R.I.P. Rodney Lanier (Sea of Cortez, Jolene)
The Carolinas’ music community lost a great friend when Rodney Lanier, the Sea of Cortez bandleader, passed away suddenly on December 9, 2011. We encourage anyone who’d like to remember Rodney in words to add their thoughts on the comments board beneath Editor John Schacht’s remembrance.
Rodney Lanier, with Jolene in 2001. Photo by Daniel Coston.
In 2006, after I’d come off a career-hemorrhaging 9-month bender, I felt like I was walking on eggshells through even the simplest aspects of my life; going out again to see music in the places where I’d begun my descent was flat-out frightening. But I couldn’t throw out the music baby with the drugs bathwater. So I warily emerged from my cocoon, hoping to avoid the pitfalls I’d previously embraced. On one of those nights, I was at the Evening Muse talking to Rodney outside while some folkie strummed away inside. I was friendly with Rodney, but we weren’t what anyone would call good friends at the time. I told him I was dying to go see Califone, though, at Local 506 in Chapel Hill that weekend. And because we’d discovered in previous chats that we liked a lot of the same bands, and more probably because he was at heart a kind and friendly person, I asked him if he wanted to drive up with me that weekend and check them out. Without skipping a beat, he said ‘yeah, let’s do it.’
We drove up that Friday listening and talking about music. I remember asking him some geeky questions about his band – the instrumental rock outfit Sea of Cortez – and their approach to songwriting, trying not to sound like a journalist. He never took it that way, and we loosened up enough to share a couple of hearty laughs about some of the quirky absurdities of the Charlotte music scene.
Later, over carnitas burritos in Chapel Hill, I learned that he’d been to Puerto Nuevo in Baja California, where I’d traveled frequently from my home in nearby San Diego in search of surf, lobster, beer, and mariachi music during my teens and early 20s. The town – New Port, in Spanish — was little more than a dozen shoddily built brick lobster restaurants overlooking the Pacific Ocean off the main (i.e., only) North-South highway, the owners’ dwellings listing crazily above the Formica-tables-and-plastic-chairs joints below. The lobsters were enormous, though, the beer ridiculously cheap, the atmosphere reliably festive. Some of my East coast friends had mocked me whenever I waxed nostalgic about the food, landscape and ambience; Rodney was somebody who had not only actually visited this speck on a map, but got why the whole experience was so memorable. The West is big, its vast empty spaces and endless vistas awe-inspiring and, ultimately, humbling; Baja, devoid of much development, is even more so. Sea of Cortez was inspired by that Baja trip, Rodney told me, and even if you’ve never been there you can intuit his awe in the open spaces between the notes – that’s what made me love his music.
- Photo by Daniel Coston.
I’m pretty sure he wasn’t that into the Califone show at Local 506 that night (“the drummer was really good,” was all I remember him saying about it), but it didn’t matter – the day had been fun, cruising around Franklin Street’s used bookstores and record shops and eating Mexican, which both of us ate to excess. I felt like I’d made a friend, too. A couple of years later we drove up to Cat’s Cradle to see Calexico, the outfit of border-hopping desert-noir musicians we’d initially bonded over. But the band had entered a different phase by then and we both sensed our interest waning with it. I sat in the backseat that night on the ride home, while he and his girlfriend at the time, Sara, chatted quietly, indecipherably, and occasionally held hands across the bucket seats. It’s an image that sticks in my mind right now for its simple humanity.
In the years afterward, whenever I did get out to the Evening Muse when Rodney worked the door, one of the highlights – sometimes the only highlight – was shooting the shit with him. About the bands we were respectively geeking out on, about Sea of Cortez’s latest goings-on, about the insane asylum known as the music business, about books and movies, about women past and present. And those bull sessions would always be punctuated by his infectious laugh, a blend of a big man’s guffaw and a smoker’s cackle, always accompanied by his mischievous cockeyed grin. He liked to good-naturedly stir shit up, too, and I heard plenty about the practical jokes he got up to. More than once I found myself in tears on the street in front of the Muse because I was laughing so hard.
