A woman will make a man do crazy things. Bathe, get married, cut his hair, buy a boat, sell his Volkswagen, and wear pink toenail polish. Ok, maybe that last one is just me, but the fact remains the same; men will do a bunch of silly stuff for love. Cliff Cody sang karaoke.
The result, unlike most of the insanities I have committed in the name of unadulterated lust, was not only did he impress the girl but also got a job as lead singer in a West Texas band and a recording contract. I only got to spend the next morning smelling like polish remover, an empty wallet, and shame.
I met Cliff Cody a few months ago through Art Levin, the general manager of the Hog’s Breath Saloon, who thought that it was important that we be introduced. I am very glad that he did. Cliff took the time to graciously remove himself from his adoring fans, and there are many, to give me his CD and other swag (I love swag!) and to tell me his story. He was a Registered Nurse for a long time. He is a friend of and has shared a stage with Jamey Johnson. He has been happily married to Amy for over a decade and they have a daughter, Veronica. He smiles a lot.
Not only is Cliff Cody one of the nicest men that I have ever met but is also one of the most incredible new singer/songwriters out there today. He can cover a song like no one else but as most of you know, a performer’s originals are what pique my interest. “Homegrown” has been adopted by certain friends of mine as their personal pot-smoking anthem. “Back Home” is one of the most poignant and beautiful songs about the war in Iraq ever written. “Tractor Tattoo” is an ode to the best kind of country girl and a guaranteed country hit. His entire cd is full of fantastic cuts already getting a ton of play on southern radio stations!
He is from Odessa, TX and for any of you out there familiar with the movie “Friday Night Lights”, you will recognize the name and the small nowhere town that is portrayed. Cliff grew up there and must have absorbed his talent straight from the dusty fields and jack rabbit trails around his hometown. It is the only explanation that I can offer to you. You see, Cliff did not even know that he could sing until one night, trying to impress a waitress at the bar where he worked as a bouncer, he stepped up on the karaoke stage and belted out a tune that destroyed the place. As fate would have it, there was an off duty band drinking at the bar looking for a lead singer…
Sometimes life happens like that.
The country music world will never be the same. Although Cliff is not yet a household name, I have no doubt that he soon will be. If I have anything to do with it he will! Most of you have a Facebook page by now, I am sure. Go to my page and you will see that Cliff Cody is all over my profile. I believe in this guy and want all of my readers, country music fans or not, to do yourself a favor and come on out to one of the best bars in the world, the Hog’s Breath Saloon, and listen to Cliff this weekend! Very few performers can evoke the emotion, the memories, and the smiles that Cliff Cody can. His easy going style makes it appear so effortless. Maybe it is, for the truly talented. You will not forget him, his infectious smile and incredible talent drawn, seemingly, from the Earth.
Don’t forget to tell him that Stan sent you! You can thank me later.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Scarlet Bouganvillias
I hear familiar sounds. Loving, lovely sounds. Complete with flashing colored lights, tie dye, and a fresh-faced stoner couple flailing enthusiastic, but clumsily flailing nonetheless, enjoying the freedom, the joy, of movement among wafting clouds of patchouli and sound…
Huh? Where was I?
Man, I haven’t heard tasty grooves like this since Woodstock! Wait, I wasn’t at Woodstock. Bonnaroo, maybe? Hell, I don’t remember. I’ve been doing this “following the band” thing for so long it is a “miracle” that I can remember anything.
Up on the stage this night at El Alamo is a groovy little group called That Hippie Band. In true jam band fashion, the band is comprised of members of several other bands around town. Russ Cavelli plays and records with the Paul Cotton Band and also with his wife in Black and Skabuddah. Pete Jarvis has played for years at Sloppy Joes in a great duet named Pete and Wayne. Gary Hempsey and Will Hoppey are both terrific solo artists and Terry Whitmore and Tom Conger are the bassist and drummer, respectively, for the amazing Cory Heydon Band.
I am hearing “Up on Cripple Creek” and “Scarlett Begonias”. The Allman Brothers and Pink Floyd are both done well. Add a little “Friend of the Devil” and some Byrds and I am in long haired hippie heaven!
They do not practice together. They do not need to.
