Like so many of you, I’m saddened terribly by the news of LD Beghtol’s passing. He was like no other, and time together was always time well spent. I’m glad there was an audience for articles about bands like moth wranglers and Flare back in the day, so I had a chance to document some of our chats: “I want a boyfriend who looks good in a cardigan. If they’re bearded and a little chunky, that’s nice, too. I like smart people who are happy to stay home and read, but also have an excitement about doing things and learning.” (The Advocate, May 27, 2003) RIP Uncle LD
I met LD at the Fez. I can’t recall which show it was, but he showered me with kindness—and it was intoxicating. It started a musical connection that lasted for years. We played many shows together, and I was always honored when he asked me to sing on songs for Moth Wranglers or his many solo projects. In the studio he gave precise direction for every vocal take, always knowing exactly what he wanted from me. My very favorite memory of LD is surrounding a wicked little holiday song he and Chris Xefos wrote (and I sang lead on), “Dear Santa”, which was featured in a 2008 Irish feature film called “How About You” (starring Vanessa Redgrave!). The film had a short run at The Paris Theater, so we made an afternoon date to go see it. We brought red wine and snacks to enjoy while we watched from the empty balcony, and when the song was heard onscreen, we toasted to our under the radar moment of success. Indie movie theater, indie film, my indie pal. Such a perfect day.
Photo by Gail O’Hara
LD was so creative and always looking forward to his next thing or project. He always had a zillion ideas. He didn’t let things get him down for long. I think he was proudest of his musical adventures. I know he used to send me every Moth Wranglers release. He loved performing, too. Certainly, his collaboration and friendship with the Magnetic Fields was a high point in his life; singing 69 Love Songs. He fondly remembered that and loved sharing those experiences. I’m going to miss my friend, LD. The last time we met, we were eating on a tiny street in Chicago at a bakery I like, thought he would like. He sure did. We sat in the sunshine and caught up on things.
Photograph by Jess Booth
I first met LD when I was a 20-something journalist for the Village Voice’s doomed “Long Island Voice” newspaper and he was the Art Director. I still wonder how the hell he used to get to that office in Mineola. After 5 issues he told them to “shove it” and that impressed me greatly. In the years that followed My Favorite were fortunate enough to be asked to join the Magnetic Fields on a few bills, and I became friends with Claudia and got to know LD. One time I took a road trip with two amazing people to Memphis and who should greet us at a pub called ‘Poor & Hungry’ but Mr. Beghtol. He was talented in so many art forms, witty, warm, precocious, and generous with his praise when I was still finding my footing. He changed the art he touched as much as it changed him, and that’s what’s made him so great on Stephin’s songs. We were the sort of friends who followed each other’s work, and always exchanged a hug and a joke when we ran into each other at some bar where I only half-belonged, even when the years piled up between occurrences. He was an artist when that could still be said without irony or cynicism. We won’t see his sort again very often I fear. I’ve only heard of his passing from others and have no information. But he (as we all do) deserves to be remembered, and thanked for what he gave us. And this is just me—doing that.
Photo by Gail O’Hara
In 1997, I left the Jersey Shore for NYU, where my intention was to get an education in Music Technology. Upon meeting LD Beghtol within my first year or so of living there, I quickly figured out that I would now be getting two types of musical education: my formal training at NYU and the special sessions from LD that commenced nearly every night at various dimly lit bars with great jukeboxes across the city.
I believe my first interaction with LD was when he invited me to back him up at a solo show of his in the late-90’s / early 00’s. This was around when 69 Love Songs came out, and we performed some of the songs he sang on the album. This invite quickly turned into being asked to join his band Flare as a guitarist/vocalist/banjoist/etc. It was then that my musical world began to expand in amazing and exponential ways. So many of the composition theories I was studying by day at NYU became put to good use in the studio at night. I felt appreciated there, amongst a very talented cast of characters and world class musicians.
LD and I were very close for many years. My fondest memories of my twenties were hanging out with him and Stephin and Dudley at Dick’s or The Phoenix, or our chats at Veselka or any number of diners throughout the city. We never seemed to run out of things to talk about. It’s true LD was always at his best holding court and educating the “noob,” as he was so generous with his knowledge, but he was also very enthusiastic about hearing new music and things that I was bringing to the table as well. We had a very good friendship. In 1999, we pioneered the Morgan Ave stop in Bushwick, moving into a pretty amazing apartment together. I recall many humorous instances of LD—always the nudist at home—wandering into my room wearing only a ukulele, excited to play a new song for me.
Over the years LD would design album art for me and we’d collaborate on lots of music together. We’d play shows together with Flare in different states, SXSW, opening for Low in Philadelphia, Luna in NJ, so many shows. He became a very dear friend, even coming to a family holiday or two (my family loved him).
I’m sad to say that we hadn’t been in touch in many years. But I always had immense respect for him and I thought about him all the time. His passing has left me very saddened and nostalgic for the beautiful music we made and the wonderful friendship we had forged. My wish is that he lives on in the music and art he leaves behind.
