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IT’S 110 F IN TUCSON, ARIZONA

The Hawks are adjusting to road life. The heat helps. It breaks you down quickly, stripping away the comforts of home in a fierce but merciful way.

The trip began as the Hawks gathered in Highland Park on the morning of the last day of May. With all the equipment spread out there in the driveway, it seemed we would have to jettison some precious gear to make it all fit. Boxes of Cds, instruments and amplifiers, books and magazines, posters and t-shirts and suitcases. As each band member pondered a personal sacrifice, lead singer and West Coast Pack Champion RW started doing the math in his head, assembling a three dimensional Tetris game of gear and bags. Miraculously, everything fit and we steamed out of Los Angeles around midday. We filled the Yukon with $75 of liquid gold (it still wasn’t full) and aimed east for (eventually) the green hills of Vermont. We will be traveling east until some point in mid-July when we turn and begin racing back towards the Pacific. The desert. We’re back. We’ll always be back.

mojave 1st day.jpgWe crossed the Colorado River on the big bridge, honked the horn, first of nine state border honks we’ll honk on this first leg of our tour. It’s blazing hot out there. Paul L remembers swimming in the river as a wee desert rat, with all the other rancher and bracero famlies, everyone staying close to shore because the current in the middle is fast and there was always the latest drowning to murmur about.

Traffic was surprisingly light all the way to Phoenix. Paul L inspired a Led Zeppelin marathon by thrilling us with tales from “Hammer of the Gods,” the Zep-biography he’s been unable to put down for the last few weeks. And I must admit, a strong case was made that the lyrics for “Stairway” are in fact meaningful and wise, not silly. Mid-Way through Zeppelin II we hit rush hour Phoenix traffic and had to switch it off. You simply can’t soar like a dirigible in desert grid-lock. After suffering through the worst of it we finally reached our exit, the 48th Street, Hampton Inn booked lovingly by PM’s wife Colleen. Not only can Colleen get the sweet deals, they seem to love her so much that they upgraded our rooms to suites for free. Rarely have the Hawks had the good fortune to stretch out in such fine lodgings at such reasonable rates.

After unloading the gear we headed to Recommended Food Stop One. Our fine friend Randall suggested a legendary hamburger joint he’d frequented in his undergraduate days in Tempe. Would it still be there? Would we like it? The Chuckbox was hidden behind a large Caterpillar Tractor working the summer shift replacing water pipes beneath University Blvd but it couldn’t hide from us. The Hawks were becoming belligerent from heat and hunger. The place was pretty empty. We walked to the front of the line and ordered. Raw meat hit flame grill and I knew everything would soon be OK. Randall had come through for us. Big delicious burgers. High quality onion rings. Ice cold beer served in mason jars, just like Randall told us. Nice work, Randy!

Satisfied, we headed towards the Yucca Tap Room, a small music friendly bar located in an old strip mall near the college. Older strip malls have developed a kind of nostalgia and architectural credibility somehow in the last few years for me. Call me crazy, but I’m really starting to appreciate a decaying strip mall. There’s something romantic in them. Perhaps what I like is that they are now crumbling. This too shall pass. A startling discovery as we u-turned our way towards the Tap Room: a drive through liquor store. Choosing the walk in option, we were further dazzled by the complex and sophisticated selection of tequilas and single malt scotches in the densely packed little liqueria. Oban 16 year old being $65, we turned to domestic bourbons and took a chance on Bulleit, because we liked the shape of the label. The $8 bottle turned out to be a boon companion, smooth and subtle.

Our friend Dave Insley hosts a weekly Yucca Tap Room show, and he was setting up his acoustic duo as we pulled into the parking lot and hauled in some of our gear. Tony Gilkyson and Kip Boardman, our tour mates across this great and vast land, arrived at the same time, and we exchanged hearty greetings. Dave and his name-to-be-recalled lead guitarist did some fine harmony singing, with a family portrait song of Dave’s called “Geneva’s Gonna Leave Ya” being a high point.Tony, Kip, and our own Nourseman Shawn hit the stage in a reuniting of the Old Yellers, a seminal L.A. roots rock unit, and they sounded great, a hard hitting power trio fueled by Tony’s always scary guitar and great vocal harmony parts with Kip. Tony’s fronting this combo, singing songs from his new and soulful “Goodbye Guitar” CD.