I find myself again in tears now, but for all the wrong reasons. I can’t pretend Rodney and I were close, close friends – we didn’t hang out all that often, and I don’t play music well enough that anybody’d call it that, so I lacked that additional language with which he and his closest friends – his band-mates — could express their feelings. But I feel proud to have called him a friend at all. I last talked to Rodney for the Creative Loafing article I wrote about the first Oso Grande benefit in October. For 90 minutes, we sat and shot the shit on the patio of the Smelly Cat coffee shop, just feet from where, a few weeks later, he would fall and quickly, mercifully, pass from this life. We spent most of those 90 minutes ignoring the enormous ugly-ass cancer elephant at the table with us, circling it warily, trying to find a conversational place where its presence could be forgotten, however briefly, before we had to deal with it for the story.
Photo by Daniel Coston.
And we succeeded, too, for a good long while. I learned, for one, that he was a fan of Ry Cooder’s early 70s records – Chicken Skin Music, in particular. He’d never heard Boomer’s Story, though, which predates it, and I promised to burn him a disc; I sensed that he’d fall for Cooder’s version of the old Mexican standard “Maria Elena,” one of the prettiest things I’ve ever heard with its melancholic guitar lines, 3/4 beat – he liked him some waltzes, didn’t he? – and accordion accents. I never did, though, and ironically on the day he died I meant to send him a YouTube of it from a 1978 live gig to whet his appetite. But I didn’t. And now I never will.
Back on that unseasonably warm October afternoon, when we finally addressed the issue we’d been avoiding, he spoke with seriousness that I hadn’t heard from him before. What he said rang louder, and truer, because of the circumstances. The gist of it was that he’d wished he had not worried so much and been more grateful for what he had. It’s something we all say and think at times, but we are not all staring into the abyss. He was. And I can think of no better legacy to try and take away from his otherwise pointless, pointless death: Do what you what love and don’t look back. I never told him this, but I like to think it was in the air unspoken between us — through his good-natured kindness back in 2006, he helped me ease back into what I love doing. I’ll always be thankful for that, and whenever I hear a pretty accordion waltz, or a pedal steel’s lament, or a mysterious desert-flavored soundscape, I’ll remember that kindness. It’s that loss that makes my heart really go out to those who were his close, close friends; mine is broken enough as it is. – John Schacht
Photo by Daniel Coston.
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John — Thank you for this. It is a beautiful tribute to him. He was the most authentic person I’ve ever known and you capture his essence so well. Peace and love my dear Rodney Bear. You filled my life with love and laughter and I am forever grateful. Rest in peace, my friend.
Well stated, Beth. Very thoughtful and true. Thank you, John, for the sharing so eloquently the memory capsules. Definitely inspired me to recall some of my own. Many great hugs.
Rodney, I love you Buddy.
great job man… I’m gonna miss the big bear.
John, thanks so much for this tribute to Rodney. Your insight reveals the great person that many of us knew and loved. I am proud for one to have known Rollo, and to have shared in the appreciation of music that he created. “Ain’t but one Rollo!” Gonna miss you my friend, but for now there is music, music that connected people together on this very bizarre road called life. Thank you for stopping a bit on that road. My life is better for it. L.
Amazing job, John. Thank you so much.
Since moving away from Charlotte, NC, I have searched in vain for the type of live music we so often took for granted: amazing musicians who would meet and jam in small clubs. Nobody was famous. Nearly every song original, strange fusions of rock, blues, Americana, tropical, and Latin sounds. Rodney, I only knew you through your music, but man… you will be missed.
Scroll to bottom of post for a sketch by me — circa 2005? — of Rodney (right) playing a Christmas show at the Double Door Inn.
http://www.sketchcharlotte.com/2006/08/finally-posting/
Hi Tess. If possible I would love to get digital copies of the sketches from the double door (i was one of the fools on stage, and am beginning to compile an of photos, fliers, etc). Thanks – Ned
A wonderful tribute, personal and still one that anyone who loves music and has toiled on any level in the industry can relate. Thank you so much for sharing…
…. we may be missing him down here, but that party upstairs just got kicked up a notch.
