CHAMPAIGN — If you’ve been to a live-music show in downtown Champaign or Urbana in the past 20 years, you’ve probably seen him.

He was the tall, lanky guy in the hat and glasses, usually with a large mustache, right in front of the stage, clapping, strutting, twirling, preening, flailing and otherwise imbibing the music and broadcasting it and a general good vibe out to the rest of the venue.

And if you’ve bellied up to the bar at the Brass Rail in Champaign in the past decade, you’ve probably bent his ear — or more likely, he’s bent yours, while fixing up the house specialty, a “Squint” — gin mixed with the grapefruit soda Squirt.

Aaron Davidson, known as “A-Rock” and “Skid” to friends, acquaintances and strangers alike, embodied two of the oldest nightlife mantras: He brought the party with him wherever he went, and he always danced as if no one was watching.

The industry, culture and community his eclectic exuberance helped to foster was sent reeling in late July, when one of its greatest champions died suddenly at age 48.

“He made you feel OK about being weird or different, but also loved living on the edge. He was like Iggy Pop, Mick Jagger, and Bowie all mixed together,” said Andrew Kling, guitarist and lead singer for local band the Dirty Feathers, for whom Mr. Davidson served as hype man, muse, inspiration and No. 1 fan. “It really does feel like the heart and soul of the C-U music scene is gone. He was such an integral part of it.”

“Our community has suffered a terrible loss. This town will never be the same without Aaron Davidson. … Needless to say, his energy will be felt here for a long time to come,” read one of dozens of messages posted on his Facebook page shortly after the news became public.

“You were one of the most unique individuals and unapologetically yourself at all times,” read another. “You will be missed greatly. We are all lucky to have known such a kind soul.”

Mr. Davidson’s joie de vivre and flair for music and theater emerged at an early age. Born in 1974 in Charleston, he was playing with a toy guitar by age 2 and the real thing by age 6, according to his mother, Judy Houmes Davidson, who described a photo of him strumming one with Mickey Mouse’s face on the front as his younger brother Jonny mouthed a harmonica.

After she and his father split when he was about 10, she said, she moved into a new place and he got a cheap stereo system, which allowed him to blossom.

“One of his favorite sayings was ‘Let yer freak flag fly,’” she said. “That’s about the time where he found out he could do that.”

Mr. Davidson was active in plays at Newman High School, where he graduated in 1992, shortly before it consolidated with others to form the Shiloh district. He also had a flair for improvisation, sometimes involving his studies.

At a celebration-of-life service last month, his former guidance counselor, Steve Allen, recounted a story involving Mr. Davidson’s eighth-grade year, when one teacher required all students to make a presentation and turn in a paper.

“So Aaron’s time came up, and there’s all kinds of noise and fluttering of papers, and he finally grabs about three or four sheets of paper, walks up to the front of the room and gives this incredible presentation,” Allen said. “She told him, ‘Aaron, that was wonderful. Now please turn in your paper.’ After a bit of hemming and hawing, he walked over and handed her four blank sheets of paper.”

Allen, whose son attended school with Mr. Davidson, hosts a pig roast each year. Mr. Davidson’s mother said he turned the event into a one-man costume party, showing up in a different get-up each year, including as one of the Knights of the Round Table from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.”

After high school, Mr. Davidson entered the Army Reserves, getting assigned to an artillery unit at Fort Sill, Okla. After an honorable discharge, he headed for film school at Columbia College Chicago, but eventually made his way back to East Central Illinois, where two fateful occurrences awaited.

The first was his mother’s move to a new house outside Tuscola, one she settled on because it met a specific criterion.

“I wanted a place for my kids to play music,” Houmes Davidson said.

The property she found had an old chicken house that fit the bill. After a remodel, the “Chicken Shack” became the place for kids all over Douglas County to come see live music, usually performed by her sons and their friends. To ensure there was no drinking and driving, Houmes Davidson said she encouraged those who came for the music to stay the night, which further fostered connections among them.

The “Chicken Shack” sowed the seeds of Mr. Davidson’s influence on the music and nightlife scene in C-U, where many of the attendees moved in subsequent years (and where the musical connections continued, as he and his girlfriend rented their first apartment in Champaign from the father of Grammy winner Alison Krauss). But he almost didn’t get the chance.

The second fateful occurrence happened in March 1998. Mr. Davidson was at a party and fell off the balcony of a third-floor apartment, his mother said. He was in the hospital for a month, most of it in intensive care, and was not expected to survive at first. He lost an eye and had severe swelling and bruising on his brain. Doctors told her they would have to remove part of it, and she despaired when learning that the part they would take could affect his musical ability.

“But thankfully, as we know, that didn’t happen,” she said.

His friends lined the hallway outside the ICU, she said, wanting to see him. Allen, his former guidance counselor, was granted access as “Uncle Steve.”

As he lay in a coma, medical staff noted they had brought in a stereo to play music in an effort to help his recovery, but he seemed restless.

“They were playing country music,” Houmes Davidson said. Learning this, his girlfriend “brought in a bunch of his favorite tunes, and he calmed down immediately.”

When Mr. Davidson awoke, three of his friends had been standing around his bed, she said, and “he felt like he needed to entertain them, and asked them to sing a song with him.”

It would not be the last time he made such a request.

Now back on his feet, Mr. Davidson found two new callings in Champaign-Urbana: The local music scene, and the downtown service industry.

While still pursuing music, he and his two younger brothers, Jonny and Andy, found work at Radio Maria in downtown Champaign — they as cooks, he as a dishwasher, or, as he preferred it, “aquatic technician.” A few years later, Andy went to Farren’s Pub and Eatery, then at Church and Randolph streets. His brothers eventually migrated over too.