Photograph by Gail O’Hara; please do not borrow or use
I met LD sometime shortly after 9/11 at Dick’s Bar over many drinks and likely some jukebox New Wave. I am pretty sure we discussed the merits of Bow Wow Wow and probably bonded over our mutual love of Ultra Vivid Scene, graphic design and Baroque ’60s pop. He gave me his music, which I loved and we collaborated on a number of things over the years and always discussed doing more, sadly never to be. LD always had an opinion about everything so he was good for a long conversation and I had many, many great ones with him in the nearly 20 years I knew him. He was utterly brilliant. Very much a creative renaissance man with a bottomless curiosity and a deep knowledge on so many topics. As a Village Voice art director, he outfitted me like a turn-of-the-century devil for a photo of the Isotoners, a band I once played in. He also produced our album and added many layers of bassoon, stylophones, keyboards and finger cymbals. The “more the merrier“ seemed to be his production motto. His own music was lovely and I consider his song “(Don’t Like) The Way We Live Now” to be one of the very best songs about gay life in the 21st century. No one discusses his fantastic songs enough and I expect there to be a reissue compilation of them some day. At times LD could be incredibly bitter and difficult and I’m not going to lie and say he was always the nicest person in town. He held people to a very high standard and did not suffer fools at all. I definitely saw him read a bitch hard a time or two. But he also once brought me to an orphan Christmas party when I was at my loneliest and saddest, always told me how much he loved my singing voice and aside from his occasionally difficult personality, he was kind of a softy — a caustic softy. He was a complex person, the very kind I moved to New York City to know and I’m sad to see him go.
Three Terrors photographs by Gail O’Hara; design by LD Beghtol
I met LD in 1996 when we got referred to me to record the first Flare album Bottom. It was out of my scope of my normal alt-rock production style, but he happily turned me on and taught me about an entire world of music, art, literature and sounds that changed my way of thinking about songwriting and record making. His lyrics all had stories that ran deep from obscure historical references to snarky stories of ex-boyfriends and day-to-day life.
I eventually became a full-time band member when Damian left the band and a 25-year collaboration continued. We spent endless hours in the studio together recording, rehearsing and hanging out with an array of people who came in and out of the band over the years. LD introduced me to some of the people who are some of my best friends to date.
We were in the middle of finishing a new record and expect that I will continue to keep his music alive and help have his legacy live on.
The last thing he gave me was “The Happy Apple” kids toy. We recorded it on the song and now my kids play with. Every time I look at that now, I think it’s LD smiling back at me.
LD and I have emailed off and on over the years about various ideas for collaboration though we only ever met in person once, the occasion being a Chickfactor show at Fez in the ’90s. There I learned of his interest in the band Crash and his desire to put together a tribute album. Would I be interested in participating?, he asked. Certainly, I replied, somewhat surprised that someone I’d never met before was aware of the band and the fact that I had sung back up on one of the Crash songs at least 10 years before when I lived in NYC. Though the project did not materialize, we kept in touch occasionally about other possibilities until 2017 when LD graciously consented to cover one of my songs for a tribute cassette and to also design the cover. While I cannot claim to have known LD well personally, I always thought of him as a rare spirit, someone who knew exactly what was good and what was not so good. His gift for words, songwriting, and the visual are not often found in one artist.
Most recently, during the quarantine summer of 2020, I started recording again after many years. It seemed like a good time because there was plenty of free time (I wasn’t working for various reasons). LD texted with some possible ideas for collaboration and we decided on a cover of his song, “Lack of Better,” a nicely moody tune beginning in E minor. Right up my alley. He gave me license to do whatever I wanted and so I did. He was to complete the recording with a “big acoustic guitar” track and a backup vocal. We last discussed the project in an exchange of texts on Thanksgiving night, after he had returned early from a trip to Memphis fearing another lockdown might be imminent. After talking a bit about the sorry state of things in general (as well as various recording software options), the chat ended. I assumed that we would pick up where we left off sometime in the near future.
His song is still here waiting to be finished.
I have spent all day trying to absorb the death of LD Beghtol, with whom I shared a stage and a cognac many a time. His extravagant voice and personality lent charm and drama to his bands Flare, The Moth Wranglers, and the New Criticism, as well as his unforgettable vocals on The Magnetic Fields’s 69 Love Songs. In lieu of a photograph I am posting what may as well have been a portrait, from a book by Edward Gorey we both admired. Listen to something gloomy tonight, with a touch of melodrama and panache, to remember a man who turned every room into a velvet-draped literary salon. Mr. Beghtol, the world is diminished.
What I keep remembering is at the first Three Terrors show, where Stephin, Dudley and LD were singing the saddest songs they could think of. LD sang “Pretty In Pink” with me on synthesizer and I screwed up the intro, so he only sang a few words and the we had to stop. But the few words, “Caroline laughs and it’s raining all day” gave away the surprise. So the start-over was particularly awkward. LD waited for the murmurs to die down—he did always hate a chattery audience—and then we started again and his vocals were so sad and relentless that everyone was transfixed. Everyone made the journey with LD to the place where this was indeed the saddest song. That’s what he did: he brought the theatrical moment, the drama, the gesture. And he could transfix you.
Dana Kletter remembers her friend and collaborator
When I met LD, I felt he knew me, and I think he felt I knew him.
The first time I recorded with him he instructed me to be the murdered girl.
He was a great writer of some crazy antic fiction.
“Maybe this time, you think to yourself: ‘Lady peaceful, lady happy.’ That’s the new me! Giddy with it all, you plant a big wet kiss on Not-So-Little Red’s startled, becollagened mouth, pinching what’s either a third nipple or an ill-concealed on/off switch slightly misaligned on the bead-encrusted bodice of the creature’s gaudy gown as a fan organ wheezes soothingly above the thrum of hypnotic snares.”
When I told him I found a new psychiatrist, he wrote, “I sometimes wish I were much more fucked up so I could do that.”
He was the most cynical romantic I’ve ever known.
He meant to make a record this summer but was thwarted by everything. He sent me some demos for possible songs. Hell is other people’s boyfriends, one began.
We texted and called each other regularly. I’m sorry I cannot text him now to complain about this.
I loved him dearly and will miss him forever.
Photo by Dana Kletter. Taken while we were in the studio recording “Morgantown.”
Listen to the song here. Recorded San Francisco, 2012, Doug Hilsinger on guitar, LD and I on vocals, and backing tracks LD brought from New York. Mixed by Kramer.