Beautiful tribute John. i really needed to to read that.. thanks
im really just gonna miss him. see you on the other side brotha
I first met Rodney through Jolene, who I’d been following around and writing about for various publications since they were the HardSoul Poets. Subsequently, Rodney played with a couple of bands from here in Columbia, SC; Chuck Mims’ Stelle Group and Chris Smith’s Sunshone Still. He brought to each of them the same kind of emotionally rich playing that he had for Jolene, and every band I ever saw him with was better for his presence. The new Sunshone Still album has Rodney all over it; comes out in January.
You found the words, brother. Thank you for this..
‘The gist of it was that he’d wished he had not worried so much and been more grateful for what he had… ‘
That’s the way I am going to remember him.. x
Thanks John. Rodney always had the utmost respect for you professionally and loved you as a friend. This is a great piece and I’m happy others loved some of the mischievous and quirky things the same way I did.
The way I see it, a band is a deep and complex relationship, and the music is a representation of its emotional dynamics. As Little Kris put it, Sea of Cortez ‘was a family that I never expected to be a part of, but I was and am so grateful to be a member of.’ Truth be told, as lighthearted and good-natured as he was most times, Rodney also was endearingly surly, and during the creative process could get downright prickly. But because his taste and artistic integrity drove him to pursue such beautiful visions, never an eye was batted. It was all part of the process and part of our ‘family dynamics’. He was always the unquestioned leader in a ‘leaderless’ band (no to mention a taco army) and we loved him dearly. His sweetness and depth cannot be overstated. They ultimately show through in the beauty and conviction of his melodies; sometimes nostalgic, sometimes sweet, often both uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time. I am so lucky to have been able to share music and friendship with Rodney, and my life will forever be better because of what he brought into it.
I’m gonna miss u lots Rodney Bear. rest easy my friend.
in case anyone wants a listen…
http://soundcloud.com/sea-of-cortez
Rodney was always one of those guys who even though we didn’t know each other very well; talking to him was like talking to a long lost friend. When we first met at the ‘Muse’; we had spoken about the fact that I was without a job and desperately looking. Without skipping a beat he gave me a friend of his’ information that was looking for landscape help which is what I was doing at the time. Little did I know how talented of a musician he was til I heard his band play as feature performer for monday night open mic. The music was hypnotically captivating and healing much like his personality and I shall not forget it for as long as I live. Rest in peace my friend; I wish we could have known each other more.
Rest in Peace Rodney.
Nice words John………..Im so happy Rodney found out in the last 3 months how much he was loved and cared for…and…..I’m sure he left the way he wanted too, ,…….with his boots on. So long, friend.
Speechless…..
That’s a damn fine piece of writing. Thank you. Very befitting of the fine man we knew.
RIP Hot Rod
Masterful John!
“The gist of it was that he’d wished he had not worried so much and been more grateful for what he had.”
One of the things I loved and admired about Rodney was his ability to lead such an uncluttered happy life. He was the guy that told me to read “How To Be Idle” – he could have written it. Ever humble, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that Rodney didn’t recognize he was a lot further along this path than most of the rest of us. We should all aspire to be as happy, humble and grateful as Rodney and to leave behind as much love in the world when our time comes.
Wow, just WOW
That was absolutely beautiful.
Thanks. Great article about a truly good man. Every man’s death diminishes me…”
God moves in mysterious ways. I have just recently met Rodney. It was at the Evening Muse. Ironically I got his old job running small printing presses at Consolidated Press over on Greensboro St. I knew he was sick. Now I realize like everyone else that he was very sick. I saw Rodney this past week at the TOSCO Party. He came by the shop just the other day. A quiet voice told me that I should offer Rodney a prayer. I turned and looked back across the shop and he was gone. I did’nt go outside to see him. I just went back to work. I’m ashamed of myself beyond words. There is no way I can turn back time and approach Rodney and pray with him. I now, more than ever, understand that there is a very heavy burden and price for me to pay being a half ass Christian I’m terribly sorry. Good bye and God bless you Rodney.
“occasionally holding hands across the bucket seats” is an image that made me well up and spout tears as i listen to bela fleck pick his banjo at the christmas jam. My condolences to all of Rodney’s friends,family & bandmates. Our community will miss his energy, talent, & creativity. Do what you love and never look back in regret because it can be just a short trip. Thank you for sharing Schacht.
