Quince Buteau
February 23, 1951 — May 4, 2012
Quince Buteau
February 23, 1951 — May 4, 2012
A
t 10:37pm in Chicago, Illinois on February 23, 1951, all hell broke loose.
quince buteau arrived to deeply touch our hearts + souls.
The major infusion of his passions he credited to 'The Alamo,' '2001: A Space Odyssey,' Early Blues + Rock 'n Roll, Van Morrison, The Ventures, + his beloved friend Stevie Ray Vaughan.
quince (he preferred his moniker in lower case) paved unique careers, first as an acclaimed fashion designer in Europe in the 1970s immediately after graduating with honors from Parsons School of Design in NYC. He then segued his talents to the music world in the 1980s as a Procurer + Curator of collectible artist signed guitars + memorabilia for the Hard Rock Cafés Worldwide, of which he was also a pioneering investor. In the 90's he continued to design products for their gift shops, including the Hard Rock Hotel. He maintained a 40 year commitment to music as a collector + archivist. He produced the celebrated Ventures 'Acoustic Rock' album.
quince shared his unique sensibilities – his wit, humor + passion – with his partner of 23 yrs, Jill Sokolec, a fellow designer who he grew up with, until his passing in his beloved Hollywood Hills home on 04 May 2012. quince is also survived by his sister Pat McKinnis (Mike); his nephews, Scott (Kecia) + Chris, his niece, Elizabeth (Bob Shea); + his grandnieces + nephews, Lucy, Grace Patrick and Emily.
A true original he will be missed by many all over the world.
__________________________________________________________________
An old friend gone
by Paul Andersen for the Aspen Times
His home in LA was on the stepped hillside right below the HOLLYWOOD sign. He was my drum teacher in high school. A few months before he died this summer, he claimed without irony to have smoked a million cigarettes in his life.
Quince was the coolest kid I knew at New Trier High School. He played a Rogers drum set in a suburban Chicago rock band, and he grew out his beard when few us could sprout a peach fuzz shadow. Quince was a pseudonym, but that's how I knew him as one of my oldest friends.
I think about Quince every time I play "Truth," an album by the Jeff Beck Group. Beck was my introduction to rock 'n roll with a bluesy guitar style that had soul, charisma and volume. I crank up the stereo on that album every time I listen to it.
Quince introduced me to Jeff Beck in 1968, my first rock concert. We were both 17 when Beck opened at the Electric Theater (later the Kinetic Playground) on North Clark St. in Chicago. Quince drove us downtown in his VW beetle - early '60s vintage - from our tree-shaded neighborhoods. We paid at the door and stepped into another world.
What had been the ballroom of a big band jazz venue from before World War II had morphed into a rock haven. Such was the fate of many old ballrooms of that era. The Rainbo Room was a resplendent mausoleum to the Jazz Age, its ornate décor falling into a terminal state of decadence amid the hippie invasion.
The cavernous ballroom was pungent with the smell of weed. A cloud emanated from the few hundred people sprawled across the hardwood dance floor. That heady aroma would define my peer gatherings for decades, and sometimes still does.
As I followed Quince across the dimly lit ballroom a bank of strobe lights suddenly flashed on overhead. I lost my equilibrium and reeled under a slow motion spell that set the tone for psychedelic effects throughout my concert-going years. Perhaps it was a potent metaphor for the surreal flashes that constitute our daily lives.
Quince and I sat cross-legged among the largest concentration of hippies I had ever seen. I had to keep my cool just to resist staring gape-mouthed at a circus of characters populating a surreal stage set. Soon, a light show came on a huge screen with ameba-like blobs of color swirling like marbled candy.
The Jeff Beck Group took the stage with Nicky Hopkins pounding the keyboard, Ron Wood stroking the bass, Aynsley Dunbar wailing on the drums, and Rod Stewart all but swallowing the microphone. Jeff Beck, the former Yardbirds guitarist, postured seductively on every flashy lead.
Quince would later realize a rocker's dream by collecting guitars for the Hard Rock Café from the likes of Bo Diddly, Stevie Ray Vaughn and others with whom he made backstage deals. Another business venture of his was making chocolate vintage guitars in collector cases.
When we weren't at rock concerts, Quince and I would go night skiing at Wilmot, a dinky ski area just over the line in Wisconsin where conditions varied from slush to glacial ice. In the warming house we smoked Camels over hot chocolate while Leslie Gore and Buddy Holly played on the juke box.
