We've had our Phil

Heaven and Hell, that was Phil Spector, the record producer who died on Saturday night. He had an ability to produce great music - Wagnerian operas for the 1960s, or "little symphonies for the kids, as he called them - and at the same time, the most-used word in descriptions of him from those who knew, worked with, and married him was "vile." And the list continued with "nasty" and "psychotic" and so on down the line.

Yes, he produced hit records for The Teddy Bears, The Crystals, Bob B. Soxx and the Blue Jeans, The Ronettes, Darlene Love, Ike & Tina Turner, The Righteous Brothers,The Beatles, George Harrison's first solo album, John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band, and The Concert for Bangladesh. 

He married Ronnie Spector of The Ronettes and tormented her, waving guns in her direction and making her a prisoner in his mansion until she escaped barefoot one day. He was said to brandish handguns regularly, probably as compensation for his small size and nerdish persona. He made a practice of cheating people in business, even his own musicians and singers. They were the backbone of what he was selling, but he saw them only as tools to be used in the fulfillment of his artistry as producer and hitmaker.

He was convicted of murdering actress Lana Clarkson at his mansion. At first he admitted that he had shot her, but later claimed she shot herself, wresting a gun out of his hands. He was sentenced to 19 years in California prison and lived there until he died on Saturday, apparently from COVID-19.

In glory days and in prison days

What to say about a man who had such a musical gift and yet possessed the demonic soul that did such damage? I have puzzled over this for years, because, as much as I love Phil's music (and you just heard the songs on his Christmas album a gazillion times last month and they still sound terrific) it was with a certain hesitation, like finding out that the painting of a pastoral Indiana farm scene was done by John Dillinger, or that the author of a great how-to manual on car repair was Timothy McVeigh. 

And all day Sunday, as news of his death competed with football playoffs and presidential comings and goings, I tried to understand the contrast, but then I was stopped in my tracks by a woman named Beth, the younger sister of friend named Ben. She said this: "Good riddance, he was vile human..a genius with music but you can tell music never touched his soul."

So like a great chef who never enjoys his food, a painter who never looks at his finished products, or an athlete who only plays for money and not for the enjoyment of the sport, Phil made soul-stirring music, and yet somehow he did not come close enough to let that music stir his soul.

Which means that, when he produced "Today I Met The Boy I'm Gonna Marry" by Darlene Love, he was already married and would marry twice more and never let the love of another person get ahead, or even next to, his love for himself.

Some say that when some of us die, there is a period of time spent in the hereafter to allow for expiation - to atone for our sins and see the errors. I imagine Phil Spector has some things to work out up there.