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Monoman, aka Jeff Connolly, leader of the Lyres, a Boston phenomenon in the 80s that I never got to see. They struggled to achieve the nationwideâworld wide audience that people who saw them knew was coming their way. I think he was difficult to represent.
The Del Fuegos were another Boston band; this is Warren Zanes post: Before I joined The Del Fuegos, there was a greater chance of me showing up to one of their gigs if I knew Monomanâs band was headlining. The Lyres were different from every other band Iâd seen up to that point. I have said, many times, that watching The Lyres in that period was as close as Iâd get to seeing The Beatles in Hamburg. It was real rock and roll, which doesnât seem like such a rare thing . . . until you actually see it and realize that the thing youâve been calling rock and roll is something else. When the elements came together, The Lyres were the genuine article.
After finding The Lyres, I went back, picked up the DMZ record on Sire, the DMZ demos album with âShirt Loop.â Our friend Jules gave me, for my seventeenth birthday, the first single by The Lyres, âDonât Give It Up Nowâ/âHow Do You Know.â When âI Want to Help You Annâ came out, I thought for sure the world would catch on. I asked Rick Harte questions about Monoman, hearing about a love for The Kinks, record collecting, going to BU. Iâd watch from across the room when Monoman came into the HooDoo BBQ, still in his kitchen whites after his job as a short order cook, and wonder what he could be thinking.
I couldnât understand Monoman, revered him, was a little afraid of him, and couldnât believe that more people didnât understand how great he was. With Lilli Dennisonâs encouragement, I took the opportunity at a soundcheck to sit across from Monoman in a booth. He was wearing mirrored aviator glasses. I poured my heart out, telling how much he meant to me. I couldnât believe he was giving me so much time, but I took it. I went on and on, until I realized heâd been asleep the whole time. Thank God.
There were a lot of cool bands in Boston at the time, many of them a total bore when set opposite The Lyres. Why? They had no show. Monoman gave you something to look at, a point of view, some madness, a wild energy, sometimes anger. He was a charismatic in ways that itâs hard to put words to, but I do know enough to know that his charisma didnât come through language so much as it did through the body. When he got behind a song, delivered it the way he wanted to, it was a kind of complete commitment. There are things you can learn to do as a performer, just as there are things that canât be learned. Monoman was in possession of vast quantities of the latter.
Iâve never stopped listening to The Lyres. I didnât âgrow outâ of them. They remain my example of what rock and roll can be in a pure form. When we went to make a record with Rick Harte, I asked if please we could cut something with Monoman. I had almost no say in The Del Fuegos at that point, was the new guy, the kid, the one trying to pick up your girlfriend even though I looked like I was twelve. But I did ask for that. We cut âBusy Man,â the DMZ track. Then we drove Monoman back to Boston, back to his place. No one could really understand a thing he said on the drive home. Not because it was brilliant or beyond us, just that Monoman was in a separate reality. We didnât speak the language that people spoke in the place heâd gone to.
He never became a friend. That just wasnât the relationship. He was a hero. I believed in him as a singer, a writer, a performer. He had something, a propulsion, a particular feel, that was his alone. There was one edition of this guy. The so-called âPaisley Undergroundâ was a movement he didnât belong to. No beads-and-ruffles costume ball for Monoman. His bands? They had mixed feelings about him. No group hugs. The best seat in the house wasnât on the stage with him. The best seat in the house was the one I had.
I never sensed that Monoman, who I never referred to as âJeff,â was all that big on personal peace. Things bothered him. He wasnât above the occasional rant. But I hope thereâs some peace for him in this transition. He was a natural talent, a reckless spirit, a King in the court of Boston rock and roll. He will not be forgotten over here.
Sad to see a talented voice to be silenced.
This is why Iâve loved being an RP listener for decades. Itâs where Iâve been introduced to music I wouldnât have been exposed to IRL.
Very sad, I really like this guy and thanks to RP I got to know his stuff enough to go out and seek more.
A cool concert memory of Glen. I saw him only once at The Kings Theater in Brooklyn. If you've never been, it is an over the top opulent old Loews Wonder Theater from the 20's that was renovated not too long ago and is a GREAT place to see a show. The acoustics are amazing! Anyway the show started with Glen walking out to the very front of the stage. He quieted the crowd and then started singing without a microphone. His beautiful voice carried throughout the theater. After about a minute the rest of the band started to filter on stage and he went to the mic to finish the tune with the band. Best show opening I've ever saw.
Very sad, I really like this guy and thanks to RP I got to know his stuff enough to go out and seek more.
A cool concert memory of Glen. I saw him only once at The Kings Theater in Brooklyn. If you've never been, it is an over the top opulent old Loews Wonder Theater from the 20's that was renovated not too long ago and is a GREAT place to see a show. The acoustics are amazing! Anyway the show started with Glen walking out to the very front of the stage. He quieted the crowd and then started singing without a microphone. His beautiful voice carried throughout the theater. After about a minute the rest of the band started to filter on stage and he went to the mic to finish the tune with the band. Best show opening I've ever saw.
Coming home from school and watching the show in the afternoon everyday.
I remember him - particularly "Palisades Park" and "Abigail Beecher". Palisades Amusement Park was visible across the Hudson River from where I grew up, and I remember hearing clips of that song sometimes in TV and radio ads for the park.
