David Lindley, one of my musical heroes, just passed away and I feel compelled to gather this appreciation of his life and work. I’ve long admired this adventurous, idiosyncratic, impish, eclectic virtuoso of nearly any instrument with strings. I’ve compiled a pair of playlists, one in iTunes and one in YouTube. In doing so, I’ve delved deeper into Lindley’s extensive catalog of recorded works as a bandleader, solo artist and sideman and am even more astonished at the breadth and depth of his musical adventures.
Lindley first caught my attention in college with his featured presence on Jackson Browne’s Running on Empty album (1977), starting with his still spine-tingling lap steel solos on the title track (the YouTube versions of Running on Empty from other shows are good but the original album recording is still the best), his goofy falsetto vocal on “Stay,” his mournful fiddle on “The Road”, and graceful touches on nearly all the other songs on one of those albums that I played constantly (recorded largely at Merriweather Post in Columbia, Maryland…before I’d ever been there). I hadn’t been much of a Jackson Browne fan before, and still sometimes find him a little too earnest, but I became a confirmed David Lindley fan from that album.
Once I became aware of him, I recognized Lindley’s name and signature style on many other recordings of Browne’s and a who’s who of other 1970s Southern California artists. I thought of him as a session man extraordinaire, sort of an offshoot cousin of Ry Cooder, another of my musical heroes who overlapped and collaborated with Lindley throughout both their careers. They paired on one of my favorite sweet guitar instrumentals, “I Think It’s Going to Work Out Fine” from Cooder’s Bop Till You Drop (1979), another album that was always on my turntable in those days (it wasn’t until recently I discovered that song was a remake of the 1961 original recording by Ike & Tina Turner in a very different arrangement…one of the inspirations for a post I started in 2017, Songs I Didn’t Know Were Covers, and decided to revive).
In 1981, Lindley released his debut solo album, El Rayo X, which I eagerly bought, played constantly, and tried to play along with for years. I loved this infectious mix of upbeat covers and quirky originals. Nearly every track was a winner for me. How could this album not have been a massive hit? Well, it ran against almost every musical tide in 1981; “Mercury Blues” was as close as Lindley ever got to wide success.
He followed the next year with Win This Record, which I bought but didn’t love quite as much as El Rayo X. I don’t think very many other people bought it, either. Thankfully, YouTube preserves some full shows of the touring band, featuring Jorge Calderon on bass, Bernie Larsen on guitar and Ian Wallace on drums (the 1982 Loreley one is best, I think, but the 1981 Berlin one with George “Ras Babboo” Pierre on percussion is also fun). If I ever had a chance to see them in my area, I never knew it; I was on the lookout in that pre-Internet age. I’m grateful this version of the band is documented – it shows the musicianship and humor of the band, especially the mid-set breaks into solo discursions. But they also demonstrate that Lindley was maybe never fully comfortable as a rock star front man.
There was at least one more stab at an El Rayo X album in 1988, Very Greasy, this one produced by Linda Ronstadt but even though there were a number of interesting songs and memorable performances (see Bon Temps Roulet (solo) and Werewolves of London (with an all star band)) from the short-lived but remarkable music show, Sunday Night Music (where did this show go, and where are the tapes? (there is this compilation from the Brooklyn Vegan)), the album didn’t make many waves.
Throughout the 1970s, 80s and beyond, Lindley was an in-demand session musician bringing his grabbag of exotic stringed accents to albums from the likes of Jackson Browne, Warren Zevon, Bonnie Raitt, Bob Dylan, John Prine, Marshall Crenshaw, Shawn Colvin, Bruce Springsteen, Crosby, Stills and Nash in all their variations and more, amassing more than 300 performance credits. Trying to ferret out exactly which tracks he appears on was sometimes a detective mission but I’m pretty confident all the songs in my playlists include Lindley’s distinctive presence.
