Toward the end of his funeral Mass, Phil Agins got one last chance to blow the doors off a room.
The priest at Our Lady Of Victory Church in leafy Ashaway, R.I., announced in a briny New England accent that the 100-plus people crammed into the pews were about to hear a recording of one of Phil’s songs, “Last Minute,” by The Royale Brothers.
The tiny church walls usually accustomed to refrains of “Alleluia” and “Amazing Grace,” reverberated with rock music—Agins’ rock music.
And that was the moment that many of his family and friends and fellow musicians, for lack of better English, lost it.
“Last Minute” is a melancholy song that pouches the melody from “Sloop John B,” with singer Joey Macrino’s world-weary lyrics about saying goodbye to New York City. But what gives the song its personality is a short playful guitar line about 30 seconds in. It’s a bright and unexpected progression of notes that provides a glimmer of joy but does not betray the song’s mood and purpose.
In other words, what Agins did was elevate “Last Minute” out of the ordinary.
He also elevated the tight-knit independent music community in New London into something other than just a bunch of bar bands playing for each others’ sake.
“He was a facilitator for music,” Rich Martin, a local music stalwart for 20 years, said. “Whether you were on stage with him or watching him play, everyone appreciated his subtlety and touch.”
“Music was Phil’s life,” Macrino said. “If he had his way, we would have been on tour every single day.”
According to reports, Agins, who was 25, died in his Bank Street apartment sometime between April 13 and April 14, and was found by his Royale Brothers band mate, Sebastian Coppotelli.
The Office of The Chief Medical Examiner has not yet issued a cause of death.
News of Agins’ death drifted around the city on that Monday night as musicians and artists gathered at The Dutch Tavern, a sort of home base for New London’s art scene.
Over beers and cigarettes, a long week of mourning began.
“It reminded me how much we all mean to each other,” Daphne Glover, who played with Agins in the Roadside Attractions, said.
On April 15, grief hung over the city like sackcloth; several in the scene returned to the Dutch, such as Robert Mucciarone, the Royales drummer who lunched with James Faviello, owner of Backstage Rock Bar in Groton, a regular haunt for the band.
Several people patted Mucciarone on the back as they walked by. Others turned to the Internet and Agins’ MySpace page to write messages ranging from outpourings of sadness to simple, plaintive goodbyes. “Man, what the hell...I’m gonna miss you,” read one.
Singer-songwriter Matt Gouette wrote a letter to Agins, thanking him for being someone he could confide in.
Meghan Killimade, the Paul Brockett Roadshow Band drummer and a photographer who has chronicled the local scene for three years, set up a memorial page with pictures of Agins and his bands.
By coincidence, it was a hectic week of shows in the city, as Quiet Life were opening for Justin Earle, son of country-rock performer Steve Earle, who played mid-week, and Oakley Hall, an up-and-coming group from New York, were slated for the Oasis on Saturday.
Many didn’t have the energy to go to the Quiet Life show, and several took refuge at home. The people who give New London its artistic vitality would walk by each other, as banal pleasantries such as “hellos” and waves took on gravity.
Agins’ wake was scheduled for Friday at 4 p.m., tucked away in the corner of the working week.
All of the people you’d expect to see at a rock concert in New London were milled around the parking lot of a funeral home in Agins’ native Westerly.
After all, you couldn’t smoke inside, and many needed a cigarette.
There was a chronological photo display of Agins throughout his life. Three of his guitars were in stands near where his family stood greeting mourners. Agins’ trademark, a white knit cap, was flopped on top of the casket.
Saturday, the day of the funeral, was a splendid day—sunny, temperate, bright.
“Phil took the winter with him,” someone was overheard saying.
Dan Agins, Phil’s brother, gave the eulogy and once again mentioned “the look”—the icy stare Agins would give when a band mate would play out of time or play an errant note. Dan Agins also talked about the sense of pride and love he felt when his brother was on stage.
As pallbearers transported Agins’ casket to the hearse, an impromptu band formed by musicians from his days as a blues musician in Austin, as well as Rob Jensen, from Incognito Sofa Love, played a gospel-rock tune, as people embraced.
Then, that night at the Oasis, New London underwent a catharsis.
Glover and local folk singer Craig Edwards sang an a cappella tune, before playing a short set they dedicated to Agins.
Then Oakley Hall and the group’s brand of Richard Thompson-esque folk rock seemed to hit the spot, as New London’s reputation for receptive audiences began to emerge.
Paul Brockett Roadshow closed matters with an impassioned set of thrash-country, including a rendition of a Royale Brothers song, after which the band came down from the stage, crying and looking for someone to hug.
And they found it amid the swell of musicians and fans.
“That week was a sea change,” Martin said. “It made us focus on how important we are to each other.”
And while the Royale Brothers are finished as a band, Macrino echoed Martin’s sentiment.
“New London is a special close-knit community,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll see that in a lot of towns.”