“I affectionately call this place an island of misfit toys,” Farren’s owner Carolyn Farren said. “The people who work here have found their way here because it’s where they get to be who they are, and the Davidson brothers fit right into that.

“Aaron was definitely legendary. He had an iconic wardrobe. And he would dance everywhere, including out of the back room to put dishes away. That was just part of him.”

He quickly found a home among his co-workers, becoming a member and ambassador of the Pi Omega Omega social fraternity, where he earned the “Skid” nickname.

Founder and President Barney “Moose” Joyce said he counted Mr. Davidson among a “Council of Elders” that helped forge the frat’s traditions, including nicknames for new members, which now number in the thousands; references to crows and chickens; the frat formal; and the Mr. Mustache competition, a farcical beauty contest he gleefully participated in each year, coming away with the title at least once.

Joyce said Mr. Davidson would usually bid him farewell with the phrase “See you in the funny papers.”

“Aaron Davidson was not only a frat brother, but a best friend,” he said. “He was not just a dancer and josher, he was one of the smartest Jacks I ever met and is profoundly missed. He helped turn this awful world into the funny papers, and that’s where I’ll be seeing him. Caw!”

For the past eight years, Mr. Davidson had been working as a bartender and promoter at downtown Champaign institution the Brass Rail. Manager Wink Turner — a fellow member of the “Council of Elders” who worked alongside him in previous jobs — remembered him as gregarious and inclusive.

“Skid led with love. And more so than most I’ve known, tolerated and influenced those that don’t,” he said. “Through unparalleled dancing, ears-open listening and pitchy-perfect vocals, Skid helped and helps thousands follow up with that love.”

Mr. Davidson became well-known around downtown, his mother said.

“One time, I was visiting, and we decided to go to the Jim Gould steakhouse on a whim,” she said. “We didn’t have a reservation, and it was crowded. As we talked to the hostess, the manager came over and started talking to Aaron, then pointed at the seating map and said ‘Put them there,’ and we were seated right away. That’s when I thought, ‘OK, he’s got some clout.’

A few years later, she and Mr. Davidson attended the manager’s wedding.

“But we’d also be walking around downtown and he’d stop and talk to all the homeless people in the exact same way,” she said.

Mr. Davidson’s biggest influence was on the C-U music scene. His penchant for exuberant dancing and die-hard, unfailing support of local bands made him highly sought-after.

“Having him on your side made you feel invincible,” Kling said. “If Aaron was at your show, at the front of the stage, shaking his hips and getting in tune, you felt like you had officially made it. Like a badge of honor.”

“It didn’t matter if there were only five people there. If Aaron was there dancing for you, it felt like the best show of your life.”

Mike Murphy, who owned and operated Mike ‘N Molly’s on Market Street until 2016, told of a special arrangement he made with Mr. Davidson after getting permission of the DJs who played his bar.

“I gave him a handwritten note on a matchbook that basically said he gets in to all DJ nights free, because he always started the dance party if it wasn’t in full swing already,” Murphy said. “The late-night dance parties at M ‘n M’s were for sure predominantly started by him.

“And to be clear, I don’t just mean each night,” he added. “I mean his energy was how the trend started as well. He just made it look too fun to keep sitting down. You had to join him. It was compelling!”

When Kling and his bandmates formed the Dirty Feathers in 2010, Mr. Davidson was front and center, introducing them before each show and starring in their music videos.

“Aaron was 100 percent pure concentrated rock ‘n’ roll. Nothing fake,” Kling said. “Anyone that has an artistic bone in their body should strive to live as free as he did.”

At one of the band’s first performances after Mr. Davidson’s death, drummer James Treichler unveiled a new addition: Mr. Davidson’s face now adorns the bass drum in his kit.

Ward Gollings, who has booked musical acts in C-U for 30 years and organizes the annual Great Cover Up event, said Mr. Davidson was one of the scene’s icons.

“His completely unadulterated and gloriously beautiful magic touched the souls of so many people,” Gollings said. “His presence at shows in this town was indeed legendary, and his aura, his orbit, was truly special. ‘One of a kind’ is a cliché, but not for A-Rock.”

Gollings and the Dirty Feathers combined for what might be the pinnacle of Mr. Davidson’s performing career. At the Great Cover Up, local bands perform a set in character as a famous act, covering the songs and dressing the part. Mr. Davidson’s dance style had long invited comparisons to the Rolling Stones’ Mick Jagger, and Kling said he was a huge fan of the band and knew most of the songs by heart. In 2012, life imitated art as the Dirty Feathers took the stage as the British rockers, with Mr. Davidson emulating one of his heroes.

“Of all the times I’ve ever played on stage, that was by far the most fun I’ve ever had,” Kling said.

He called Mr. Davidson the big brother he never had.

“Him not being around feels like I’ve lost my guiding compass for madness,” he said. “I will forever miss my rock ‘n’ roll soul brother. But I will always feel his presence at every show. And I think every band in town feels the weight of this loss, but all we can do is keep playing loud, because that’s what he would want.

“For me, it always goes back to some Stones lyrics we would often send in late-night texts: ‘May the good lord shine a light on you, make every song you sing your favorite tune.’”

A half-dozen local bands, including the Dirty Feathers, are set to honor Mr. Davidson at a free show dubbed “Skid Fest,” set for 7:30 p.m. Sept. 25 at the Brass Rail. The last line on the poster reads, aptly:

“Dancing required!”

-Niko Dugan, News-Gazette

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