Requiem For a Heavyweight.

I was reading up on some Arthur Lee factoids when I stumbled upon the article Requiem For a Heavyweight by former L.A. Times critic, Stuart Goldman.

The story documents Goldman's first Love show in 1965 (they were called The Grassroots back then), and how he kept a strange friendship/working relationship with Lee over the years that resulted in getting a .38 special pointed at his face in a Hollywood mexican restaurant. Classic rock & roll stuff. An excerpt:

It also became clear that Arthur Lee was a man who was somehow haunted. To say he was superstitious is putting it mildly. "I work off instinct," he told me. "It's like ... the Monterey Pop Festival. I was invited to play that. I didn't play. Now do you realize that at that festival, that kid from Canned Heat, uh - Al Wilson, right? He was there, and now he's dead. Janis Joplin is dead. Cass Eliot is dead. Jimmy's dead. Otis is dead. Brian Jones - who was hanging out in the audience -- is dead. All gone, man.

Now the words came out haltingly. "Now I'm not saying that because I didn't play at that festival I'm alive, but ... it's just something. Some feeling. Like, I went to Chicago three times, and I never got off the plane. I don't know why. Like I said, I just feel things."

Read it here.