catchy pop songs, off-kilter blues and R&B… How could anyone create a seamless, cohesive listening experience out of this body of work?

Maybe that’s not the point. You could certainly separate the pop/rock stuff from the soundtracks and instrumentals, but you’d still be jarred by sudden shifts – from low-fi to high-quality production; from gentle, airy soundscapes to angry squalls of distorted guitar. But why should listening to a Quine compilation be any different from a conversation with a guy who could go from Link Wray to Miles Davis in 10 seconds flat?

I won’t even try to offer the definitive list of Rob’s essential recordings. But I have a few favorites that should be part of any meaningful attempt to capture the high points of Rob’s career, and I’ve included samples to get the argument started.

Most worthwhile box sets start with those early, formative recordings – think The Band (aka The Hawks) with Ronnie Hawkins. And we now have a few good ones featuring Rob, courtesy of his old friend and bandmate, Barry Silverblatt, and posted by The Hound here. Back in the Sixties, Rob and Barry played together in a band called Bruce’s Farm. This solo from a cover of the Kinks’ Where Have All The Good Times Gone offers ample evidence that Rob already had his chops together before he hit NYC (excuse the sound on this one). Where Have All The Good Times Gone/Robert Quine solo (Bruce’s Farm)

Recorded in 1977, Blank Generation by Richard Hell and the Voidoids is an undeniably great record. And it underscores a comment Rob made to The Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach (another cousin): “Everything I do is just a variation on Chuck Berry.” He was only half-kidding. In some of his rock ‘n roll solos, Rob seems to take the same basic licks that Berry used to great effect on his classic hits and turn them inside-out, almost beyond recognition. Almost.

The next sample starts with Chuck Berry’s solo on Thirty Days and moves to Rob’s playing on Love Comes In Spurts. Is it just me, or does Rob sound like Berry trying to play one of his signature solos while getting zapped by a bad amp? Thirty Days/Chuck Berry + Love Comes In Spurts/Richard Hell and the Voidoids

Most of the critical praise is heaped on Rob’s recordings with Lou Reed, and that probably has as much to do with Reed as it does with Rob. I sampled two favorites in my last post – Betrayed (“Live in Italy”), because Rob’s convoluted country solo seems to be a tip of the shades to ace string-bender James Burton, and Waiting For My Man (“A Night With Lou Reed”), from a filmed performance at the Bottom Line in 1983. Rob’s playing on the latter is as potent as anything I’ve heard from any guitarist… simply brilliant. In the video at the end of “Encounters,” Rob’s first solo starts at around 2:00, and he comes back in at 3:40. Here’s another standout cut from the Lou Reed era, The Gun from “The Blue Mask.” The lyrics set the dark mood, but the tension builds with Rob’s sinister fills. A lesson in how to serve the song… The Gun/Lou Reed with Robert Quine

Move to 1984… I’ve always liked this number from Rob’s collaboration with drummer Fred Maher, “Basic.” I’m not exactly sure what he’s doing here, but it’s a fairly unusual chord progression – maybe something that rubbed off when he took jazz guitar lessons from the great Jimmy Raney. And he’s adding a little dissonance with a few well-placed overdubs. So it’s one of those “something doesn’t sound quite right, so it must be right” numbers. The programmed drums come across as a bit dated, but not heavy handed. Is he re-imagining the Sixties from a more cynical time and place? Maybe, but it sounds heartfelt to me. ’65/Robert Quine and Fred Maher

The next year, Rob teamed up with Rolling Stone Keith Richards, fellow Akronite Ralph Carney and others to record “Rain Dogs” with Tom Waits. Rob only appears on two cuts – Blind Love, featuring some fine interplay between Rob and Richards, and Downtown Train, which eventually became a monster hit for Rod “The Bod” Stewart. Rob’s contributions on the two songs are fairly minimal, but his insistent rhythm on Downtown Train was picked up on the remake by Stewart’s guitarist, Jeff Golub – another Akron native. This is starting to get complicated… Downtown Train/Tom Waits with Robert Quine

