Happy Birthday to the Great Robert Quine

[aram]

Happy Birthday to the great Bob Quine!

True story. The first "nice" guitar I ever saved up for was my custom built Rick Kelly tele. I ordered it after playing a gig with Marc Ribot in Rotterdam. Ribot had his 57 telecaster with him, and I played a G chord on it and it was the most glorious sound I'd ever heard. Ribot said that the only thing that comes close that won't cost a house down payment is a Rick Kelly tele. It was $1400, which was about 3xs anything else I'd ever spent on a guitar, or anything for that matter. I slowly paid it off over 6 months, and when I went to pick it up, I think it was in the winter of 2007, Rick told me that he had put some wax dipped pickups in it that belonged to none other than Robert Quine. I'd never heard of Quine, but of course, I had my mind blown by his playing after that, and of course, was so blessed to be able to play Waves of Fear with Lou during the 2011 tour.

Ribot said of Robert Quine "in terms of punk rock guitar soloing, he could definitely be called the inventor."

Here's the master with Lou.

 

[A-Bone]

Right on. I miss his playing an awful lot.

 

[slybird]

Basic is a Masterpiece IMO.

 

[tweedfix]

Happy Birthday, indeed. Lou Reeds death still stings. I'm listening to The Velvet Underground matrix 1969 box set, it is so damn good. Marc Ribot is a trail blazer, loved his work since I first discovered him playing with Tom Waits. Those records he made with The Cubanos, they get my ass a shaking every damn time. Those records Quine played on, what a great tone. Live In Italy, The Blue Mask, Legendary Hearts, truly great records. "Waves Of Fear", they should play that one at my casket, beautiful stuff.

 

[jeffnmoe]

love that outro solo on Waves of Fear, my favorite Reed song.

 

[Drowned Rabbit]

Great player, no one else like him. I never did know how to pronounce his last name.

 

[mr tom]

I must have heard him with The Voidoids first (practically in real time), then made it a mission not to miss anything he was on. So great.

 

[Blackmore's Hat]

Saw him at least twice. At least once with Lou Reed (saw Lou so many times I can't keep track) & once with Lloyd Cole. Always dug him. Dude looked like my Dad with wayfarers on, but melted my face with a strat.

 

[bruno_desmartass]

Back in '76 or '77, I was in NY playing with an early art/punk band, the Erasers. I was also playing a bit with Lester Bangs, who was trying to get a band together. Lester was a hoot, but difficult to deal with. He'd never been in a band before.
So, word on the street was that Richard Hell had left the Heartbreakers the year before, and he was putting together a punk super group, or some damn thing. Lester prevailed on him to listen to this lawyer jazzbo wacky guitarist he knew from the Midwest, Robert Quine.
When Quine hit town, he tried to get out and about playing with all kinds of folks while getting to know the City and the scene. Lester dragged him down to an Erasers rehearsal in our basement space. Now, the women in the band weren't real "jammers", but sure knew how to make some noise. So we dove in with this weird, straight-looking old guy.
He was drunk. Full disclosure, I was drunker. We farted around, played some Velvets and Stooges (the usual). But the part that sticks with me is when Quine started to play "Eight Miles High", by the Byrds. (A song I had played in a bar cover band a few years before, a fact I couldn't bring myself to mention to the cool art rockers on the downtown punk scene. Horrors! A cover band!
The song has a very bizarre spastic guitar solo, esp. the live version.
Quine destroyed the song and the solo, turning it into a jangly, discordant, free-form cacophony. I was stunned, and turned into an instant fan.
I remember it to this day.
A good cat, and an awesome player. Maybe a little like a fish out of water on the CB's/Max's "cool" scene, but he let his guitar do the "scene"-ing.
In my most wild musical moments, I reach inside for my inner "Bob Quine", which usually leaves people in the audience looking at me real funny.
Ahhh yes!
Happy birthday Mr. Quine. The notes you played are still ringing out somewhere.
Bruno

 

[tweedfix]