On the last song, a barn burner moved further down the line by Shawn’s signature train on the tracks beat, the club suddenly emptied out through the back door, the bar crowd responding instinctually to unseen trouble. Out in the parking lot, Dave’s wife Brenda had passed out and fallen, fracturing her skull (send your good thoughts to Dave and his wife lonesome@daveinsley.com if you know them). Dave took off in the ambulance with his wife. The Hawks considered packing it in, but then decided to play, and did an off the wall and cuff set with Tony sitting in on some tunes. We’re glad we played, it felt good to release songs into the Arizona atmosphere, and we wish Brenda a speedy recovery.

The next day the Hawks all managed to get up in time for the free continental breakfast, which is unprecedented. Shawn and Rob, the late risers of the band, are new fathers, with the new found skill of getting up after not enough sleep.It’s quite hot in early June in the Sonora desert, 110 to be exact as we re-loaded the Yukon in the near blazing parking lot. We drove off the beaten path to visit a nearby Yaqui reservation town, and it was mystical indeed: little adobe and old wood frame houses with stone and mortar shrines to the Virgin, dry branch lean-to type awnings over front doors, and an ancient colonial church with a vast white dirt parking lot with NO PHOTOS ALLOWED signs. Holy ground.

South to Tucson, a saguaro and rock outcropping lined journey. Many new offramp clusters of civilization have robbed the road of its harsh beauty—it doesn’t take too many prefab buildings and big plastic signs to obliterate the vibe—but the horizons are stark and menacing as ever, if you fix your gaze upon them.Two hours later and we’re in Tucson. Hotel Congress is an enlightened updating of a classic old Southwest institution, host to the swells and Hollywood stars of the teens, twenties and thirties, when Tucson was an outpost of irrigated farms and not much else.
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There’s a bar, a café with 4 out of 5 Hawks rated food, and creaking upstairs hallways with comfy, no-TV no AC rooms. We checked in, dumped the gear in the dark and elegant concert room, and headed to KXCI radio, housed in a great old rooming house a few blocks away. Tucson’s got everything you need within a few blocks. KXCI Programming Manager Duncan set up the mics with confidence and speed and engineered the session. Kristi, the Home Stretch drivetime DJ came in and ran the show with professionalism and kindness.

We play three acoustic songs, Kristi runs a brief and efficient interview, and it’s time to head back to the Congress for sound check. On the way, the Yukon threatens to overheat as the AC blows hot air. Damn, car trouble this early? Duncan provides a hookup to his trusted Tucson mechanic and schedule an appointment for 8 AM. The Congress show sounded good and the small but wiry audience was enthusiastic and appreciative. We even got a request for “Byrd From West Virginia” which we played with as much rock majesty as we could muster.

The night is both long and short. Our rooms are located directly above the hotel disco and the bass thumps loud enough to rattle the hundred year old plumbing. The building is apparently tuned to B flat an octave below middle C, and this note knocks things off the mantle. But the Hawks are tired and hardened to loud noises and drift off to sleep despite the racket. RW and PM raise the dead (themselves) before eight to get the Yukon to its appointment. The day unfolds an hour at a time. The temperature rises, then falls as welcome clouds roll in. cloud congress.jpg

The train roars past. Thunder rumbles, and the rain is falling. Where does it come from? Dry as a bone endless blue skies somehow conjure clouds. The seductive scent of rain on sidewalk wafts under the back door of the Congress as we await Rob returning with the repaired Yukon. Paul M and Paul L play “Ghost Riders In The Sky” as raindrops spatter the sidewalk outside the back stage door.Rob’s back. Load up, thank the Congress folks for putting up with our all day loiter, and we’re rolling east on the 10, sawtooth peaks and misted mountains and rainshadows making the way mellow.

Actual conversation in the Yukon:Paul L: Hey, Rob, are tapirs kind of like pigs?
Rob: I don’t know. I think it’s okay as long as they get permission.
I’m hoping the guy in Tucson can burn us a CD.

MIAMI NEW TIMES REVIEWS “CALIFORNIA COUNTRY”

On their third album, the core members of I See Hawks in L.A. are joined by Chris Hillman (Byrds, Flying Burrito Brothers), Rick Shea (Dave Alvin Band), and other heavies from L.A.’s alt-country gang, but it’s the songwriting of the principal bandmates that grabs your attention. Rob Waller, lead vocalist and guitarist; and Paul Lacques, who supplies the high harmonies and plays lap steel, dobro, and guitar, craft memorable melodies with lyrics that conjure up the dreams and nightmares of Californians past and present. “Raised by Hippies” blends bluegrass and rock to look at the past through slightly jaundiced eyeglasses. “Slash from Guns N’ Roses” is a sea shanty for people shipwrecked on the shoals of the Sunset Strip — a dark song delivered with considerable humor. “Hard Times (Are Here Again)” is an acoustic country blues that nods to Woody Guthrie’s working-class poetry with Hillman’s mandolin fills and Lacques’s wailing dobro adding to the song’s hopeless melancholy.