Now we get to Rob’s first and only appearance on a bona fide hit – as guitarist on Matthew Sweet’s Girlfriend, a Top 10 single in 1991. I’d argue it features some of the most dangerous guitar playing ever heard on hit radio. But I’m family… you be the judge: Girlfriend/Matthew Sweet with Robert Quine

Rob had finally rubbed up against some mainstream success and recognition. So what did he do next? Play even more obscure and challenging music, of course – including an ongoing collaboration with avant-garde composer and saxophonist John Zorn. Here’s a 1995 duet with fellow NYC guitarist Jody Harris (who Rob described as “tragically underrated”) from a compilation titled “Come Together: A Guitar Tribute to the Beatles” – Rob’s guitar is the dominant voice on this sample: Yes It Is/Jody Harris and Robert Quine

Rob had an especially productive year in 1997. He contributed to a few albums by Zorn, worked with Marc Ribot on Ikue Mori’s “Painted Desert” (sampled on my previous post) and took part in what he described as his most positive experience in the studio – “Valdun: Voices of Rumantsch” by Corin Curschellas. Rumantsch is a rare language spoken by only a few thousand people in the Alpine valleys of Switzerland. But Corin’s music approaches almost mainstream pop, which makes this an unusual outing for Rob. I like his relaxed, expansive playing on this number from “Valdun”: Al Mar/Corin Curschellas with Robert Quine

I’ll close with a recording Rob did in 2001 with legendary R&B showman and pulp author Andre Williams. After he burned his way through this one, Rob reportedly said, “Now I’ve worked with two geniuses, Lou Reed and Andre Williams.” Head First/Andre Williams with Robert Quine

So those are just a few of my favorite Rob moments… and they’re certainly not based on an encyclopedic knowledge of his recorded oeuvre, as the Times might say. I’ll also fully admit that I came across a few cuts that didn’t move me at all.

I’m just a guy who plays broke-dick guitar, paying tribute to a true master – an underrated one at that. And just a single-disc compilation from an enterprising label (Nonesuch, are you listening?) would help right that wrong.

Robert Quine with Matthew Sweet on the Dennis Miller show – 1992… workin’ that whammy bar. Former Gang of Four bassist Sara Lee is on the other side of the stage. You’ll have to suffer through about 30 seconds of Miller being a dipshit (turn up the volume on this one).

From the same show – Sweet’s I’ve Been Waiting. Rob was a huge fan of The Byrds, so this was like tossing raw meat to a junkyard dog.

Big week for The Black Keys – “Brothers” is the Number 1 new rock album in the country (Soundscan)… Number 3 overall if you count “Glee” – which is exactly what you’d expect if you brought a high school glee club into a studio to cover hoary rock hits – and “Exile on Main Street,” which the Stones spent a small fortune promoting. So congratulations, Dan and Pat… an amazing achievement that may have missed the attention of the local press, but now is gaining notice throughout the RCR blogosphere (mainly, those of you who didn’t get the email from Dan’s mom).

Oh, they also played the Letterman and Jimmy Fallon shows. Here’s the Letterman performance of Tighten Up, followed up by the “official” video of the song, which is easily one of the funniest music videos I’ve ever seen:

Robert Quine backing Richard Hell

My cousin Robert Quine was a bona fide guitar hero (number 80 on Rolling Stone’s list of “The 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time” – right after Cliff Gallup of Be Bop a Lula fame and before Derek Trucks). But I wasn’t aware of his playing until a couple of years after he blasted his way into New York City’s vibrant punk scene with “Blank Generation” by Richard Hell and the Voidoids: Blank Generation/Richard Hell and the Voidoids with Robert Quine

In the liner notes to “Spurts: The Richard Hell Story,” a very thoughtful Hell had (hath?) this to say about what you just heard: “It sounds to me like the solo is coming from another dimension. I don’t know if it has any relationship to anything in history. Though of course everything does, and that solo specifically refers to certain records Quine liked.”

