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| "Livin' the life, livin' the life, lovin' everyone" |
Paul was a mainstay of Little Feat from 1973 onwards, when he joined the band in its second incarnation, as they moved away from the folk rock style, to the more funk jazz style of albums like Feats Don't Fail Me Now and The Last Record Album.
As well as being a master guitar player, he was also a good songwriter, contributing several key compositions during Little Feat's classic period, including Skin It Back and All That You Dream. He also co-wrote Feats Don’t Fail Me Now and Romance Dance, among others.
In the band hiatus after Lowell George died in 1979, Paul had various solo band set ups, and penned one of my favourite song titles – If The Phone Don’t Ring (You Know It’s Me).
He kept busy between Little Feat's latter-day touring schedule by playing acoustic live shows with his guitar partner in Little Feat, Fred Tackett.
In 2015, he was diagnosed with liver cancer but managed to continue working while undergoing treatment right until this month, when he cancelled appearances on Little Feat's 50th Anniversary tour. At the time, he wrote:
"Dear Friends,
As many of you know,
for the past several years I have been dealing with liver disease. When we
finished the second leg of our 50th Anniversary tour, I was beginning to
develop some edema, which has been making some things a little more difficult.
It has been a bit of a roller coaster as I go through the treatments my medical
team has prescribed, and I have had good days and not so good days. Lately, the
not so good days have been more common.
“I have met with my
team at UCLA and they have told me that what I am experiencing is common and
treatable. However, the timing is not ideal, as they have directed me to stay
home in October while they fine-tune the treatment in order to get me back to
where the good days are the norm.
“Needless to say I am
beyond disappointed as I was really looking forward to the shows in October.
This whole year has been a musical dream come true and none of it would have
been possible if not for the enduring support of all of you, the Feat Fans!
“Fortunately, the
shows will go on. I have no doubt the band is going to rise to the occasion. As
a band, for over 50 years we have always had each other’s backs and I know they
will continue to put on the best possible show each and every night. That’s the
way we roll."
"My plan is to follow
my doctor’s orders and sit tight, but I have every intention of getting back to
Jamaica in January and rock’n on the beach with all of you. Until then, keep
your sailin’ shoes close by… If I have my way, you’re going to need them!
"Very best wishes, Paul".
As news of his death came on Saturday, the band's official website posted this message:
https://www.littlefeat.net/news.html?n_id=3859&fbclid=IwAR38joBqW5bKGtFu-kqXC84toUFx5ekoOnVANKOyP_DHlAZGeEHmr9n6raA
The future of Little Feat would appear uncertain. The core members are now just founder member and bandleader Bill Payne, with Tackett, bassist Kenny Gradney and percussionist Sam Clayton. Payne has been on tour this year with The Doobie Brothers, who have been supporting Santana on their US tour dates.
Whatever happens, it's the end of an era, as Little Feat loses another of its key members and the voice for so many of their songs, since the loss of Lowell George.
Thanks for the music Paul.
Bill Payne has posted a very personal statement about Paul on his Facebook page, which I've pasted here as it's well worth reading:
Thanks for the music Paul.
Bill Payne has posted a very personal statement about Paul on his Facebook page, which I've pasted here as it's well worth reading:
The Fierce Terrain: A Friendship and Alliance
I will leave it to others to memorialize, to exalt into the heavens someone who wouldn’t have wanted it. Paul Barrere was my band mate, my friend, someone I leaned on and occasionally pushed away. We spent a good measure of our lives engaged in the art of making and playing music with a band that could have only been conjured in a dream. But it was all too real. Little Feat was the one thing that could collectively bring us all together for the purpose of creating something with purpose, our place of refuge and exploration, of comfort, of dismay, and of ultimately what Paul might have called Home Ground.