— J. Poet, Miami New Times

DALLAS OBSERVER, DENVER WESTWORD reviews

“California Country,” the third effort from this oddly named roots quartet from the sunshine state, is heavily indebted to The Flying Burrito Brothers, the early Eagles and probably some kind of psychedelic drug. Full of sweet, Byrds-like harmonizing, songs like “Slash from Guns N’ Roses” and “Motorcycle Mama” are peculiar tongue-in-cheekers with an earnest appreciation of the less appealing aspects of rural life, and singer Rob Wallers’ baritone and Paul Lacques’ subtle guitar and dobro strike a fruitful balance between the regular and the just plain weird. Genuinely surreal in a professional sort of way, I See Hawks in L.A. offers a warped take on Americana that wonderfully defies easy categorization.

— Darryl Smyers, Dallas Observer

On their third album the core members of I See Hawks in L.A. are joined by Chris Hillman (Byrds, Flying Burrito Brothers), Rick Shea (Dave Alvin Band) and other heavies from L.A.’s alt-country gang. It’s the songwriting of the principal bandmates, though, that grabs your attention. Lead vocalist and guitarist Rob Waller and Paul Lacques — who supplies the high harmonies and plays lap steel, dobro and guitar — craft memorable melodies with lyrics that conjure up the dreams and nightmares of Californians past and present. “Raised by Hippies” blends bluegrass and rock to look at the past through slightly jaundiced eyeglasses, while “Slash From Guns N’ Roses” is a sea chantey for people shipwrecked on the shoals of the Sunset Strip — a dark song delivered with considerable humor. “Hard Times (Are Here Again)” is an acoustic country-blues cut that nods to Woody Guthrie’s working-class poetry, with Hillman’s mandolin fills and Lacques’s wailing dobro adding to the song’s hopeless melancholy.

— j. poet, Denver Westword

Buzzflash Reviews “California Country”

Tony Peyser’s “Blue State Jukebox” Review — May, 2006 Edition

I often find myself writing about musicians from Texas. Maybe it’s because their songs resonate with a strong sense of place: this is where I am, this is where I’ve been, this is where I’m going. Pick up virtually any album by Ray Wylie Hubbard, Adam Carroll or Eliza Gilkyson and that basic terrain will be covered. What they create aren’t just songs for an album but stories from their hometowns.

These basic components are what drew me to a band from right here in the City Of Angels: I See Hawks In L.A. I saw them one night a while back in a club on Hollywood Blvd. called King King that used to be a Chinese restaurant. The songs soared like the birds referenced in the band’s name. I See Hawks sublimely embody the country-rock sound that the legendary Gram Parsons pretty much invented. Parsons — who ignored Neil Young’s advice and burned out instead of rusted — would be proud.

On “Motorcycle Mama” — the opening track from California Country — I See Hawks sing, “I tried to ride with the motorcycle mama/But the motorcycle let me down.” Pedal steel guitars wend their way through this yarn of being lured by the Golden State dream but never quite finding it. One of the main products manufactured on the Left Coast is disappointment but I See Hawks find a way to describe this in a glorious fashion. And the legendary allure lives on with lines like these: “She’s riding free over the trees/crossing over the great divide/I’m down with my tears & beers but I know someday I’ll ride.” The ooh-ooh-oohs in the chorus are as irresistible as the state’s enduring siren call of fun in the sun.

“Raised By Hippies” covers almost forty years in just under six minutes. It’s the saga of a hippie girl born in 1968: “Nixon was heading to that big White House/And the bombs would soon be dropping on the children of Laos.” She has such a sweet and decent disposition that she manages to endure the Reagan and Bush I & II years. And, perhaps most tellingly, it’s the things she learned from her parents that help give them hope during the post-Woodstock era. I’d bet a lava lamp that her peace-and-love Mom and Dad played “Teach Your Children” to their young daughter who luckily paid attention and wound up later teaching them.

