Last week, May 21st, was the great Arthur Russell’s birthday. He was without question one of New York’s greatest artists, and probably needs no introduction for the average reader of this blog.
For me personally, he was a game-changer. As a confused teen finding myself falling deliriously in love with the experimental possibilities of music, there was a lot to relate to in Russell. That he also hailed from a flyover state, (him Iowa, myself Montana) and escaped to New York was one thing; that he was a cellist (the first instrument I took seriously) another. And then, of course, there was his unclassifiable sexuality, eminently relatable to my confused adolescent self.
Russell’s dalliances with disco were among my first exposures to his work; I distinctly recall using an iTunes gift card to buy 24→24 Music, a bizarre and euphoric hybrid of the downtown scene and dance music. High-pitched looping yelps, minimal melodies and exquisite drums tickled my fancy in the same way no-wave did, but in a much more life-affirming manner.
At some point, (I don’t recall exactly when) I discovered what is to this day my favorite 12” single — “Is It All Over My Face?” by Loose Joints, another one of Russell’s monikers.
I won’t rehash details about its composition or its origins; there’s a great Lit Hub article that does all that better than I could, complete with interviews from some personnel involved. There are a few different versions of the single floating around, released by the titanic West End Records. One has two versions of the same track, the raucous and slightly more uptempo Male Version and the smoothed-out Female Version. Both feature the same chorus:
“Is it all over my face?/I’m in love dancing/Is it all over my face?/You got me love dancing/It’s bringin’ out the sane/Said one nine one seven”
A double-entendre? Or just a testament to the rapturous joy blooming on Manhattan dancefloors? To my ears, it’s both at once, inseparable from each other.
The most beautiful thing about these different recordings is how collaborative they were in spirit. While Russell was the composer, scores of different musicians were involved in various recordings and remixes. The great Larry Levan was responsible for the Female Version remix, while hands as diverse as Julius Eastman and Patti LaBelle’s backing band graced this and Russell’s other work. It’s all kind of a blur, a testament to the beautiful community burgeoning around dance music.
That Russell and so many of his friends would ultimately die at the hands of AIDS-related illnesses (and the appalling, intentional inaction from health organizations and world leaders) can’t help but cast a melancholy shadow over this and much of his other work. It is painful and maddening to think of so much history lost, so many beautiful people dead far too soon.
Still, there is too much love emanating from his catalog to be sad for too long (though the anger remains); love of music, love of the sounds of individual instruments, love of repetition, love of dance, love of others.