I was raised on jazz, blues and bluegrass music, so punk rock wasn’t something that I naturally embraced. Then a college buddy took me to CBGB in New York’s seedy Bowery area to see The Dead Boys from Cleveland (even though I could’ve driven a couple of miles from my mom’s house in Akron to see them at the Crypt).

The first thing I noticed when we walked in the club was the disproportionate number of people jammed into the back of the room, by the bar. Meanwhile, a big bouncer separated the “hoi polloi” from the empty VIP section, which was the entire expanse of the club (in other words, about 30 feet) in front of the stage. Must’ve been a showcase gig for a record label. My buddy and I did some quick thinking and convinced the bouncer that we were reporters from some rag back in Ohio, and we grabbed a table up front.

The opening act (name escapes me) made quite an impression when the lead singer tossed his mic over a pipe hanging from the ceiling, pulled the cord back down around his neck, hung himself in the air for a few seconds and then collapsed on stage. That, my friends, is rock ‘n roll! The Dead Boys’ set wasn’t nearly as memorable, although we were invited backstage by a band member’s mom for some birthday cake. I have to say, seeing a middle-aged matron and her friends handing out birthday treats to Stiv Bators and Cheetah Chrome was a surreal experience, especially in that shithole.

But I was glad to visit an American rock shrine, the place where bands like the Voidoids, the Ramones, Patti Smith Group, Television, the Talking Heads and Blondie defined New York City punk and new wave in the late-‘70s.

Robert Quine was probably the least-likely rocker of them all. Born in Akron in 1942, he went to a prep school in the area, eventually earned a law degree (from Washington University in St. Louis), and even passed the Missouri bar, but never practiced law. Rob (his parents called him Rob, so I did too… most everyone else called him Quine, which I didn’t for obvious reasons) probably shared a few stray genes with his famous uncle, Willard Van Orman Quine – a brilliant philosopher whose work in analytics and “semantic holism” remains an essential touchstone for deep thinkers around the world. Just don’t ask me what it all means.

Rob moved to San Francisco in 1969, where he first met Lou Reed while taping a gig by Reed’s influential band The Velvet Underground. Rob was obsessed with the band, and his tapes of several performances in the Bay Area and at Washington University were released in 2001 as a 3-CD set called “Bootleg Series, Vol. 1: The Quine Tapes.”

He landed in New York City in ’71, where he wrote tax law treatises for a publishing company, worked at a film memorabilia shop and eventually fell in with a rag-tag group of downtown musicians, like fellow guitarist Tom Verlaine (Television) and Richard Hell. Then “Blank Generation” set the stage for Rob’s strange musical odyssey, which included studio work for Tom Waits, Marianne Faithfull, Matthew Sweet, avant-gardist John Zorn, R&B legend Andre Williams, and many others.

Richard Hell and the Voidoids

Someone once described him as looking like a “deranged accountant,” which pretty much nailed it. He usually wore a sport jacket and almost always wore shades, even indoors. And he was quite a bit older than most of the folks he played with (although Reed also was born in ’42).

I never saw Rob play live, but I visited with him several times at his parents’ house in West Akron. His dad, Bob, and mom, Rosalie, were good friends of my parents and also were close with my sister Mary and her husband, Chuck, who lived a block away from the Quines. Bob had inherited his father Cloyd’s business, Akron Equipment (mostly tire molds), but he apparently had little enthusiasm for management and especially the brutal realities of labor relations. He retired at the first opportunity and spent the next 30 or so years of his life traveling the world with his charming and colorful wife Rosalie (she grew up in the Coney Island neighborhood of Brooklyn and claimed to have been a card-carrying member of the Communist Party in her younger days, which seems almost quaint today when you consider the horrors of 9/11).