Flexing their creative muscles, I See Hawks later chronicle the story of another young girl. But this time, they shelve the innocence and embark on a dark drama called “Golden Girl.” The descent into exploits worthy of one of Jim Thompson’s pulpy novels is not without foreshadowing. The narrator glimpses an angelic 17-year-old in a church choir and observes, “As we bowed our heads in prayer she gave me a wink/I knew our book was written in the devil’s ink.” There’s a palpable conflict here between the music and lyrics. The former seems to be on her side and is always light, airy and seductive. But the latter keeps reminding the listener that this girl is bad news, no matter how good she looks. “Golden Girl” is the polar opposite of “Raised By Hippies,” its landscape riddled with sex, guns, crime, betrayal and revenge. When a robbery goes south in a Navajo bar and the shooting commences, you may find yourself ducking. It’s that vivid a song. This cautionary tale could result in less dates involving bad girls and nice guys.

I had the album playing while I was doing some other work and suddenly found myself delightfully bewildered at the fourth track, “Slash From N’ Roses.” This has a to be some kind of a first: a song about rock and roll identity theft. This crackerjack guitarist — sort of like the kid in “Six Degrees Of Separation” who pretended to be Sidney Poitier’s son — has bamboozled various folks into thinking he’s really the guy from that famous band. As they used to say in every TV Guide sitcom description, “trouble ensues” when the real Slash shows up: “At the top of the highest hill in the hills of Hollywood/Two mansions were competing to see who could/Throw the biggest baddest party this town has ever seen/2690 Beachwood said, ‘We’ve got Slash.’/2693 Beachwood said, ‘Oh yeah? Well, so do we.'” A guitar rumble tumbles out on this canyon street in a climax that’s equal parts mythic and comic. It reminded me of video I saw once around ten years ago but never forgot of Wyclef Jean channeling The Bee Gees in “We Trying To Stay Alive.” Directed by Roman Coppola, it similarly depicted archrivals engaging musical fisticuffs. I See Hawks don’t spell it all out in the song, so we’re allowed to fill in the blanks as the real and faux rockers raise their guitars to do battle. “Slash From Guns N’ Roses” is a one of a kind song that jumps out like a guitar solo by, uh, Slash from Guns N’ Roses.

In “California Country,” I See Hawks put everything they feel about the state they live in to describe the state of mind they live with: “I am a child of the golden state/I grew up in the orchards and fields/I’ve seen farm towns become commuter alleys/And shopping malls eat up the trees/Sometimes I wish for a simpler time/When you could drink right out of the stream/The loneliness around me, freeways just surround me/I’m 30 miles from a field of green …” Whatever sense of frustration and dislocation they feel is upended in the very next line as the mandolin kicks in and they sing, “But I’m still standing in California Country.” This sense of not giving up on where their roots are is also underscored a little later on whey they add, “Only now I understand I could ever leave this land/ I’m a California man.” Along with Mike Stinson’s “Late Great Golden State” — which has already been covered by Dwight Yoakam — “California Country” is another honest-to-God Left Coast anthem. It’s worth noting that the mandolin playing here (and in the aforementioned “Golden Girl”) is especially rousing and harkens back to The Byrds’ groundbreaking Sweethearts Of The Rodeo. This is perhaps because the fellow playing that instrument is none other than Chris Hillman, who used to be in The Byrds. It’s perfectly fitting that a fellow with that lineage is aboard for these songs to pass the country-rock torch.

A few weeks after I was sent this album, one of I See Hawks’ main men — Paul Lacques — called to make sure a) that I got the record and b) that I knew that there was a political track on it. I had and I didn’t. This little life lesson here to impart is if you want someone to know something, tell them.

I didn’t realize right away that “Byrd From West Virginia” was about the Senator Robert Byrd. Apart from the lyrics — which I’ll get to — the song has a stirring, majestic quality with a melody and harmonies that resonate deep into American country and folk traditions. It’s like an A&E Biography episode distilled down to five minutes. It even finds a way to address Byrd’s early racist attitudes: “He burned the cross of Jesus in the West Virginia night/The darkness of America blinded his sight.” Among the landmarks along the way are glimpses of The Great Depression, Byrd’s marriage to a coal miner’s daughter (Loretta Lynn has nothing on him) and his hard work in a shipyard. Further down the road, there’s even a Forrest Gump moment of colliding with people more famous than him: “As a young man in congress he studied law at night/For ten long years he burned a different light/Presented with his J.D. by John Fitzgerald Kennedy/Just before the young president was escorted into history.”

