Nov. 6, 1968-June 5, 2003

Matthew Sperry, one of my closest friends and favorite musicians, was hit by a truck and killed June 5 while riding his bike to work. He was a truly incredible musician, a virtuoso bassist open to all kinds of music. One night you'd find him at a low-key improv venue creating otherworldly sounds by bowing the piece of driftwood that he'd stuck between the strings of his bass. The next, he'd be under the bright stage lights at the Victoria Theatre in San Francisco playing glam rock in leather pants and eye shadow, his hair teased high as a cast member of Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

His death has really touched people – fellow musicians, friends, and fans from around the world. And it wasn't just that Matthew was a brilliant musician, or that he had what was perhaps the most positive outlook of anyone I've ever known. What was really extraordinary was that his attitude was infectious. What I've heard during the past week – what everyone has heard – again and again, are stories about his big smile, his laughter, the hugs he gave away so freely; the incredible effect he had on those around him. If Matthew Sperry had a single enemy on this planet, that person has yet to come forward.

I worked with Matthew in many different musical projects, often asking him to execute near impossible phrases on the contrabass. He would always give a shrug and a little laugh and promise to do his best. And his best was never less than amazing! As an improviser, Matthew would always surprise me. With a bass, a bow, and an assortment of kitchen implements, he could produce an astonishing array of incredible sounds, and he had an unerring sense of how and when to use them. A local musician pulled me aside after the last time Matthew and I played together, to tell me that he thought Matthew was a "true improviser" – always there in the moment, never relying on a bag of tricks. But for all of his virtuosity, Matthew was as modest a guy as you could hope to meet. I never got the sense that he was playing to prove how great he was. He always seemed more interested in just making good music. When I asked Matthew to join my rock band, called ... , he not only found his place in the music immediately, but also overnight became close friends with the other band members, who I think at first were mistakenly intimidated by his awesome musicianship.

Last week I met a small group of friends for a dinner in Matthew's honor, and we shared many memories and tried to come to grips with his death and what he meant to us. Perhaps we were hoping that somehow we could make something positive come from this senseless loss. What kept coming to my mind, and what I finally offered up, was simply that we should all be nicer – which is exactly the kind of spirit Matthew was blessed with and what he helped us find in ourselves.

The day before Matthew's death, an article ran in the Bay Guardian about my music and the scene in which Matthew played such an integral part. "It's definitely about the music," I was quoted as saying. "But it's ... about people, too. We're all in a position where we have to be together, where we play music and relate to each other. What I get out of it has something to do with the humanness of it all." Matthew Sperry, as a musician and as a person, embodied this humanness. His life, however short, was very rich, and I am thankful to have known him and shared his music and his magic.