By the time I met Rob, the Voidoids had already imploded and he’d gained greater notice as Lou Reed’s guitarist. Critics fawned over Rob’s solos on “The Blue Mask,” which was widely viewed as a return to form for Reed after years of abusing various substances. Although I can’t say that “Mask” is one of my personal favorites, I’ll admit that anyone who records a solo like this has balls of steel (Rob claimed that Reed annoyed him so much in the studio that he could barely contain himself when they rolled the tape on this one): Waves of Fear/Lou Reed with Robert Quine

Rob recorded two more albums with Reed – “Legendary Hearts” and “Live in Italy” – before he left due to differences that were probably personal as well as musical. He told me the record company sent a test pressing of “Legendary Hearts” to his parents’ house in Akron, and he was so infuriated with the final mix (some of his guitar parts were mixed out altogether) that he grabbed a hammer, walked out on the driveway and smashed the record into little pieces.

Rob would spend a couple weeks in Akron every year, mainly to decompress and get away from the indignities of life in New York’s Lower East Side, back when squatters and drug dealers were taking over empty buildings (he said he was mugged twice just taking out the garbage).

Rob’s social skills were somewhat lacking, to put it kindly. Rosalie would invite us over, but I think Rob would’ve been perfectly content spending his time in Akron without seeing a soul other than his parents. He would barely acknowledge my presence when I first showed up, then when he realized I wasn’t leaving right away, he’d reluctantly engage in a little conversation – mostly quick responses to my questions about his guitar playing and influences.

But once he decided I actually knew what I was talking about, we were off and running. His stories (like the driveway incident) could be hugely entertaining, and he had a wonderful way of describing other artists – his rants about Lou Reed were priceless – and the recordings that really inspired him.

I was surprised to find out he had a jazzman’s sensibility and a deep, heartfelt appreciation of the blues. He actually took a few lessons from the great jazz guitarist Jimmy Raney, whose work with Stan Getz alone was enough to make him a legend. And you can hear a little of that jazz influence in Rob’s later recordings with Zorn, drummer Fred Maher and percussionist Ikue Mori. Here’s a cut from “Painted Desert,” Rob’s 1997 collaboration with Mori: El Dorado/Ikue Mori with Robert Quine

Rob’s first great inspiration, though, was the country-influenced string-bender James Burton, who made Ricky Nelson’s rockabilly sides far more legitimate than they should have been and eventually settled into a comfortable living as Elvis Presley’s main guitarist. Although he seldom played it straight, Rob seems to pay tribute to Burton in this strangled solo from Reed’s “Live in Italy”: Betrayed/Lou Reed with Robert Quine

Rob with The Hound (far left), WFMU studio

Rob told me he had a blues radio show when he was at Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana, and one of his favorites was Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown. He also loved Jimmy Reed – which I also found surprising, given Rob’s shrieking, atonal solos with the Voidoids and the other Reed. On another occasion, he asked me if I’d heard of Ted Hawkins, the former street musician from Venice Beach whose warm, soulful voice seemed to convey a world of sadness. Once again, I was floored… Is this the same guy who shredded his way through Love Comes in Spurts?

During one of Rob’s visits to the Rubber City, my sister Mary and I stopped by and asked him if he wanted to head up to Kent with us to see the legendary 15-60-75 (aka The Numbers Band). I could probably spend the next 12 paragraphs or so trying to describe the Kidney Brothers and their amazing legacy in Northeast Ohio (future post?). But if I had to offer a brief description of their four-decade career, I’d say they play highly original, somewhat eccentric and often frighteningly intense blues-based music – basically street poetry for rubber rats. Here’s a little taste, recorded live in ’75 at the Cleveland Agora when the Numbers opened for Bob Marley during his first American tour: About Leaving Day/15-60-75 The Numbers Band

Back to Rob and our invite… he threw us another curve by agreeing to go. We strolled into the Numbers’ main home, JB’s, which smelled a lot like Marley’s dressing room, and stood near the stage to watch an especially riveting set. I thought their guitarist, Michael Stacey, would recognize Rob – his playing seemed to have that punk-rock edge to it. But Rob went mostly unnoticed. Although he kept glancing over his shoulder (with shades on, of course) in an odd kind of way, like he was expecting some crazed Kent State student to jump on his back and start pummeling him. Just when I thought we should whisk him back to the security of his parents’ house, he admitted that he enjoyed the band and really appreciated us dragging him along.

