You never know when you’re going to see somebody for the last time, and I was fortunate enough to have dinner with Michael Chapdelaine and his wife, Suzanne Dove, in September, just two months before the guitarist-composer died unexpectedly on November 16. They were in Atlanta for a conference Suzanne was attending, and we met at a wonderful vegan Caribbean-fusion restaurant in Midtown where we were able to sit outside.
I’d known Michael for about ten years. He’d been my teacher, musical mentor, and, most importantly, a beloved friend. I don’t remember how or when I discovered his videos on YouTube, but I recall being absolutely floored by them.
If you’ve never heard Michael’s rendition of the Beatles’ “She’s Leaving Home,” for instance, I think it’s safe to say that you don’t know what a guitar can do. From his note-perfect rendition of the opening harp figure to his recreation of Lennon and McCartney’s overlapping vocals to his simulacrum, in miniature, of the piece’s orchestration, the song is at once familiar and completely stunningly new.
Enthralled by the videos, I looked up Michael’s website and saw that he offered lessons, so I booked a week of them for the summer of 2014. These lessons actually mark the beginning of my semi-permanent return, after decades away, to New Mexico, a state Michael and I shared a love for, and as I write this, I realize my being here is one more precious thing I owe to Michael’s presence in my life.
In any case, when I last saw him, to be honest, he didn’t look well, and I felt concerned. Still, it was a lively evening, flowing with wonderful conversation, warm affection among the three of us, and excellent food, which was always something important to Michael. Texting from our mutual airport terminals the next day, he celebrated the “oh so good Cuban café” from the previous night, while decrying “the pig excrement restaurants” he’d found in the airport.
Michael was a complicated fellow, a man of extremes. An intellectual and a sensualist, a deliberative artist, and a reckless sensation junkie, he was the yin to his own yang.
Chapdelaine in New Mexico circa 2003
I remember calling him in Albuquerque, where he was living at the time, after I’d arrived in New Mexico for those first lessons and mentioning that I was at a friend’s house in Santa Fe. “Oh, I grieve for Santa Fe!” he told me, his voice dropping into a growl over the telephone line. I remember thinking that if anybody ever asked me how I felt about Santa Fe, I’d probably say, “Well, yeah, I guess I do kind of miss being there.”
And the thought occurred to me that it was Michael’s passion and his ability to express his emotions so openly and without apology that made him the great artist and the expressive musician that he was.
