The teenaged Arthur Russell left Oskaloosa in 1968. He was a musical prodigy (cello and piano), a hippie vagabond and a spiritual seeker. He moved to a Buddhist commune in San Francisco, passed his high school equivalency, then became Allen Ginsberg’s accompanist and perhaps lover. Five years later, he hopped to New York City where he attracted notice in avant-garde circles, following a musical progression that transcended category and recording way more music than he ever finished or released. He died from AIDS complications in 1992, just short of his 41st birthday.
The New York Times and the Village Voice noted his passing. The former described him as “a cellist, vocalist and composer who was known for his fusion of classical and popular music.” The latter said, “his songs were so personal, that it seems as though he simply vanished into his music.”
Vinton’s Elizabeth Moen didn’t know Russell’s music until she also left her native Iowa, moving to Chicago in the midst of COVID. Yet her five-song For Arthur sounds uncanny in its interpretive artistry, with Moen channeling a kindred spirit in a way that transcends gender, generation and geography. The songs receive fresh life from a contemporary artist whose “don’t fence me in” attitude toward categorization she plainly shares with Russell.
Her voice has more power than Russell’s, her range more expansive. She transforms the opening “Nobody Wants a Lonely Heart” into sultry soul balladry, with steel guitar providing the sonic signature. But much of the rest hews more closely to Russell’s originals, the singing almost subliminal, the arrangements bare-boned. Melodies this lilting and lyrics so straightforward don’t need much dressing up.
“I Never Get Lonely” and “Words of Love” have a stripped-down intimacy that makes both sound as personal to Moen as they were to Russell. Nothing in these suggests performance; listeners might feel like they are eavesdropping. Moen herself nearly disappears into Russell’s music. For someone known for such a big voice, the restraint underscores her vocal command.
She draws from Russell’s more accessible side, from what a sticker on 2019’s Iowa Dream compilation called “the sublime folk and pop side of Arthur Russell.” The flip side of such sublimity is very much in evidence on another Russell compilation, the recently released Picture of Bunny Rabbit. Here he pushes his cello toward abrasive extremes and buries his voice in the echoey murk, creating a darker strain of dub ambient sound.
There is little hint of the introspective troubadour on Picture of Bunny Rabbit, yet Russell’s music was plainly representative of his radical creativity and restless spirit, as if these weren’t separate musical pursuits but parts of the same continuum.
Moen’s EP may introduce some of Russell’s fans to her, and her fans to him. It has been launched with all Bandcamp proceeds benefiting One Iowa — a nonprofit that describes itself as “a catalyst for improving the lives of LGBTQ Iowans.”
In her dedication, Moen says the music is “for queer people in red states or small towns who don’t feel like they can be themselves. For anyone who feels lonely or heartbroken.”
This article was originally published in Little Village’s August 2023 issue.
