Paul Barrere wanted to make it to 75. He said things like this to me during ourconversations in recent years. He was 71when he passed away on October 26th at a UCLA hospital in Los Angeles,California.
In November of 2014, Paul and I went together to hear theSouthern Soul Assembly at L.A.’s Regent Theatre. On the drive into town, plagued with theperpetually clichéd traffic of Southern California, we had plenty of time tocover a lot of proverbial ground.
Of course, we talked about music, particularly about newerartists he enjoyed—Lake Street Dive, Tedeschi Trucks Band. We both loved a good chili relleno. And, we both loved baseball—Paul, an avidGiants fan.
We talked about our ancestors that served in World WarTwo. We talked politics and history. Paul grew up in Los Angeles, playing explorerin the hills above Hollywood Boulevard as a child, a stone’s throw from where Ihad my first apartment.
We talked about marriage, and fatherhood, and the challengesof raising teenagers. Paul was asgrateful as any husband could be for his wife, and as proud of his threechildren as any parent would be; equally as humbled and enthusiastic about theadults they had become. His advice to meas my own child approached her teen years: Learn the value of counting toten.
And, as much as anything else, we talked about The Simpsons. We riffed on lines and scenes in detail drawnfrom that animated family from Springfield as we walked the few blocks from theparking lot to the Regent. Our laughterrippled uncontained and childlike through the cavernous streets of downtown L.A.
On the return home, Paul offered his glowing appraisals ofthe SSA—Anders Osborne, Marc Broussard, JJ Grey, and Luther Dickinson- andtheir special guest that night, Duane Betts. He was pleasantly surprised and encouraged to see aging movie palacesconverted to vibrant live music venues. Without prompting, he shifted back to earlier in the evening, before hepicked me up, when he noticed neighborhoods in Venice Beach once infested withdrug dens now gentrified with multi-million dollar properties.
Paul Barrere made no secret of the origins of hiscontraction of Hepatitis C; saying in one of our interviews he was “prettysure” it was from drug use in his younger years. Publicly, he was exceptionally candid abouthis health issues- describing his treatments and progress, imploring others toget tested- and when his Hep C evolved into liver complications, he remained asforthcoming as ever. He made no excusesfor his present circumstance, nor lost his sense of optimism or humor.
He was on tour, celebrating 50 years of Little Feat as wellas continuing to perform as a duo with Feat bandmate Fred Tackett or Featoff-shoot, Funky Feat, until his hospitalization several weeks ago. He often said that he played the shows forfree; he got paid for the travel, the time away from home, the busses and latenights, the bad food, bad beds, bad flights.
Once, he sent me a CD to review. It was his Riding the Nova Train, a collaborative album he’d recorded with Roger Cole for their Better Daze Music label. Enclosed was a short note with this parting line: For best results, play it loud!!!
I will always listen to Paul Barrere’s music- so inventiveand influential- and when I do I will play it loud. I’ll also never forget the quieter parts ofknowing Paul, the conversations and advice, the laughs and the friendship. He didn’t make it to 75, but there is noquestion he gave me, and all those that appreciated his life, the best resultshe had to give.
