I cannot remember meeting LD. Suddenly I just knew him, and he knew about all of my geeky preoccupations: the Mitford sisters, the Bright Young Things who lent their glamour to post-war Britain; Henry and Alice James; where to get proper grits in Manhattan. If we see our best selves reflected in our friends, then LD had a knack for not only forcing me to see myself more clearly, but also to love myself a little more.
He was that kind of friend—the one who could make you feel like the most fascinating person at the party. Loyal. Passionate. The kind of friend who pretends to be your new boyfriend in the middle of the front room at the Knitting Factory. LD loved revenge.
When I got the news I was reading through my students’ response papers on Sontag’s essay “Notes on Camp.” My students found Sontag’s ideas so fresh and knowing they wanted more of her. As a teacher, it was a proud moment.
I remembered, after I got the news, going back to class and feeling like I could never read Nancy Mitford or—god forbid—Susan Sontag again. We discussed both of them at length. Other things too: Oscar Wilde, Low, Memphis barbecue, his beloved Lucia books.
LD was singular. There will never be another one—how could there be? I hope he knows about my present-day life, so different from when I knew him in NYC. I hope he knows how much I valued him as a friend and a fellow lover of research holes and internet dives.
I won’t sing the catty part of just any song for just any band: only for the Moth Wranglers. Only for Chris and LD. LD loved and understood beauty. The world is a little less beautiful without him in it.
LD Beghtol and I became friends during the recording of The Magnetic Fields’ 69 Love Songs, and I shared the stage with him once, when TMF played Lincoln Center. I had the good fortune to see him live so many times, always brilliant. A standout was one of The Three Terrors extravaganzas in New York, with Dudley Kludt, Stephin Merritt and Kenny Mellman. It was outrageous fun, and I made many lasting friends on that memorable evening. He interviewed me for his book 69 Love Songs: A Field Guide (33 1/3), and I was so honored when he asked me to contribute some theremin to a track on Moth Wranglers’ “Never Better” mini-album.
Rest in Peace, dear LD—you were a force to be reckoned with—a genius, a diva, a gentleman, and a unique talent I’m grateful to have known as a friend. I’m so fortunate that you graced my life with your larger-than-life presence.
I first met LD when he wandered into my office at Cat’s Cradle in 1999 when the Magnetic Fields were playing Merge Records’ 10th anniversary music festival. Back then, I was the art director at that famous North Carolina music venue. He looked at what I was working on and gave me a nice compliment on the Billy Bragg flyer I was designing, handed me his card, and told me to look him up if I was ever in NYC and looking for a design job. 12 years later I found myself in NYC, and very randomly met LD for the second time, through our mutual friend Scott Sosebee. We all started playing music together soon after, in a new outfit called LD & Co. Over the past 7 years, we’ve played shows at some pretty outrageous events and even a highly regarded satanic metal club in Greenpoint. We’ve been in the recording studio countless times, and were on the cusp of finally releasing our first vinyl single (on a clear flexidisc no less) from what will hopefully surface some day as a posthumous LP.
Over the years, LD and I have laughed a lot, butted heads on musical differences in the studio, and rambled over beers and the occasional Lime Rickey. He was hilariously full of himself but also always looking out for his friends, trying to move them forward or help them find new happiness in their lives.
True to his word, LD got me in the door at two different agencies in the past 5 years. He was incredibly kind to me. I cannot believe he is just gone.
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.
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.
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.
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.