love you forever

Love with Arthur LeeQueen's Hall, EdinburghHHHH

THIS time last year, cosmic folk-rock visionary Arthur Lee was doing hard time in Pleasant Valley Penitentiary, halfway through a harsh 12-year sentence imposed for squeezing off some handgun rounds outside his Los Angeles apartment. But this unfortunate spell of porridge appears to have completely rejuvenated him; after years of wandering in a creative hinterland, Lee emerged from chokey with a new vitality. He has rarely been off the road since his early release in April 2002, and this Edinburgh date is his third visit to the UK since tasting free, fresh air.

The real draw this time is the fact that he has promised to recreate in its entirety one of the greatest albums ever made: Forever Changes, Love's 1967 masterpiece. It couched some astonishingly poignant, paranoid songs in wistful string and flamenco- tinged brass arrangements.

Perhaps this jaunt was inspired by Brian Wilson's recent money- spinning Pet Sounds tour, but whereas the fragile Beach Boy was a phantomesque presence prone to playing invisible keyboards as he journeyed through his seminal LP, Lee is a far more boisterous proposition.

In rude health for a 57-year-old (considering the amount of drugs he's consumed), he appears psyched at the prospect of transporting an audience of enthusiastic fans to Love Valhalla. The other original band members have long been lost to the elements, but then it's almost appropriate that Lee has employed youthful-looking LA band Baby Lemonade to back him up; Love's record label Elektra initially planned to record Forever Changes using session musicians because the band were in such a drug-addled mess.

After three opening numbers - a belting cover of Bacharach's My Little Red Book (that originally made people notice Love in the first place in 1966) plus wistful, autumnal tracks Orange Sky and Your Mind And We Belong Together - Lee finally embarks on Forever Changes, with a compact horn and string section fleshing out the arrangements with confident subtlety. Some of these tracks were never played back in Love's heyday; the band pretty much imploded after the album was released, so it's great to hear something like Live And Let Live - which comes dedicated to "Mr Blair and Mr Bush".

While we're used to cutting our living legends a little slack when it comes to performance, Lee's voice is still impressive; matured into a rock growl, but still capable of negotiating the spiralling melodies, particularly during the modal progressions of The Red Telephone.

But after faithfully reproducing the chiming glory of the entire LP, Lee returns for an extended encore that - at 45 minutes - seems more like the second half of a marathon concert. His new material sounds decent enough, apart from a trite song entitled My Anthem, but it's inevitable that the energy levels dip a little. But as a final, final encore, the band returns for Seven And Seven Is - a burst of adrenalised joy that Lee claims invented punk rock - and the place goes bananas again.

What might have started out as a way to turn a quick buck - and Lee needs the cash - has transformed into something more spiritual. Back in the day, Lee effectively scuttled Love's chance at making it big by refusing to tour much beyond his hometown of LA. But tonight, he clearly enjoys bringing his music to a broader audience, and continues playing long after the official curfew. Let's just hope that doesn't constitute a parole violation.

Copyright 2003 SMG Sunday Newspapers Ltd.
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