These are no spring chickens and they have no aspirations to fame with this incarnation. They all just have a love for the black light-strobe light stoned midnight music that we, in my generation, grew up on, rebelled with, and reminisce over. The music itself is a feel good flash to the past when nitrous oxide was harmless fun in a balloon, peace and love weren’t just t-shirt slogans, and we were just figuring out that we would never be able to trust those we put in charge again. A music that deserves our recognition.
I spent a year one weekend following the Dead around the country jammed and magical in the passenger seat of a VW bus, singing horribly off key to The Band and Joe Cocker songs pouring from tinny speakers and an 8 track player rescued from a dirty pawn shop in downtown San Francisco. It was an incredible time in my life. I was young, I was handsome, and I was on my way to a miracle. These guys take me back to that place, effortlessly.
That Hippie Band is playing this night amidst smiles bouncing around the room like beach balls at a Phish concert. Tattooed blondes and headbands, clove cigarettes and facing spaces lend a backdrop to a genuine outpouring of love for a band mate’s sick daughter and even more love when the doctor says that she will be fine. There is a feeling here among these guys I never expected. Guys old enough to have lost children, minds, and marriages. Guys with a passion for the music that brought them to this stage in their life and defined them. Defined a generation.
There is nothing at all wrong with a little rebellion now and then, between mortgage payments and unruly children, between 40 hour weeks and bad knees. Because here tonight at the El Alamo, between tequila breaks and good news, something kind is happening. Something family. Something fun and beautiful. Something worth checking out.
It should be easy. That Hippie Band plays at Cowboy Bill’s on Duval St. every Monday through March, 9pm til Midnight. Bring your tie dye, your incense and flailing and don’t forget to tell them that Stan sent you.
Keep on truckin’…
Huh? Where was I?
Man, I haven’t heard tasty grooves like this since Woodstock! Wait, I wasn’t at Woodstock. Bonnaroo, maybe? Hell, I don’t remember. I’ve been doing this “following the band” thing for so long it is a “miracle” that I can remember anything.
Up on the stage this night at El Alamo is a groovy little group called That Hippie Band. In true jam band fashion, the band is comprised of members of several other bands around town. Russ Cavelli plays and records with the Paul Cotton Band and also with his wife in Black and Skabuddah. Pete Jarvis has played for years at Sloppy Joes in a great duet named Pete and Wayne. Gary Hempsey and Will Hoppey are both terrific solo artists and Terry Whitmore and Tom Conger are the bassist and drummer, respectively, for the amazing Cory Heydon Band.
I am hearing “Up on Cripple Creek” and “Scarlett Begonias”. The Allman Brothers and Pink Floyd are both done well. Add a little “Friend of the Devil” and some Byrds and I am in long haired hippie heaven!
They do not practice together. They do not need to.
These are no spring chickens and they have no aspirations to fame with this incarnation. They all just have a love for the black light-strobe light stoned midnight music that we, in my generation, grew up on, rebelled with, and reminisce over. The music itself is a feel good flash to the past when nitrous oxide was harmless fun in a balloon, peace and love weren’t just t-shirt slogans, and we were just figuring out that we would never be able to trust those we put in charge again. A music that deserves our recognition.
I spent a year one weekend following the Dead around the country jammed and magical in the passenger seat of a VW bus, singing horribly off key to The Band and Joe Cocker songs pouring from tinny speakers and an 8 track player rescued from a dirty pawn shop in downtown San Francisco. It was an incredible time in my life. I was young, I was handsome, and I was on my way to a miracle. These guys take me back to that place, effortlessly.
That Hippie Band is playing this night amidst smiles bouncing around the room like beach balls at a Phish concert. Tattooed blondes and headbands, clove cigarettes and facing spaces lend a backdrop to a genuine outpouring of love for a band mate’s sick daughter and even more love when the doctor says that she will be fine. There is a feeling here among these guys I never expected. Guys old enough to have lost children, minds, and marriages. Guys with a passion for the music that brought them to this stage in their life and defined them. Defined a generation.
There is nothing at all wrong with a little rebellion now and then, between mortgage payments and unruly children, between 40 hour weeks and bad knees. Because here tonight at the El Alamo, between tequila breaks and good news, something kind is happening. Something family. Something fun and beautiful. Something worth checking out.
It should be easy. That Hippie Band plays at Cowboy Bill’s on Duval St. every Monday through March, 9pm til Midnight. Bring your tie dye, your incense and flailing and don’t forget to tell them that Stan sent you.
Keep on truckin’…
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