Rodney,thank you for all the teasing and all the hugs, sweet man. Thank you for being my co-conspirator in being snarky at weird people and getting shushed by Ralph, thank you for letting Tex use your guitar, thank you for your music, your sweet soul, those late night conversations with us after Open Mic was over, the extra beer, being willing to argue with me over music and everything else you ever did. It’s hard to think that I won’t see you soon…but I’ll see you again.
I feel so sad that I didn’t know you better, that I didn’t come to the Muse as often as I should, but every time you were there, you made that time better. There are no words, except…love and peace, sweet friend. Thank you. I miss you. I remember you.
i never really knew Rodney except for some brief interactions in which he was always so warm and real. he was the kind of person that even if you weren’t close friends with him, you were glad that he was out there, being the authentic person he was. i am shocked to know that he has passed. i just lost my aunt to breast cancer a week ago and my mom has had it and is since in remission… what words are there to express something that we can never understand?.. thank you, John, for sharing your story of how someone can touch your life deeply even if only at a few intervals. RIP Rodney….
what a wonderfully written story – thanks! you nailed his laugh in your description, too!
i met rodney back when i worked nights at contagious graphics, and he taught me some great tricks of the trade… i was sorry to hear about the cancer recently, and am even sorrier to read the news of his passing.
he had a truly generous spirit, and was such a warm person to spend time with, even if it was mostly at work.
Thank you for sharing this, John. I think I met Rodney in 1995, give or take a year. At any rate, it was well before I had kids. After we had our second child my husband was on the road a lot and there were a few years that I didn’t get out much. On the rare occasions that I did, Rodney would always give me one of those awesome hugs of his. He was happy to see me and generally made me feel less removed. I just felt so out of the loop and as though I didn’t have anything in common with our friends anymore. He would always ask about the kids and put me at ease. He made me feel as though I had been missed. Now I’ll be missing him. Thanks for helping to memorialize one truly amazing human being.
I did not know Rodney but one night I was the opening act at “The Evening Muse” and we were having trouble getting a good sound on my acoustic guitar in the PA. Rodney told me that it was not the PA but rather my attack. I was offended at first. Then after a few songs I realized he was right. A total stranger changed my whole perception and style of playing. Thanks Rodney! I was not a friend but thanks to him he gave me something that I am still working on. TONE! RIP Rodney. Your friends and family obviously loved you dearly.
Thanks for the wonderful piece. Rollo and I played together for awhile, and I learned so much from him. I honestly can’t believe he’s gone, or how hard this feels.
All my love goes out to his close friends, family, and bandmates. The loss is staggering.
rodney my buddy… i have no words left to say but i love you. You were truly one of my very best friends since i moved to charlotte. we endured many an open mic night and the hip hop extravaganzas not to mention the many nights of heart to hearts we shared over the past half decade. you were one of the folks that i was sure i would always be in contact with… come hell or high water that will always be the case. rest easy my sweet friend. love you and miss you too…
I only met Rodney once here recently when Jolene got back together at the Chop Shop. I went with a friend that knew him personally. I tagged along for great music & an even greater benefit. I am a cancer survivor. In speaking to one of the band members as everything was getting torn down, he asked if I would mind speaking to Rodney. He said Rodney needed to hear from someone who had been through it, survived it. Everyone else meant well enough but didn’t know if they should act as if he was fine & not dwell on the diagnosis, or speak freely. Most of what I saw was everyone treating him “normal,” by that I mean cancer free. As much as that might be to not dwell on a negative subject for the person diagnosed, it is also uncomfortable to find the right words. Especially if you are on the outside having no experience with cancer AND you fear losing your friend. I’ve experienced both sides. Wondering why people avoided me, not comprehending what fear they may be experiencing. And the night at the Chop Shop being asked to speak to Rodney, not sure what I was going to say & praying I didn’t offend him by being so personal & sharing my experience. I asked for the right words be given, walked over, introduced myself, told him his bandmate suggested it & asked if he would like to talk. We spoke for what seemed like an hour, but in reality was maybe 15 to 20 minutes. I told him if he needed anything to ask, & accept any help offered. He asked for a way to contact me when questions began to arise. He dug through his wallet, found a receipt, and asked for my email. He had lots of questions on what to expect & I encouraged him to feel free to ask. I felt it an honor to take something negative from my life and have the opportunity, no matter how brief, to give it purpose.