We remained friends when Quince went to DU and I to Western State in Gunnison. Later, Quince studied at Parsons, then moved to Germany as a fashion designer for Bogner. He had the notoriety of designing his girlfriend's prom dress in high school.
Ten years ago I visited Quince in LA where he was wrestling with ill health and terminal disillusionment, though he somehow retained the subtle wit and characteristic smirk that marked his avant-garde urbanity. In high school he had predicted that he would not live past 30. He died in his sleep at 61.
Jeff Beck will always conjure memories of Quince as the old friend who took me under his wing. I, the wide-eyed innocent, peeked under the flap of the circus tent at an expanding universe revealed by the strobes at the Electric Theater. Life would never be the same.
Paul Andersen's column appears on Mondays.
__________________________________________________________________
"Quintessentially quince"
Some are born Romantic. Some have romance thrust upon them. Downey-skinned + sweet fleshed, the quince is one of the former.
The apple – allegedly the fatal fruit with which Eve seduced Adam – was not, as historians would have us believe, just any ordinary apple plucked from a cold European orchard, but its sweet cousin from Venus's garden. A quince was Paris's offering to the mighty Aphrodite. Medieval Europe served quinces at all its wedding feasts. The ancient Greeks tossed fresh quinces into bridal chariots; a gift of quinces was a declaration of love.
Quinces are peculiar but irresistibly charming. Although fine-looking – plump + golden with a captivating scent that will stop you in its tracks – the quince remains hard + acid flavored but the most tender + easy to bruise.
And so the amatory rituals have been written.
quince cast his spell.
He had me at first whiff.
A lifetime of romance ensued.
To the most romantic man I have ever known,
I love you with all my heart, dear quince
I will miss you until we meet again
No matter how bittersweet.
~Jill Sokolec
May 2012
__________________________________________________________________
FOR YOU
Sweet lovin' woman, hard livin' man
Layin' it out the best that I can
For you, for you
Reachin' for stars fightin' the moon
Findin' the words and learnin' the tune
For you, for you
I've had some fancy shelter
And I've been left out in the rain
You're the only pleasure I've had for all my pain
Cravin' some rest washed up at your door
Wasted the best, but I'm askin' for more
For you, for you
Burnin' so hard trying' to shine
Wishin' the water would turn into wine
For you, for you
Even when I came down to the end
I turned it around and started over again
For you, for you
(written by Will Jennings)
t 10:37pm in Chicago, Illinois on February 23, 1951, all hell broke loose.
quince buteau arrived to deeply touch our hearts + souls.
The major infusion of his passions he credited to 'The Alamo,' '2001: A Space Odyssey,' Early Blues + Rock 'n Roll, Van Morrison, The Ventures, + his beloved friend Stevie Ray Vaughan.
quince (he preferred his moniker in lower case) paved unique careers, first as an acclaimed fashion designer in Europe in the 1970s immediately after graduating with honors from Parsons School of Design in NYC. He then segued his talents to the music world in the 1980s as a Procurer + Curator of collectible artist signed guitars + memorabilia for the Hard Rock Cafés Worldwide, of which he was also a pioneering investor. In the 90's he continued to design products for their gift shops, including the Hard Rock Hotel. He maintained a 40 year commitment to music as a collector + archivist. He produced the celebrated Ventures 'Acoustic Rock' album.
quince shared his unique sensibilities – his wit, humor + passion – with his partner of 23 yrs, Jill Sokolec, a fellow designer who he grew up with, until his passing in his beloved Hollywood Hills home on 04 May 2012. quince is also survived by his sister Pat McKinnis (Mike); his nephews, Scott (Kecia) + Chris, his niece, Elizabeth (Bob Shea); + his grandnieces + nephews, Lucy, Grace Patrick and Emily.
A true original he will be missed by many all over the world.
__________________________________________________________________
An old friend gone
by Paul Andersen for the Aspen Times
His home in LA was on the stepped hillside right below the HOLLYWOOD sign. He was my drum teacher in high school. A few months before he died this summer, he claimed without irony to have smoked a million cigarettes in his life.
Quince was the coolest kid I knew at New Trier High School. He played a Rogers drum set in a suburban Chicago rock band, and he grew out his beard when few us could sprout a peach fuzz shadow. Quince was a pseudonym, but that's how I knew him as one of my oldest friends.
I think about Quince every time I play "Truth," an album by the Jeff Beck Group. Beck was my introduction to rock 'n roll with a bluesy guitar style that had soul, charisma and volume. I crank up the stereo on that album every time I listen to it.
