Likewise, across the city, friends, family, classmates and acquaintances of the Harveys and their children tried to process the slayings of a well-known, and loved, family.
“They meant so much,” Manny Mendez said, “to so many people.”
I knew Bryan Harvey for more years than I want to admit. I always marveled at his niceness, his creativity, his easy settlement into family life after a taste of the big time, his sense of collaboration and fun, his willingness to try anything.
We weren’t close friends. I was a longtime fan who was lucky enough to become a nodding acquaintance. My good fortune was to share mutual friends who would pass word of Bryan’s travels and travails to me throughout the years. And I always made sure to snag every piece of “product” he put out. When I heard about his local disco project, NrG Krysys, I considered sending him a CDR of rare 12″ singles in appreciation of a grand idea. Now I wish I had.
Bryan Harvey was always worth paying attention to. For all of the showmanship — the surface goofing off — this was a great artist. I regret to say that I didn’t know Kathryn very well. But a couple of weeks ago, during the Christmas rush, I was stopped in Carytown traffic and couldn’t help re-appreciating the glittery, fairytale spectacle of World of Mirth; I thought about how my four year old daughter loves to look in that funhouse mirror out front. In a short period of time, the store has become a real Richmond landmark for kids and their parents. We can thank Kathryn Harvey for that.
The tributes that lie in front of World of Mirth today are a celebration of life — in memory of a beautiful family who gave us much. But we grapple with other questions too: why do the worst things always seem to happen to the best people? In this case, people who seemed to only bring us joy?
[Update: The first of two public gatherings in honor of the Harveys will be held today at the First Unitarian Universalist Church starting at 5:30 p.m. The second is planned for tomorrow night at 7 p.m near the family's residence at West 31st and Chesterfield streets. And Terry Rea is in the process of accumulating weblinks and pertinent information at Slantblog].
To me, Bryan Harvey will always be the cool member of the Dads, a favorite local band from way back in my fake I.D. days, when I would haunt Norfolk’s Kings Head Inn instead of studying. During Dads shows, I whooped the loudest when the moppy-haired bassist sang his infectious, “I Heard the News.” Joining a small coterie of fans who enjoying watching Bryan — with his dead-on Lennonesque vocal style — develop into a formidable performer, I was thrilled (but not surprised) when his followup project, House of Freaks, got a national record deal. And such a nice guy; the kind of soul who would hang out in the parking lot after the gig, bleary-eyed, to listen to YOUR demos.
I haven’t cued up “I Heard the News” in more than ten years and I could still sing you every note of it. I could also do a pretty fair job on demand of “I Got Happy,” “Motorcycle Boy” and “Remember Me Well.” He was just a great songwriter.
I saw him perform many times, in many settings. But my foremost memory is an unlikely encounter in the late ’80’s. I was in Los Angeles and who should I happen to bump into but Bryan — he had moved west with bandmate Johnny Hott in the wake of the House of Freaks deal with Rhino Records. I had a million questions about what he was doing, but I couldn’t get a word in. He was far more interested in finding out from me what was happening back home; he wanted all the latest on the people he supposedly left behind in Virginia. I never forgot that. That’s why these later sentiments never surprised me:
“I don’t really feel like putting out another rock album to clog the marketplace. . . . It’s just product.”
He said he wanted out of the music biz but I never agreed with his reasoning. There are others on my side — we make up a small but steady cult of fans who would gladly have accepted some more Harvey/Hott songs clogging up our systems. A few years back, I played some Freaks tracks on the radio, and mentioned that everyone back in the day had a favorite House of Freaks album… and that it was never the same House of Freaks album. Sure enough I soon had callers letting me know which was their favorite. A House of Freaks debate ensued.
It’s natural that the T-D writers would want to cite selections from Tantilla and Invisible Jewel, the darker entries in the HOF canon. But how about that ringing debut, Monkey on a Chain Gang ? That’s the one with, arguably, Mr. Harvey’s finest song, the beautiful and uplifting “40 Years.” Couple this with the stately “Remember Me Well” and you’ll find a songwriter who managed to deftly balance the dark and the light.
Note: The T-D has been spot-on in its coverage of this horrible story. They were also correct to point out the special relevance of “Remember Me Well” in the piece today detailing Harvey’s music career. But that song is actually found on Cakewalk and not Invisible Jewel. I say that not to be snarky but because I’d like everyone reading this to go and find a copy of Cakewalk immediately, to play it loud and to note that song. It’s a great record — my favorite House of Freaks record (did you guess?). And, yes, by all means pick up the more experimental Jewel while you’re at it — that is where future scholars will discover the real roots of Sparklehorse.
With all of his collaborations and excursions and retirements — who could forget Gutterball? — Bryan loved music too much to ever be done with it. Hair-rock, country-rock, gothic-pop, experimental noise, disco — what didn’t he dive into? And let’s not forget that he could’ve also made a damn good living as an Elvis impersonator.
In the end, he really cared about this place. He chose living here over chasing the limelight, after all. Bryan was one of the very earliest signers of Save Richmond’s original “open letter” back in 2003. Humbly, he described himself this way in his e-mail: “I am an IT Specialist with Henrico County Public Schools, a former full-time musician & current part-time musician.”
Yeah, as if we didn’t know who Bryan Harvey was. I wanted to write back: “You ninny! You’ve only been out there, entertaining us, plying us with melodies we can’t get out of heads, practically our whole lives. You think we don’t know who you are?!!” I wish I had now.