One thing I found odd was how several people worried I would feel uncomfortable speaking of my experience. I guess concerned I would be reliving it. They kept asking if I was sure, that I could just leave. I considered it an honor. What good comes from surviving stage III cancer if I can’t use it to help someone else? Give them hope, no matter how brief it may be. And talking to Rodney that night also made me realize how important it is to not forget the lessons I learned. As Rodney shared-he’d wished he had not worried so much and been more grateful for what he had. I don’t want to forget what that realization felt like.
I’m so grateful for getting the opportunity to meet him. And no matter how brief the encounter, for the Universe bringing us together. I like to think we helped each other.
Thank you John for sharing what made Rodney so wonderful….he touched so many people and I’m so happy he did get to experience the love we all shared for him before his untimely passing…Charlotte will never be the same without him…RIP Rodney
A fantastic piece of writing and a great tribute to Rollo.
I met Rodney through my brother, Mike, when he joined Jolene. I instantly loved him and thought of him as part of the family. Rodney always had a goofy joke, great laugh, and lots of hugs for everyone. I wanted so badly to fly to Charlotte to be a part of the benefit show, but couldn’t get the funds together to make the trip. I messaged Rodney that I hoped he knew that I was there in spirit, and he replied with a big thank you. I should have done more to get there…..I’m sorry that I missed it. But I hope to see you on the other side, R. I expect a big smile and a hug when I do!
P.S. I’m going to try real hard to stop worrying so much, be more grateful for what I have, and I am purchasing an e-cig today in your memory….wish me luck! xoxo, K
I’ve known Rodney since high school. We weren’t really friends then, it was several years later that we kept running into each other at Ziggys that we found out that we both played guitar. We bonded over our shared love of bands like The Del Fuegos, The Beat Farmers and The Smithereens, amazed that someone else was into the same stuff. We cut our teeth together in Lindbergh’s Baby and later Black Hole Radio, where we really learned the ins and outs of being in a traveling rock band. I remember Rodney missing a jump onto the drum riser at Tremont and taking out the whole drum kit mid song and once while being interviewed by a writer from Musician magazine after a rowdy, drunken show at Bessies, he leaned over and threw up, then continued like nothing had happened. I have so many good memories of my friend and the adventures we had together. We had reconnected in the past year after not seeing much of each other for a while, so for me its very bittersweet that he’s gone now, but I’m glad we did get to catch up and share a few more good times before he was so prematurely taken from us. I’m honored to have known you, brother and to have called you my friend. Rest in Peace.
Oh John, thank you for this moving tribute. My prayers go out to Rodney’s friends and family. Such a terrible loss. RIP Rodney.
Wow I met Rodney @ his side job years ago… I can remember thinking dude was weird to say the least…he always had on those blame cowboy boots and this hat..he reminded me of a pirate…and I could never get a read on him…he always seemed to be in a mood. We didn’t talk much at all. Music is what got us talking though… I really wasn’t into what he listened to but after him bridging the gap up for me and then getting a CD of him playing with Jolene… I understood and realized that wasn’t a mood he was in it was constant state of thinking. He had photos of the band one day and I pestered the crap out of him until he signed mine. He kept asking why I wanted it signed… I told him I wanted to have something that proved I really knew him when he made it big… He just laughed but he signed it for me! I just recently saw him on Facebook but other than the initial connection we didn’t talk….Really wish I had even just to let him know that I still take the time to appreciate all genres of music not just what I’m into…Rock it out man!!
I didn’t know Rodney at all – except for having seen him play in Sea of Cortez several times and seeing him at the Evening Muse. I always loved the sound of the pedal steel. I was at a fellow musician friend’s house (for his birthday celebration) the other night when the (up that point) lighthearted conversation took a 180 when the topic turned to Rodney’s sudden death – that had happened that day. In fact, yet another musician that was supposed to show up for the party that night couldn’t because he was very close with Rodney and was obviously grieving. It came as a huge shock to me and made me think about losing my mother to cancer when I was 18. Cancer is an evil bitch and my heart goes out to all of Rodney’s family, close friends (musical and otherwise). Losing a loved one is always hard and you can only hope that whatever pain they were feeling is gone and that now, they are in a far better place.
