Visual Artist
Oh, what to say about Nick? My first thought: Nick was adored. People vied to be close to him and hear what he had to say. He was influential, quietly insistent.
When it came to art, literature and music, he was a tastemaker; an unabashed fan and astute critic. Nick was a kind friend and a consistent, supportive presence and invited you into his world and his music in a low-key manner. It felt like he trusted you to take what you wanted from the music.
I remember Nick as unpretentious and engaged, quick to share his most recent finds and insights in an unguarded, inclusive way. You’d often see him deep in conversation with another person, their heads slightly bowed, tilted to one side. And he listened as well as he spoke.
Musically he was a seeker; not satisfied to stay in one place artistically. In music and in life Nick gravitated to the places in between, like he was reaching for something just beyond what you could see or hear. There was a swirling, immersive quality to the songs; textural, layered, sometimes experimental but with great hooks. Sometimes complex but never off-putting. I was drawn in, as were so many others
Not to say he was never prickly but that seemed mostly contained to the studio and band dynamics. For my part, I encountered a gently thoughtful person and a sensitive soul. He was a fact of my universe. He was everywhere, in all the same places. You didn’t have to mesh with him to know who he was and what he was about.
Nick had a glint and sense of humor that shone through. I remember a particular night back in the mid-eighties, sitting on the steps of a house with Nick and a mutual friend. She was arguing an extreme, absurd position and I was starting to sputter a little, like “whuh?!”, ready to rebut when Nick caught my eye as if to say, “Now isn’t that something?” It was good-humored and affectionate, conspiratorial and funny, bemused but not unkind. It completely lightened the mood. A very Nick moment; he conveyed a lot with just a slight widening of eyes. Sitting here now I’m still amused at his amusement. He truly made a lasting impression.
We reconnected in C-U in late 2005; it seemed like he’d gained substance and materiality, that he’d coalesced into a happier, more grounded version of himself than I had previously known. When I first saw him after so much time had passed, he seemed to me like the Malibu Ken™ version of Nick –– tanned, ruddy (no pun intended) with a quick, open smile and happier demeanor. He looked directly at you (instead of a little bit past your right ear), and just seemed more present. It was clear how much he loved Gina and Townes and relished being part of the sweet, stable family unit in the warm yellow house on Oregon Street in Urbana. It was like seeing someone finally planted after having been rootless or uprooted. His petals began to unfurl.
Just before he moved to California he gave a wooden acoustic guitar to my daughter Bianca. He stayed a long while, just sitting with her, playing and talking shop. Unrushed and unruffled, he was in his comfort zone, sharing a simple moment while encouraging the next generation to play music. She still plays the guitar often and enjoys the sound of it. It’s a special memory.
Even now I half expect to see him in the usual places with that acknowledging look, like a subtle salute. Some people are just like that: they’re inextricably a part of things, knit into the fabric of our world. I’m so grateful to have known Nick and called him my friend. He is very much missed and will always have our great love and respect.
Sasha Rubel
September 15, 2020