I met Paul in the summer of 1969 at Lowell George’s rustic home, tucked a bit off Rowena Avenue in Los Feliz. The story of Paul auditioning to play bass with Little Feat is well documented, but what isn’t as evident, or wasn’t to me at the time, was just how well he played guitar. Three years later, following the recording of Sailin’ Shoes for Warner Brothers, Lowell alluded that he needed someone to take over some of the guitar duties in Little Feat. He wanted to concentrate more on playing slide—I thought he also wanted to spend more time writing, and having another person in the band might give him more freedom to pursue that and other avenues. Richie Hayward told me about a warehouse in downtown L.A. where Paul would be performing and that we should check him out.
That evening Paul Barrere was tearing up the stage with some remarkably aggressive riffs on the guitar. He had a command of the blues that floored me. Richie and I took one look at each other and smiled. Little Feat is shrouded in myth, of course, so there were many roads and scenarios as to how Paul joined the band, and given how life works, they all probably aligned with his becoming the second guitarist. Myth gives way to reality, though, and it wasn’t merely a matter of keeping Lowell happy; Richie and I had to embrace whomever came in, as well. Paul more than exceeded our standards. It was obvious to us he should be in Little Feat. Paul felt the same way.
The miles upon miles and time warps that envelop 50 years of knowing someone, the sharing of life’s fortunes and missteps, is what brought me to a convulsion of tears following the second to the last show of our 50th Anniversary tour, October 26, 2019. Leaving yet another hotel—I had been away from home for three months—I saw my friend and manager Cameron Sears standing outside the bus.
After putting my luggage in the bay, I came back around to ask if he had any news on Paul. He solemnly told me Paul had passed away at 1:15 that morning. I had been dreading the news ever since he had had to cancel coming out on what would be the last leg of the tour.
The cliché that our lives pass before our eyes before we die might hold some truth, but I can tell you that Paul’s passing left me with a kaleidoscopic montage of his and my life, interrupted, by life unfolding in real-time. Images of Paul and I breaking down in tears after the tribute gig to Lowell at the Forum in Los Angeles; surfing with Bert Toulotte on the East Coast; playing golf in Essen, Germany, with older club members and their Lolita-like caddies; taping a jam at our rehearsal room near Cahuenga and Barham, where we somehow spontaneously and simultaneously played a series of licks that came out of the ether, accompanied by our looks of utter disbelief as to just how we had accomplished that, while much later inserting them into what became “Day At the Dog Races”; the drive to his house discussing putting Little Feat back together in 1986, resulting in Let It Roll in 1988; plans and more plans; one of our last calls about his health, his concerns for everyone in the band and his hopes for rejoining us again at some point.
The fierce terrain we were enjoined in over these 50 years was reflected in our music, in our journey, and in our understanding that none of it would be easy. Honesty is not always benign, but it is necessary if you are to be truthful to yourself and others. That honesty translates into the songs we wrote, which is why they resonate with so many people. Paul touched many hearts and minds by sharing the gifts he possessed.
We have the songs, his voice and all the inflections he commanded, his incredible musical sense as a player, whether playing a searing and soaring slide part or a gentle acoustic guitar. He was a master at rhythm and creating stellar parts to songs of almost any genre. I still can hear the laughter in his voice, still feel the reverberations over misunderstandings, along with knowing that throughout it all we were brothers. I know well the intensity of who he was as a musician, as a man, and I honor that.
My tears are of sadness, both for him and for those of us that knew him, that loved him and that carry him in our hearts.
The souls circle the sun
They play with the moon
Live amongst the stars
Their reflections on the river
Are gifts to your heart
from Bill’s River Blues
Bill Payne, Montana, October 29, 2019
I will leave it to others to memorialize, to exalt into the heavens someone who wouldn’t have wanted it. Paul Barrere was my band mate, my friend, someone I leaned on and occasionally pushed away. We spent a good measure of our lives engaged in the art of making and playing music with a band that could have only been conjured in a dream. But it was all too real. Little Feat was the one thing that could collectively bring us all together for the purpose of creating something with purpose, our place of refuge and exploration, of comfort, of dismay, and of ultimately what Paul might have called Home Ground.