Great tribute to Rodney.
HEY JOHN
SORRY HEAR ABOUT THIS GREAT MANS PASSING IT SHOCKED ME!!!
THE REASON WHY I AM WRITTING THIS IS BECAUSE I HAVE SOME UNSEEN VIDEO I SHOT OF JOLENE WHEN THEY PLAYED THE MEMPHIS IN MAY BACK IN THE 1990′S
I WOULD MAKE A COPY AVAIABLE TO YOU JUST SEND ME A MAILING ADDRESS THRU MT EMAIL AND I WILL SEND A COPY ON DVD!!
R.I.P. RODNEY!!
DO YOU KNOW HOW I COULD GET A COPY TO RODENY’S FAMILY?
BOB
I met you when you and your girlfriend came into the Rockstore to eat and you told me that I looked familiar to you. Then you asked if I ever hung out at the Muse. Yes I have, many times. I love you Rodney and I’m sure gonna miss you. you were one of the good guys.
Great piece John…..
Rodney was such a good guy… I had the pleasure of getting to know him over the past few years. I am greatful for the opportunity to have shot the breeze with him and talk about the most random of lifes’ strange journey. I’ll miss his presence at his spot outside the Muse…I know he will be with us in spirit and for that I am thankful!
Safe travels…
Soulful. Perfect, John.
Wow! Well done John.
I was lucky enough to play in a band with Rodney, for a few months. Big Al was the band. This would have been 1997 or 98 and he joined Jolene shortly afterward. We played one of his original songs…that he sang, “I Feel Like A Clown”….I think was the title. He was always very easy to play with as a guitarist. He came up with great simple parts. I remember the smile on his face as he once told us of a recent trip to Memphis with his Mom. He was always easy to know and great fun to be around. We could always pick up and talk very easily even if we had not seen each other in years.
I count myself lucky to have played music with him. It’s great to see what an impact he had on other folks as well.
I will see you later Rodney, Jonesy
The only time i ever talked to Rodney I told him how much I liked his band Sea of Cortez. I saw them at Chop Shop’s opening night, and I was kind of sad when he told me that was a bit of a farewell show for them since their drummer was leaving. Immediately afterward he asked me if I knew how to play drums. I could tell then, and I now know after reading the article that his words were completely sincere. I regret not knowing Rodney better and only recognizing him as the doorman from Evening Muse when I saw him around. I’m saddened by this news and I wish all of Rodney’s friends and family the best RIP.
From the few conversations I had with Rodney, I would say the one word I would use to describe his being was, “genuine.” I feel for the loved ones he left behind. Godspeed.
As always, John has knocked it out of the park. These comments are almost as hard to read as this beautiful piece is. I’m having a really hard time speaking (and if you know me, you’ll find
that very hard to believe) so this is a little easier to type. We’ve made sure his parents, brother, sister and
family have seen this amazing remembrance and the comments that have followed. I know there are many out there who can’t be here right now for the services and the funeral today who desperately wanted to be. I want you to know that you are in our broken hearts as well. I’m damn sure he knows it too.
Rodney has been my friend and my neighbor for four years. I am going to miss our talks, hearing the music from his house, seeing his truck pull in and out of the driveway. I am sure I will always look over to his house to see if I see him just to wave. You will be missed my friend.
You will always be missed. Thanks for the memories. Hope to meet you one day on the flipside.
Elroy
Wow….a true loss for Charlotte. I just saw him on Wednesday….my hopes are truly that he is in peace.
Wonderful piece John. Thank you for sharing. Every heartfelt remembrance and grateful story helps to manage this mighty blow.
Rodney was a friend of mine in High School…and my best man at my wedding in 1993. We enjoyed many times together cruising, playing music, enjoying a few beers, looking for girls, going to Grandfather Mountain to go hiking….blah, blah, blah. He was more than just your “run of the mill friend.” He was genuine. What you saw is what you got. Nothing phased him. He rolled with the punches….expected nothing from anyone. He marched to the beat of his own drum and was truly a one of a kind guy.
