For a man named Hot Rod Tod, rockabilly triumphs

Hot Rod Tod EVAN WILLIAMS / FLORIDA WEEKLY An upright bass is too often a solemn, classical instrument, which makes it all the more satisfying to see a musician slap one, straddle it, spin it like a top and occasionally stand on top of it. That’s the way Hot Rod Tod (spelled with one ‘d’ to streamline things) plays his upright bass, in the tradition of rockabilly, and with the unmatched gusto of someone who plays to live. Music is a relief from his work-a-day world, that of a maintenance man at the North Fort Myers mobile-home park he lives in. Music is the silver lining to some days.

“I pick up dog poop for a living,” he said with an almost shy grin. “The only way I keep from putting a gun in my mouth is playing music every night.”

Rooted in blues and country, rockabilly also hijacks elements of punk, bluegrass, rock n’ roll, doo-wop, swing and other variations, in the same way a New Orleans gumbo is a stew of mixed cultures. It (rockabilly or gumbo) has evolved to some extent to fit the times or the venue, but remains more or less recognizable for what it is.

A veteran of the rockabilly scene in South Florida, Hot Rod currently divides his time between at least three Fort Myers-based bands. He plays the stand-up bass for Big E and the Lazy Texans (you can often see them at Benchwarmers in South Fort Myers on Tuesday nights) and Memphis ‘56 (often at the open mike night at The Indigo Room on Wednesdays). He also plays in a bluegrass group, Faux Town Fever.

And with Hot Rod’s latest project, Hot Rod Revival — a resurrection of his former band The Crestliners — some old fans might be interested to know he put aside his stand-up once again for a Gretsch sixstring guitar. Former baandmate Don Phillips will play electric bass.

Whatever instrument he’s playing, Hot Rod’s stage persona suggests devilishness and the roughneck “greaser” image. Some elements that further that rockabilly look include his eyebrows (like far-away birds in a Van Gogh painting), hair teased into a pompadour, sleeveless shirts, a suggestive grin that looks simultaneously wicked and friendly, and to a lesser extent, his nickname. He also has a vast collection of tattoos covering his wiry arms and neck, a habit that began about 12 years ago after he was in a serious car accident and got tattoos to cover some scars on his arms.

Hot Rod grew up Todd Fadely, the adopted son of a couple in Baltimore. His dad called him “Hot Rod” for being such an energetic 6-year-old. He got his first guitar around the age of 9, and a bass guitar shortly after that, as a reward from his dad for sticking with the music. At about 14, he began jamming with local college students in Baltimore. Chuck Berry was one of his favorite musicians and one of many influences.

In the early 1980s he moved to Fort Myers and soon founded The Crestliners, which developed into a rockabilly group. They performed and recorded music for more than two decades but had more or less disbanded by the early 2000s. Although The Crestliners are no more, Hot Rod “couldn’t stay away” from the music that so suits his true temperament, that of a wise-cracking punk.

“I was always small and I was always a smartass,” he said. “Music helped me keep from getting my ass kicked.”

He is in some ways a poster boy for the lurid curiosities that make rock ‘n’ roll so much fun. That includes the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, of course, but also the way the music itself can be impulsive, urgent and obsessive. Another thing peripheral to the music, yet an inextricable part of his persona, is Hot Rod’s litany of potty mouthed, sexually explicit, politically incorrect, drug-referencing one-liners and pranks. He deploys them on and off stage with seeming abandon, but actually with years of practiced self control.

“I can pretty much get away with saying the most obnoxious things,” he says. “You have to learn how to say something without saying it.”

You haven’t really met Hot Rod unless he has tricked you into looking at the general area below his waist and then gleefully accused you, to the amusement of pretty much everyone else nearby, of being “gay.” Somehow, you will feel privileged if this ever happens to you. Before a show last week, he quipped, “I was going to play ‘Cocaine Blues,’ but I blew the first two lines.” If you seem a little shocked, he’ll explain, “It’s all part of the show. It’s all entertainment.”

Halfway through a set last Tuesday, as Hot Rod slapped out a rhythm on his upright bass, the lead singer Big E shifted

into the chorus of Light ’Em Up: “This is

the city of sin, but if you know what you’re

doing, I know we can win. Just one roll of

the dice, you can make more than most

people make in their life.”

In the end, the character in that song loses everything during his trip to Las Vegas. Although the lyrics to the songs themselves, like this one, are often sad ones about the losing gambles we make in love and life, the act of playing is forever a triumph and a joy.

“At least someone can go out and be entertained for a couple of hours,” Hot Rod said. 