The Eddy Band roared out of Texas in the mid-nineties on the strength of hits like the downbeat highway anthem “Shreveport” and the psychobilly-meets arena-rock of “Sin Crowd.” To the cognoscenti, it was always simply Eddy, also the name of the nomadic character at the center of the band's songs.
“It was a concept with a small C,” Chet Hix recalled, speaking from an undisclosed location. “We followed through on it even after we'd sort of forgotten about it. Eddy was a band, but at the same time it was this made-up guy we were writing about.”
By 1996, the band had reached critical mass. The lineup featured Hix (whose erratic behavior included going AWOL for a number of important dates), band founder, singer and guitarist Bob Hate, guitarist Stephen Thomas, and bass player Buck Rudo. But precisely at the point when the band was wowing audiences and music scribes, The Eddy Band disappeared.
It was 4 a.m. when the phone rang. That could only mean one thing.
“I pushed them all away.” It was Bob's voice. He sounded tired. It was no surprise that he was up already, hiding in his small studio well before the sun would come up over the towering adobe walls at his New Mexico compound. “They never understood me. My self-loathing. I made Nixon look like a piker.”
I knew this call would come soon because I'd heard that the band had splintered again. After some stellar sessions in Nashville, Bob retreated with the master tapes to ruin the mixes with reverb and piano.