Quince introduced me to Jeff Beck in 1968, my first rock concert. We were both 17 when Beck opened at the Electric Theater (later the Kinetic Playground) on North Clark St. in Chicago. Quince drove us downtown in his VW beetle - early '60s vintage - from our tree-shaded neighborhoods. We paid at the door and stepped into another world.
What had been the ballroom of a big band jazz venue from before World War II had morphed into a rock haven. Such was the fate of many old ballrooms of that era. The Rainbo Room was a resplendent mausoleum to the Jazz Age, its ornate décor falling into a terminal state of decadence amid the hippie invasion.
The cavernous ballroom was pungent with the smell of weed. A cloud emanated from the few hundred people sprawled across the hardwood dance floor. That heady aroma would define my peer gatherings for decades, and sometimes still does.
As I followed Quince across the dimly lit ballroom a bank of strobe lights suddenly flashed on overhead. I lost my equilibrium and reeled under a slow motion spell that set the tone for psychedelic effects throughout my concert-going years. Perhaps it was a potent metaphor for the surreal flashes that constitute our daily lives.
Quince and I sat cross-legged among the largest concentration of hippies I had ever seen. I had to keep my cool just to resist staring gape-mouthed at a circus of characters populating a surreal stage set. Soon, a light show came on a huge screen with ameba-like blobs of color swirling like marbled candy.
The Jeff Beck Group took the stage with Nicky Hopkins pounding the keyboard, Ron Wood stroking the bass, Aynsley Dunbar wailing on the drums, and Rod Stewart all but swallowing the microphone. Jeff Beck, the former Yardbirds guitarist, postured seductively on every flashy lead.
Quince would later realize a rocker's dream by collecting guitars for the Hard Rock Café from the likes of Bo Diddly, Stevie Ray Vaughn and others with whom he made backstage deals. Another business venture of his was making chocolate vintage guitars in collector cases.
When we weren't at rock concerts, Quince and I would go night skiing at Wilmot, a dinky ski area just over the line in Wisconsin where conditions varied from slush to glacial ice. In the warming house we smoked Camels over hot chocolate while Leslie Gore and Buddy Holly played on the juke box.
We remained friends when Quince went to DU and I to Western State in Gunnison. Later, Quince studied at Parsons, then moved to Germany as a fashion designer for Bogner. He had the notoriety of designing his girlfriend's prom dress in high school.
Ten years ago I visited Quince in LA where he was wrestling with ill health and terminal disillusionment, though he somehow retained the subtle wit and characteristic smirk that marked his avant-garde urbanity. In high school he had predicted that he would not live past 30. He died in his sleep at 61.
Jeff Beck will always conjure memories of Quince as the old friend who took me under his wing. I, the wide-eyed innocent, peeked under the flap of the circus tent at an expanding universe revealed by the strobes at the Electric Theater. Life would never be the same.
Paul Andersen's column appears on Mondays.
__________________________________________________________________
"Quintessentially quince"
Some are born Romantic. Some have romance thrust upon them. Downey-skinned + sweet fleshed, the quince is one of the former.
The apple – allegedly the fatal fruit with which Eve seduced Adam – was not, as historians would have us believe, just any ordinary apple plucked from a cold European orchard, but its sweet cousin from Venus's garden. A quince was Paris's offering to the mighty Aphrodite. Medieval Europe served quinces at all its wedding feasts. The ancient Greeks tossed fresh quinces into bridal chariots; a gift of quinces was a declaration of love.
Quinces are peculiar but irresistibly charming. Although fine-looking – plump + golden with a captivating scent that will stop you in its tracks – the quince remains hard + acid flavored but the most tender + easy to bruise.
And so the amatory rituals have been written.
quince cast his spell.
He had me at first whiff.
A lifetime of romance ensued.
To the most romantic man I have ever known,
I love you with all my heart, dear quince
I will miss you until we meet again
No matter how bittersweet.
~Jill Sokolec
May 2012
__________________________________________________________________
FOR YOU
Sweet lovin' woman, hard livin' man
Layin' it out the best that I can
For you, for you
Reachin' for stars fightin' the moon
Findin' the words and learnin' the tune
For you, for you
I've had some fancy shelter
And I've been left out in the rain
You're the only pleasure I've had for all my pain
Cravin' some rest washed up at your door
Wasted the best, but I'm askin' for more
For you, for you
Burnin' so hard trying' to shine
Wishin' the water would turn into wine
For you, for you
Even when I came down to the end
I turned it around and started over again
For you, for you
(written by Will Jennings)
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