The last time I saw Rob was after his father passed away – probably around ’99. By then, he’d married a lovely woman named Alice, who was everything socially that Rob wasn’t. She appeared to be his complete support system, which Rob sorely needed given his paranoid nature and darker tendencies. He had just bought the complete Columbia studio recordings of the Miles Davis Quintet, which was playing in the background. “What do you think of this?” he asked. I told him I was working my way through it too and loved virtually everything Miles recorded in the Sixties. He nodded quietly, way beyond the point of being phased by our shared tastes in music.

In 2003, Alice died suddenly at their Soho loft (for an intense account of this event and others involving Rob, check out this piece by The Hound – one of my favorite bloggers and probably Rob’s closest friend when he was living in NYC). Without Alice’s love and support, Rob went into a tailspin, and he died from a heroin overdose less than a year later.

Rob is conspicuously absent from the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame, which probably suits him just fine. But he remains a major influence on younger musicians like my nephew Dan, who once took the short walk to Bob and Rosalie’s with guitars in hand to jam with Rob.

Dan Auerbach on Robert Quine… “Pat (Carney) and I had just formed The Black Keys and signed a deal with Fat Possum. Meanwhile, my dad browbeat Rosalie into letting me stop by to meet Rob, who begrudgingly agreed to do it. I’m sure he was expecting a high school kid with a shredder guitar and a Limp Bizkit CD. Then I showed up with a couple of Japanese Teisco Del Reys and some stuff by Junior Kimbrough and T-Model Ford. He walked out of a really dark study, with his shades on, and complained that he had a hangover and a headache – could’ve been in withdrawal – but once he saw those guitars he took off his shades and his eyes lit up right away.

“I played him ‘All Night Long’ by Junior, who he’d never heard of, and he was completely blown away. Then we talked for a couple of hours about music and even noodled around on guitar together. He told me everything he did was just a variation on Chuck Berry. He also spoke fondly of (guitarist) Marc Ribot… said he was very grateful for all the gigs that Ribot lined up for him. Of course, Pat and I later brought Marc in to play on ‘Attack and Release,’ along with Pat’s uncle Ralph.” Ralph Carney and Robert Quine played together on Tom Waits’ classic album, “Rain Dogs” (along with Keith Richards) – an unusual connection with The Black Keys that’s rarely mentioned.

“Robert used a Peavey solid-state amp [Dan prefers tube amps], which made sense when you consider the sound he became known for at times – so jagged and in your face. A lot of punk-rockers’ guitar playing came across as ‘fake’ aggression… Robert had the ability to be atmospheric and airy or aggressive and edgy but in a ‘real’ way… and in a style that became all his own. Probably all that pent-up rage from getting sent off to prep school by his parents!”

They got together again after that, and Rob encouraged Dan to look him up in New York City. “He said he’d always been in the phone book – spelled ‘Kwine.’” But Dan never had the opportunity. “We had our first sold-out show in New York in 2004, I think it was at the Roseland Ballroom, and I was really looking forward to having him at the show. But he passed away right before we hit town.”

One of the tragic realities of Rob’s passing is that he never had an opportunity to collaborate with Dan in the studio. But Marc Ribot’s biting guitar on Oceans & Streams gives us a sense of what could have been: Oceans & Streams/The Black Keys with Marc Ribot

Robert Quine on video… Nasty guitar solo from a night with Lou Reed, 1983. Lou needs to work on that Clint Eastwood impersonation.