HIS LIFE WAS HIS ART: RICK ANDERSON OF THE TUBES

Music Mentor, Artistic Visionary, Bassist, and Co-Founder of The Tubes

As one of my music mentors and as a friend, Rick Anderson (born 8/1/47) played in the background of my life for many years. He co-founded The Tubes, the revolutionary art rock band that fused satire and theatre and drew comparisons to Alice Cooper and Frank Zappa. The Tubes entered my radar in 1975 with their breakout debut and their presence on hipster FM radio (including Fee Waybill’s witty radio PSA promoting birth control). However, the powerhouse musicality of The Tubes drew me the most, with their sophisticated progressive rock punctuated by pop music anthems, from “White Punks on Dope” and “What Do You Want From Life?”

Through hard work, constant touring, and perpetual crafting on stage and in the studio, The Tubes created an astonishing resume (and they’re still on the road). Their careers intersected with David Bowie, ELO, Peter Gabriel, Olivia Newton-John, Cliff Richard, Todd Rundgren, Rick Wakeman, and other giants in the field. The Tubes commanded my respect then and now.

My big move to California in May 1977 was precipitated by a mix tape sent to me by a friend and also mentor, Jeff Lloyd. His tape included several Tubes tracks with a note saying, “We need to do something this good,” and that upped my urge to head to San Francisco. Imagine my thrill when, two years later, Rick Anderson walked into my rehearsal space. At the time I was in a band called The Mystery Dates with bassist/guitarist Dan Rielly with me on lead vocals, bass, guitar, and keyboards.

We auditioned drummers and landed on Joyce, who brought in other singers and musicians, and that posse included Rick. He helped us knock the project into shape and re-named us The Band-Aids, suggesting we could be a parody of New Wave opening acts. We had fun doing covers like “Do Ya Wanna Dance?” and “Steppin’ Stone.”

The Band-Aids/Mystery Dates broke up in Spring 1980, but Rick and I kept up a rapport. He treated all my friends as his friends, and he had me over to his Twin Peaks apartment to record demos (he wanted to produce my song “Dancin’ So Hard”). We gabbed a lot about music, though I was more the beneficiary of Rick’s experience and wisdom. I was a brash, opinionated 22-year-old with a head full of stupid and naïve preconceptions about music and the entertainment industry—a white dope on punk. Rick patiently cut through with real-world mentoring, instructing me on the workings of major label record deals (The Tubes were signed to A&M at the time), pros and cons of musician’s unions, recording tips, and going for a pop music jugular while keeping one’s artistic integrity.

Musicians can get awfully territorial about music, letting likes and dislikes eclipse the true value of a musical work, and I was like that back then. Rick taught me that if I’m going to cope and get ahead in this business, I had to be more objective and expect irony. For example, Rick took me to a club to see Eddie Money, who I wasn’t a fan of, but Rick said, “Watch Eddie. He has great charisma onstage.” From Rick I learned the necessity of stage presence and to respect the craft of other professionals whether I’m into their music or not.

Another example: I had a negative reaction to The Carpenters. They didn’t fit my idea of hipsterism, but Rick asked, “What’s wrong with them? There’s good playing, singing, production, songwriting, and they make people happy.” I couldn’t argue with that, and it led me to a cardinal rule of working in music: Leave my opinions at the door. Don’t let my attitudes and personal tastes block my discovery process as a creator. I can flex my likes and dislikes in private, but ultimately, they don’t matter in God’s grand scheme of creation and collaboration.

In 1981, after signing to Capitol Records, The Tubes got bigger and busier. Rick and I drifted apart socially but we kept crossing paths (I gave him my first LP in 1985). Then in the late 90s we reconnected and began a meaningful correspondence of emails and postcards. He was still a reliable voice of affirmation and encouragement, with his droll realism balanced by childlike awe.

In December 2022 we sat at Rick’s funeral and listened to his daughter, family, and friends talk about Rick’s life well-lived. He resided in the small farm belt town of Merced CA, where he was celebrated as a model neighbor, father, and husband. It was a touching report, with descriptions of Rick’s constant even temper and dependability as a man and as a musical force. Of course, I wish I could’ve spent more time in person with Rick, but he left us with quite an imprint, and I’m grateful that he inspired me to up my game in every way.

(This article first appeared in 2023 and has been updated. Written by Johnny J. Blair © 2026)

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