Back in '76 or '77, I was in NY playing with an early art/punk band, the Erasers. I was also playing a bit with Lester Bangs, who was trying to get a band together. Lester was a hoot, but difficult to deal with. He'd never been in a band before.
So, word on the street was that Richard Hell had left the Heartbreakers the year before, and he was putting together a punk super group, or some damn thing. Lester prevailed on him to listen to this lawyer jazzbo wacky guitarist he knew from the Midwest, Robert Quine.
When Quine hit town, he tried to get out and about playing with all kinds of folks while getting to know the City and the scene. Lester dragged him down to an Erasers rehearsal. Now, the women in the band weren't real "jammers", but sure knew how to make some noise. So we dove in with this weird, straight-looking old guy.
He was drunk. Full disclosure, I was drunker. We farted around, played some Velvets and Stooges (the usual). But the part that sticks with me is when Quine started to play "Eight Miles High", by the Byrds. (A song I had played in a bar cover band a few years before, a fact I couldn't bring myself to mention to the cool art rockers on the downtown punk scene. Horrors! A cover band!
The song has a very bizarre spastic guitar solo, esp. the live version.
Quine destroyed the song and the solo, turning it into a jangly, discordant, free-form cacophony. I was stunned, and turned into an instant fan.
I remember it to this day.
A good cat, and an awesome player. Maybe a little like a fish out of water on the CB's/Max's "cool" scene, but he let his guitar do the "scene"-ing.
In my most wild musical moments, I reach inside for my inner "Bob Quine", which usually leaves people in the audience looking at me real funny.
Ahhh yes!
Happy birthday Mr. Quine. The notes you played are still ringing out somewhere.
Bruno

Gutshot reality. You and the op have been blessed. I'm not the kind of guy that needs a hero, but I am the kind of guy that understands an individuals expression. Great stuff, I never met Lester, his writing always reminded me of John Belushi.

 

[bruno_desmartass]

Gutshot reality. You and the op have been blessed. I'm not the kind of guy that needs a hero, but I am the kind of guy that understands an individuals expression. Great stuff, I never met Lester, his writing always reminded me of John Belushi.

Yeah tweedfix, he became a hero of mine for a spell there, you are right; I was mesmerized by his crazed playing.
I did end up getting a Strat and a stack of 2@ (count 'em, two) Twins with JBLs, (one with D-120s, one with K-120s) totally inspired by Quine's rig. A big deal for a Gibson/Marshall dude that I was.
I recovered , back to the grungy grind, and I still have all my hair. Something I sparingly teased Bob about.
Let it Blurt, muthafu@#ers.

 

[tweedfix]

Those jbl's are for satans mosquitos, but hey, what isn't? If you ever float through my part of the desert, I'll buy you a dead animal, with a salad bar, and a real bar. Any Johnny Thunders stories? L.a.m.f. is probably the greatest record people have not heard.

 

[tweedfix]

 

[tweedfix]

 

[Idlewilde]

Happy Birthday Mr Quine. Loved the first Voidoids album. Brilliant.

 

[aram]

Back in '76 or '77, I was in NY playing with an early art/punk band, the Erasers. I was also playing a bit with Lester Bangs, who was trying to get a band together. Lester was a hoot, but difficult to deal with. He'd never been in a band before.
So, word on the street was that Richard Hell had left the Heartbreakers the year before, and he was putting together a punk super group, or some damn thing. Lester prevailed on him to listen to this lawyer jazzbo wacky guitarist he knew from the Midwest, Robert Quine.
When Quine hit town, he tried to get out and about playing with all kinds of folks while getting to know the City and the scene. Lester dragged him down to an Erasers rehearsal in our basement space. Now, the women in the band weren't real "jammers", but sure knew how to make some noise. So we dove in with this weird, straight-looking old guy.
He was drunk. Full disclosure, I was drunker. We farted around, played some Velvets and Stooges (the usual). But the part that sticks with me is when Quine started to play "Eight Miles High", by the Byrds. (A song I had played in a bar cover band a few years before, a fact I couldn't bring myself to mention to the cool art rockers on the downtown punk scene. Horrors! A cover band!
The song has a very bizarre spastic guitar solo, esp. the live version.
Quine destroyed the song and the solo, turning it into a jangly, discordant, free-form cacophony. I was stunned, and turned into an instant fan.
I remember it to this day.
A good cat, and an awesome player. Maybe a little like a fish out of water on the CB's/Max's "cool" scene, but he let his guitar do the "scene"-ing.
In my most wild musical moments, I reach inside for my inner "Bob Quine", which usually leaves people in the audience looking at me real funny.
Ahhh yes!
Happy birthday Mr. Quine. The notes you played are still ringing out somewhere.
Bruno

Such a great post! thank you!

 

[bruno_desmartass]

Those jbl's are for satans mosquitos, but hey, what isn't? If you ever float through my part of the desert, I'll buy you a dead animal, with a salad bar, and a real bar. Any Johnny Thunders stories? L.a.m.f. is probably the greatest record people have not heard.

Tweedfix, yeah, I got a couple of JT stories, nothing special.Rock and roll war stories.
Another time, another place.
Bruno

 

[tweedfix]

Dom't sweat it, friend . Animals,we are . Let us not forget Leo Sayer, nor Boz Scaggs.

 

[MLG8675]

His work with Matthew Sweet is absolutely out of this world and hardly rivaled in the world of power pop. He (and Richard Lloyd) opened A LOT of doors for me musically.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Quine indeed!!!