I only got to see Les Paul once during the many, many Mondays he played at Iridium over the past 13 years (he preceded that with a 12 year run at the Village's long-departed Fat Tuesday's.) It was ten years ago, and my friend Pat and I had just walked out of a screening of Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown, about a guitarist (played by Sean Penn) who was haunted by the ghost of Django Rheinhardt. We were at Lincoln Square Cinemas, and as I looked south on Broadway, I noticed the Iridium marquis. It was a Monday night.
"I've got an idea," I said. "Why don't we go check out Les Paul?"
"Really?" Pat said, incredulously. "God, he must be so old."
"Yeah, but I've never seen him," I said. "C'mon, It'll be fun."
So we did. He was deaf as a doornail, told crappy jokes, and his playing was slow and methodical, thanks to his chronic arthritis. But, it was a good show, and the whole time Pat kept reminding me how amazing it was to be in the same room as the chief innovator of the solid body guitar. Hope you had the chance, too. (The Times' obit is here.)