Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa

Penned when Arther Conley was only twenty years-old, the lyrics have an eerily premonitory ring to them. The song, alongside the rest of Conley’s 1967 debut

Sweet Soul Music, was co-written by mentor, producer, manager and best friend Otis Redding, who died mere months after the album’s release. Conley was totally devastated.

Leaving nine Billboard humdingers in his wake, Conley wandered the globe for several years before finally disappearing after a 1974 concert in South Africa amidst hushed rumors of homosexuality and multiple-personality syndrome. Then VICE ran into him in Sweden. He was designing carpets under the name Lee Roberts and wanted to say hi.

VICE: You were pegged “the sweetest singer soul music ever made.” Were you always a singer?
Arthur Conley: I was in an all-female gospel group called the Evening Smiles when I was a teen. It was kind of special being the only guy in an all-female band. After that I started Arthur and the Corvettes. I’ll never forget the night we played Howard High Stunt Night. I’d already written my first song, called “So Sad,” and I was so excited to hear all the kids in the auditorium, everybody screaming “So Sad.”

How was working with Otis Redding?
We hit it off like brothers. We had a lot of laughs. He had a warm personality and we were a great working team. We recorded only a couple of records together before he left me though. He was the most wonderful fantastic person. He had other plans for me but he drove me away from other artists. I never really got to know other artists because he sheltered me.

There were rumors that you two were a little too close and that his death drove you insane.
It wasn’t normal. How do you take that? It didn’t really hit me until I was at his funeral. I made a fool of myself at the funeral. When we got to Atlanta for the funeral, everything went crazy. We got into an accident on the way to the ceremony. I hurt my leg pretty bad, it was knocked out of order but we had to get to the ceremony. I was hopping around and limping and all that stuff. So we got there late and the door was locked because it had already started. We had to beat on the doors of the auditorium, which was terrible, as you can imagine. When they finally let me in, I hopped down to Otis in front of everybody. Everybody was sitting there, but I didn’t give a shit who was there, I was going straight to the coffin.

I stood there and gave him all my feelings (silence). When they put him into the ground, into his new home, I really couldn’t stand it. I don’t recall exactly what I did. It’s like a blank, but I felt that I was being suffocated watching them lower the coffin into the ground. That was awful. It was like he was still alive for me but they were locking him up in the ground so he couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t handle it.

But the plan was for you to carry on. You were supposed to be the next Otis. What happened? Where did you go?
To me it was a complete disaster because when Otis left me, everything fell apart. My management did their best. Everyone was like “Arthur, you are the king of soul, you have to take Otis’ place.” I didn’t really grasp what that meant. I was too young. I felt they were only using me for who I was in order to fulfill their shows. I felt very uncomfortable. So eventually I just went on my way. I started all over.

But you disappeared off the face of the earth. Did you leave the States or did you hide out?
First I went to England, but it was difficult trying to keep the English Mafia at bay. People were always trying to scare me about the Mafia, even with Otis. I saw that film The Godfather and I had nightmares for years. I got through that mess. Then I took a trip to South Africa and felt I should end it all. I just wanted to go back to my youth, painting and going to cafes without being recognized. Then in 74, I went to Belgium. I went to Brussels and did that for two years. That was lekker, it was really nice. Then someone told me to check out Amsterdam because it was fantastic. So I went to Holland.

We got really high in Amsterdam.
It’s very free in Amsterdam; no one cares what you do there. So I changed my name to Lee Roberts and I’ve been here ever since. Lee represents the number thirteen, which means constant rebirth.

How is “Lee” thirteen?
Five and five is ten, right? L is twelve so one and two is three. E is the fifth letter so two fives and a three makes thirteen. See what I mean? It’s also 22 which is the master number for someone who builds things. Laying a good foundation.

Why did you change your name?
I loved getting a new name. I felt good, nobody knew who I was. So I put Arthur Conley to rest, to sleep. Lee was out and about, but lately they’ve been becoming one. Arthur’s been coming out. Yeah, Arthur’s back in a way. It’s the right time to come back. I’m finishing the life cycle off like a butterfly. I’m shedding a skin. That’s how I am. I can do what I want with Arthur or Lee. They’re getting all mixed up now.

How did you get involved in carpet designing?
When I came to Amsterdam, I started painting and going to galleries and museums and stuff. I was free, dig? I met this man who made carpets. I saw his work and it was fantastic. I never seen no carpets like that before! That person is Mr. Jensen. I moved in with him and started designing carpets for him myself. They’ve been very successful all over the Netherlands, Benelux and even America.

What are the carpets like?
I’m telling you, these carpets are completely out of sight. They are like no carpet you can imagine in this world. These days, I still love the carpets absolutely to death but, as I said, Arthur is back so I’m gonna keep on singing. I’m currently living with two people: Mr. Jensen the carpet man and his mother. And I’ll tell you what – I’m having myself a ball!