01 Jan Brother Clark

What can I say that might be adequate to the task of expressing the depth of my feeling and respect for Clark Vreeland? I don’t have the words. But I’ll try anyway.

I can’t recall when I first saw Clark onstage with the Rhapsodizers, but we started to get to know each other sometime in 1976. It took a while for me to get up the courage to talk to Clark—he wasn’t the most approachable person and his manner could be quite intimidating at times. He was not one to suffer fools gladly but he was also very charismatic, onstage and off. In a scene that had an incredible wealth of musical talent (in addition to bullshit artists, nut jobs, garden variety drug fiends, carpetbaggers and drunks) Clark stood out effortlessly. His intelligence was intimidating and his sardonic sense of humor was always at the ready. I tried not to let it be too obvious that I worshipped him and, to my everlasting amazement, we became friends.

I will admit that with just about every creative endeavor (particularly musical ones) that I have been involved in since I met Clark there has been an asterisk lurking somewhere in the back of my mind. The asterisk denotes a question: Would Clark like this? I was therefore very particular about what I chose to share with Clark. An unrealistic standard to aspire to, perhaps, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get that asterisk to disappear completely.

A few words about Clark as a musician. He was extraordinary in every way—singer, songwriter, guitar player. Clark had a totally unique guitar style that ran counter to pretty much every convention of rock and modern blues. Instead of relying on speed and building solos that climbed predictably upwards, Clark would let notes hang… hang… and then slump and spill down the guitar neck into the swampy lower registers. Some of his solos are like the aural equivalent of someone stoned on absinthe falling down a flight of stairs in slow motion. He had a masterful touch with the whammy bar and a command of feedback that was beyond uncanny.

There exists a live recording of Clark’s classic late ’70s band Room Service playing at Tipitina’s one sparsely populated evening back in 1978, captured on Denise Charbonnet’s boom box from a table at the foot of the stage. It’s an extraordinary document from beginning to end but the voodoo shifts into overdrive during a hypnotic version of Muddy Waters’ ‘Honey Bee.’ After the second verse Clark lets loose with a solo consisting of cascading waves of dense feedback, one rising as another one falls—simultaneously, all perfectly in key, all totally in control. It is sound become matter, space become energy, time become sculpture. I know, I know… but I was there that night. It blew my mind then and my mind remains blown 36 years later. It was magic. Magic and pure mad genius.

A Clark anecdote: For a brief moment (perhaps only one gig) Clark put together a band with Ed Volker, Bunny Matthews, and Marc Hoffman. They were called Vasco and Da Gamas. I went to hang out with them at Tipitina’s early one evening for sound check. I was sitting at the food counter at the side of the room when Allen Toussaint came in and sat down next to me. The band launched into a tripped out version of the Rolling Stones’ ‘2000 Light Years From Home’ with an extended feedback laden solo by Clark. The song went on for about 20 minutes or so before finally meandering to a halt. The few people who were there clapped and whistled and Toussaint turned and fixed me with an expression that read ‘What the fuck was that?’ I shrugged and said ‘Ya know, drug abuse is a terrible thing.’ Toussaint laughed and shook his head and went back to his gumbo.

Now, that comment was meant as a joke, but pretty soon it wasn’t. By the time I visited Clark at his apartment on Mystery Street sometime around 1984 the druggy atmosphere was thick as fog. Clark realized what he had to do to save his life and decamped for Georgia. From that point on we stayed in touch by regular mail and email. His last email to me was this:

keep recording and writing and giving – that is your prayer –

roll on

– C

On the 12th of December, 2013, I sent Clark a link to this website. A couple of weeks went by and I didn’t hear back from him. On the morning of December 28 I sat up abruptly in bed, grabbed my iPad off the bedside table and went to the NOLA.com website. I entered ‘Vreeland’ in the search window and found what I instinctively knew that I would. Clark had passed away about 24 hours earlier.

Thinking of Clark I recall the famous quote by William Eggleston: ‘I am at war with the obvious.’ That was Clark all the way. The void left by his absence is balanced by the wealth of what he gave us.

Rest in peace, Brother Clark. You will remain forever in the hearts of those who knew and loved you.