I met Paul in the summer of 1969 at Lowell George’s rustic home, tucked a bit off Rowena Avenue in Los Feliz. The story of Paul auditioning to play bass with Little Feat is well documented, but what isn’t as evident, or wasn’t to me at the time, was just how well he played guitar. Three years later, following the recording of Sailin’ Shoes for Warner Brothers, Lowell alluded that he needed someone to take over some of the guitar duties in Little Feat. He wanted to concentrate more on playing slide—I thought he also wanted to spend more time writing, and having another person in the band might give him more freedom to pursue that and other avenues. Richie Hayward told me about a warehouse in downtown L.A. where Paul would be performing and that we should check him out.
That evening Paul Barrere was tearing up the stage with some remarkably aggressive riffs on the guitar. He had a command of the blues that floored me. Richie and I took one look at each other and smiled. Little Feat is shrouded in myth, of course, so there were many roads and scenarios as to how Paul joined the band, and given how life works, they all probably aligned with his becoming the second guitarist. Myth gives way to reality, though, and it wasn’t merely a matter of keeping Lowell happy; Richie and I had to embrace whomever came in, as well. Paul more than exceeded our standards. It was obvious to us he should be in Little Feat. Paul felt the same way.
The miles upon miles and time warps that envelop 50 years of knowing someone, the sharing of life’s fortunes and missteps, is what brought me to a convulsion of tears following the second to the last show of our 50th Anniversary tour, October 26, 2019. Leaving yet another hotel—I had been away from home for three months—I saw my friend and manager Cameron Sears standing outside the bus.
After putting my luggage in the bay, I came back around to ask if he had any news on Paul. He solemnly told me Paul had passed away at 1:15 that morning. I had been dreading the news ever since he had had to cancel coming out on what would be the last leg of the tour.
The cliché that our lives pass before our eyes before we die might hold some truth, but I can tell you that Paul’s passing left me with a kaleidoscopic montage of his and my life, interrupted, by life unfolding in real-time. Images of Paul and I breaking down in tears after the tribute gig to Lowell at the Forum in Los Angeles; surfing with Bert Toulotte on the East Coast; playing golf in Essen, Germany, with older club members and their Lolita-like caddies; taping a jam at our rehearsal room near Cahuenga and Barham, where we somehow spontaneously and simultaneously played a series of licks that came out of the ether, accompanied by our looks of utter disbelief as to just how we had accomplished that, while much later inserting them into what became “Day At the Dog Races”; the drive to his house discussing putting Little Feat back together in 1986, resulting in Let It Roll in 1988; plans and more plans; one of our last calls about his health, his concerns for everyone in the band and his hopes for rejoining us again at some point.
The fierce terrain we were enjoined in over these 50 years was reflected in our music, in our journey, and in our understanding that none of it would be easy. Honesty is not always benign, but it is necessary if you are to be truthful to yourself and others. That honesty translates into the songs we wrote, which is why they resonate with so many people. Paul touched many hearts and minds by sharing the gifts he possessed.
We have the songs, his voice and all the inflections he commanded, his incredible musical sense as a player, whether playing a searing and soaring slide part or a gentle acoustic guitar. He was a master at rhythm and creating stellar parts to songs of almost any genre. I still can hear the laughter in his voice, still feel the reverberations over misunderstandings, along with knowing that throughout it all we were brothers. I know well the intensity of who he was as a musician, as a man, and I honor that.
My tears are of sadness, both for him and for those of us that knew him, that loved him and that carry him in our hearts.
The souls circle the sun
They play with the moon
Live amongst the stars
Their reflections on the river
Are gifts to your heart
from Bill’s River Blues
Bill Payne, Montana, October 29, 2019
See also on this blog: When Lowell George Was The Future Of Rock n Roll
https://bangnzdrum.blogspot.com/2012/06/when-lowell-george-was-future-of-rock-n.html
https://bangnzdrum.blogspot.com/2012/06/when-lowell-george-was-future-of-rock-n.html
Frank Zappa and Lowell George together
http://bangnzdrum.blogspot.com/2012/08/frank-zappa-and-lowell-george-together.html