In the 1990s, Lindley teamed with guitarist Henry Kaiser exploring music from Madagascar and Norway, collaborating with local artists over a range of styles. I enjoyed A World Out of Time, Vol. I more than I did Volume II or The Sweet Sunny North (hey, there’s a Vol. 2 as well I didn’t know about), but there are winning tracks on each.
Lindley continued to tour and put out albums as a solo artist or duo projects with artists including Ry Cooder, Hani Naser, Kazu Matsui, and Wally Ingram. I well remember the terrific two-man show he and Ingram put on at the Rams Head in 2001 or 2002. I stayed for both sets, bought CDs of Twango Bango Deluxe and Twango Bango III, and got them autographed, the only time I’ve actually sought a musician’s autograph.
These albums are not on iTunes so I may have to resurrect how to rip CDs to add to the playlist, a skill I haven’t used in a decade or so; the albums are collector’s items now, of sorts. Fortunately, there’s a YouTube concert video from Basel in 2000 that’s a pretty good representation of this duo together: an intimate, energetic, humorous show brimming over with expert musicianship.
Jackson Browne toured Spain in 2006 with Lindley and percussionist Tino di Geraldo, resulting in a great album Love Is Strange: En Vivo Con Tino. I wish I could have seen these shows, but I’m glad for the album and assorted videos (there’s a nice two-hour video of their 2006 performance together at the Philadelphia Folk Festival just after the Love is Strange tour — I wasn’t able to add it to the YouTube playlist, but here is the link for as long as it’s available).
Through all these decades of musical adventures, I know precious little about Lindley’s private life or dramas. He was married to wife Joan for more than 50 years and they have daughter, Roseanne. David and his daughter released one live album with Ry Cooder and his son, Joachim, that I’d like to track down someday. One of the few retrospective podcast interviews I’ve heard with Lindley reveals him to be true music nerd, someone who lived some of the rock and roll lifestyle but seems way more comfortable delving into a gearhead’s discussion of obscure guitars, amps (got to get the tubes to glow the right color) and sonic effects.
David Lindley led a consummate musician’s life, leaving a huge legacy of great songs and performances while rarely drawing direct attention to himself. I don’t know what he thought of his own life and career. I like to think he was able to follow his own musical instincts and found satisfaction on his long, fruitful journey as a musical magpie. He repeatedly brought joy and inspiration to me and others who find their way to his musical spirit. Long may he shine.
This exploration of Lindley’s career led to a number of real finds in various corners of the Internet. For starters, I’d never even heard of Lindley’s original band, Kaleidoscope. I haven’t listened to much of their stuff yet, but it seems like a wildly obscure batch of experimental-psychedelic-eclectic music, at once emblematic of the late-1960s, the seeds of Lindley’s whole career, and a preview of music that would still be progressive today.
The 1972 in-studio concert recording of Jackson Browne and Lindley performing as a duo is a wonderful document. So is the 1974 soundboard recording of a Jackson Browne concert with Lindley and a full band (including an encore with Linda Ronstadt). The duo’s 2006 Philadelphia Folk Festival concert video is a nice recap of their years together, a worthy complement to the Love is Strange album and their 1972 recording. The more things change…
The full 3-hour 1999 Red Rocks concert with Jackson Browne, Bonnie Raitt, Shawn Colvin, Bruce Hornsby and Lindley is also a gift. It was a tour I wanted to see at the time but was unable to attend anywhere. I’m glad it’s floating around now. I love Bonnie Raitt’s admission about 25-minutes in that “one of the reasons I got together with these guys was so me and Lindley could finally play some slide guitar together,” before ripping into a slide duel on “Thing Called Love.”
I’m still exploring words written about Lindley from his own website, some of the articles and obituaries (NY Times, Rolling Stone) that recap his career, and podcast interviews with him. I reserve the right to add more links as I find them. For example, Henry Kaiser’s Requiem for David Lindley is an excellent memento of the times they spent together in Madagascar, Norway and beyond.
You must be logged in to post a comment.