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The gaunt figure tunes up his Washburn guitar, adjusts his harmonica holder and without any fanfare whips into a scorching, echo-enhanced reading of That’s All Right, Mama – relegating at least two generations of Elvis imitators to the obscurity they so richly deserve.
Throughout the rest of the evening at the Sidetrack, Billy Cowsill literally whistles past the rock graveyard, mining the rich legacy Cochran, Cooke, Holly, Lennon and a dozen others.
Simply, effectively backed by upright bassist Elmar Spanier and veteran guitarist Garry Koliger, Cowsill is a riveting figure onstage, blessed with what may well be the finest natural rock ‘n’ roll vocal pipes in the country. They don’t need no drummer, as someone offered out on the packed dance floor.
“Dead guys music,” Cowsill calls it, as he banters back and forth with the assembled. Asked for a reading of In The Ghetto, he retorts “we don’t do no fat Elvis,” we only do skinny Elvis. After a Dylan tune he’s reminded that the Minnesota poet still occupies the mortal coil. “That born-again sap died years ago,” files the response.
“Trivial Deceased” becomes a highlight of any Cowsill gig, as band members give the audience clues on the background of tonight’s featured dead guy, offering a free shooter to the lucky winner. Two days after the Texas Troubadour passed on to the big record store in the ky, the lads had worked up a convincing version of Ernest Tubb’s Walking The Floor Over You.
It’s funny, it’s macabre, not to mention damn good music. And the blackest part of the joke is Cowsill himself, who although well on the road to recovery these days shows every one of his 36 years and more – a classic, sunken-eyed ghostly veteran of the rock wars. No one says it aloud, but the spectre of the figure on stage brings another edge altogether to the proceedings.
At any rate, the man hasn’t gotten the way he is – skinny and immensely talented – by sitting home in the rec room reading Rolling Stone.
In fact, the Cowsills saga stretches back over 20 years to the east coast maritime cities of Newport and Norfolk, when Cowsill’s U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer dad Bud bought him a Gretsch Western Jumbo guitar. His mum Barb sang, and gradually a family band emerged.
A concert at the ’63 Newport Jazz Festival led to a live Today Show (Then co-hosted by Barbara Walters) appearance in New York.
Over a stiff diet ginger ale, a bright, affable Cowsill reminisces.
“There we were, me, 15, my brothers 9 and 7, and our mom, playing 20 minutes on the Today Show, which was a very big deal then. We walked out of NBC and people were running up to us asking for autographs. Bizarre.”
Thirty-five days after The Cowsills got out of a ’67 recording session with producer Artie Kornfeld, The Cowsills had a number one hit with (I Love The Flower Girl), followed by the heavy success of it’s umbrella album, The Rain, The Park and Other Things.
Even by this time, Billy was questioning the bubble-gum, squeaky-clean marketing approach taken by his father and the business types that surrounded the group. His idol back in Newport was guitarist Waddy Wachtel, who eventually became a top L.A. session player with the likes of Linda Ronstadt, Jackson Browne and many others.
“My dad had no use for Waddy, the old “bad influence” thing. I just wanted to impress my peers, which became increasingly difficult as we were typecast. I remember when they played a (publisher’s) tape of Indian Lake for me. I broke down and cried.”
The theme from Hair became The Cowsill’s biggest hit – an unlikely fable, as Cowsill spins it.
“We were in L.A. in ’68 to do a Carl Reiner comedy special. For one of the skits, the idea was for us to model these bizarre wigs from Japan, to dress the clean-cut Cowsills in leathers and chains. So we pre-recorded the tracks in a little studio for lip-synching on the TV show.
“An acetate of it ended up at WLS in Chicago through an MGM promo man and they ended up starting a contest for listeners to guess who the group was – it was so unlike the Cowsills image. Ten days later, it became a huge hit, eventually selling 2 ½ million records.”
Nevertheless, by 1969, Billy had had enough of Vegas, enough of “schmaltz,” of a freeze-dried image incongruous with the experimental nature of the times. At 21, he found himself an unemployed veteran in the biz, and began a wanderin’ kinda’ life that has continued to this day.
“I ended up in Tulsa, and worked with J.J. Cale for a while. It turned out to be quite a first education, as I discovered the roots to the music.”
Eventually, Cowsill found himself in Vancouver, where he produced the Blue Northern band. Again, no serious regrets.
“It was a good machine for me to get back into making records, to be a real producer again. The playing part was secondary for me, I just stayed in the back playing rhythm guitar.
A bar stint with ex-Prism guitarist Lindsay Mitchell followed, leading into his present situation. That involves living in manager Neil McGonnigle’s Calgary house, phoning his Vancouver-based wife and son Del Shannon Cowsill every day playing weekend “dead guy” dates while “The Plan” unfolds.
That plan involves the imminent recording of a EP featuring original Cowsill songs and a planned re-location to Nashville in the spring. McGonnigle is determined to do things properly, to the point of attracting outside capital for a full frontal assault on the big time.
If songs like Nervous, a rollicking gutbuster on the order of Rockpile, Vince Gill that Cowsill sang in my living room is any indication the man’s day may well be coming soon.
After a now-successful decade-long struggle with alcohol, (not a drop for two years), savvy management, and sheer talent blessed by the benefit of experience, it would be hard to find one more deserving of a genuine shot at the big ring.
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