I lost touch with him over the past couple years, but he will ALWAYS be one of my best buddies and the fact I didn’t even know he was ill, will bother me the most. Rodney will always have a place in my heart as a great friend, and his musical talents and the good times we had will always be with me. I’m sure he has a guitar right now….and is jamming with some of the other greats! Love ya man!
Beautiful John – thanks for writing this.
I got to know Rodney better after his band played the TMP 2 years ago. We often talked about the Beatles and he proudly stated that Ringo was his favorite. After that I always referred to Rodney as Ringo. His versatile musicianship and gentle spirit will be missed.
Rodney, my neighbor and friend, although we only knew each other for a brief moment in time there is a lot i will miss… I will miss the random drop in’s to the Evening Muse to chat during open mike. I will miss your garden in the front yard (only in NODA
) I will miss sitting on the front porch during the summer and listening to you and your friends Jam sessions, I will miss seeing you and waving every day, and most of all I will miss your truck infront of your house. There is just something about that truck…. Rest in peace my neighbor and friend.
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It might have been the very first night I met Rodney at The Evening Muse about 6-7 years ago that I asked him at 9:30 where I could buy Lotto tickets on a 25 degree Saturday night in December. (I have to tell the whole story as it generates the punch line that comes at the end with Rodney). I was playing birthdays and anniversaries for Lotto numbers at the time, and as anyone knows who does that with the Lottery if you don’t play one night and those numbers are drawn you’ll live in a mental asylum for the rest of your life. Rodney told me to drive up about a mile to The Plaza and turn left to a gas station’s convenience store. I pulled up and the area was vacant, but I saw thick, revolving Plexiglas slot to take money with the clerk locked inside and this former NYC boy had seen this many times before and I said, “BAD AREA”. So I put a handgun I am well trained with, and now instruct other to use if need be, into my belt and went into the store. When I came out one guy appeared out of nowhere and asked for money, followed me towards the car, and then demanded some money saying, “we gotta get something”. But there was only one guy I saw! I looked over my shoulder and a really big guy was sneaking up on me. Worse, when I turned back the little guy had only one hand in his jacket pocket (a big “Warning Will Robinson” signal) and was coming out with a gun. I had been holding mine under my coat and pointed it at him and possibly injured his eardrums screaming, “SHOW ME YOUR F**KIN HANDS”, and thankfully the two ran off.
I went back to The Evening Muse and told Rodney, “Great tip on where to go….I just had a gun pulled on me and had to pull one on him and almost had to shoot him” (which I hope to never have to do). Rodney said, “Wow…glad you’re okay…that would have sucked if they robbed you and they had taken the winning ticket too”, and we both laughed at that. I could have been shot but Rodney saw the humorous side of it that was probably his way of calming me down.
I always spoke to Rodney when I dropped by. I just knew he was a good soul. We spoke a lot at the TMP he played at and I told him that when he spoke to me of his band I had no idea how good they were as they played really well.
In reading these stories of Rodney he had something money can never buy – the love of many, many friends. I wish I could have gotten to know him better and I’m sorry for all of you who lost so much – especially Kelly who was with him there all the time at The Muse, as well as Joe and Don. I can’t believe he is gone. And for his friends, there’s a hole in their hearts that will never truly mend as it’s not supposed to for those you love. Not much more I can say other than it was my privilege to know Rodney. A fine man indeed!
Steve Conlon
Charlotte, NC
I met Rodney about 15 years ago. When my band Hardcore Lounge recorded our album “Dance of My Life” Rodney played pedal steel on two songs. Everytime I play the songs I hear Rodney’s contribution. It brings tears to my eyes. He was a really sweet person. He will live on through the music he made.
Chris Johnson
Charlotte, NC
I moved away from Charlotte to Jacksonville, FL 3 years ago so I am often behind what happens in the music scene there but I try to keep up. I am deeply saddened by learning of the passing of Rodney. I loved Jolene and Sea of Cortez but it was my times speaking with him briefly at the muse that gave me a great respect for him. He was as passionate about music as anyone I’ve ever met and always had a smile and the time for people. RIP Rodney, you will be missed.