It climaxes some fifty years later with Byrd as the grand old man on the political landscape. I See Hawks can’t help but reveal their shared sense of indignation as they compellingly sing, “And when a reckless new president came calling out for war/Old Byrd from West Virginia sang out the score: ‘The doctrine of preemption is radical and deadly …'” And it tops all this off with these haunting words: “Who will sing this song when the Byrd flies away/Vanished oe’r the hillside at the end of the day/A long voice a crying, a lone voice a crying … Senator Byrd.” All people who make the world better by their presence deserve such a sendoff.

There are rumblings that the next I See Hawks album will have more topical songs on it, which is definitely something to look forward to. In the meantime, California Country will fit the bill as a prime example of the timeless California Country sound.

* * *

Tony Peyser writes political poems every day for BuzzFlash and draws editorial cartoons twice weekly. His new music column, The Blue State Jukebox, is now a monthly feature for BuzzFlash. Mr. Peyser (who loves referring to himself in the third person) is shamelessly using BuzzFlash as a springboard to help him land his dream job: becoming the new Washington Bureau Chief for Talon News.

L.A. Daily News: California Country Review

Three and A Half Out of Four Stars
Local co(s)mic cowboys serve up true sounds of ’60s country rock with a satirical bent that captures the surreal absurdity of life in our fair megalopolis. The Hawks’ hippie twang cred is emphasized by the appearance of Byrds/Burrito Brothers stalwart Chris Hillman, but they can also cook up a faux myth-rock inferno on the hilarious “Slash From Guns N’ Roses.” An eyes-wide-open ode to Sen. Robert Byrd and the caustic “Hard Times (Are Here Again)” provide contempo political counterpoint to Golden State narratives of passion crimes and spaced-out nostalgia. The Hawks play tonight at McCabe’s in Santa Monica.
By Bob Strauss, Staff Writer

GOLDEN STATE READY FOR THE COUNTRY

Richard Guzmán
The Desert Sun
May 13, 2006

California isn’t the first place most country fans turn to for musical inspiration.
But that may soon change, thanks to I See Hawks in L.A., who are helping reveal the Golden State’s hidden country soul.

“California Country,” the Los Angeles-based band’s third release, is a collection of bluegrass-honky-tonk-alternative country with a distinctly Socal vibe.

Jointly influenced by country legends such as Merle Haggard and Buck Owens, and the psychedelic sound of The Byrds, I See Hawks in L.A. are set to perform at Pappy and Harriet’s in Pioneertown – their home away from home – Saturday night.

“We have a great time out there, it’s a blast,” said Hawks lead singer Rob Waller.

“It (Pappy and Harriets) really fits in great (with our sound). A lot of L.A. artists are inspired by the high desert,” he said.

The Hawks are among the best established country rock bands in California, with a weekly spot at Coles Bar in downtown L.A., regular gigs at the The House of Blues in Hollywood, as well as The Cinema Bar in Culver City.

The band also earned the L.A. Weekly’s Best Country Artist awards in 2002 and 2003.

Saturday will be the seventh show for the Hawks at Pappy’s.

“The country rock scene is great here in L.A.,” Waller said.
“There’s a wide range of fans from the generation of The Byrds and The Grateful Dead to hippie folks, pure country fans and college kids,” he said.

The opening tune on the Hawks’ latest album, “Motorcycle Mama,” is not a cover of the Neil Young staple, but a hole-in-the-wall, jukebox original, plush with twangy guitars and tragic lyrics like “I tried to ride with the motorcycle mama but the motorcycle let me down.”

The Hawks also mock L.A. pop-culture with songs like “Slash from Guns ‘N’ Roses.”

“That song came out of a conversation where we asked ourselves what would happen if Slash ran into an impersonator,” Waller said.

“Barrier Reef” pays homage to another L.A. hippie cultural icon, cannabis.

Fiddler Brantley Kearns and banjo player Cody Bryant add country credibility to the Hawks’ very-L.A. sound.

And although the band feels most at home playing honky-tonk tunes at honky-tonk havens like Pappy’s, Waller said he also sees the sound and feel of their alternative country hitting bigger crowds.

“We would play anywhere we have songs people seem to like,” he says.

“We’re a regional country band with global aspirations.”

THE EXQUISITE INTERMINABLE FRENCH LUNCH

The Hawks just finished recording a new record with Eddy Mitchell , probably the most well known country singer in France. He has done about 30 CDs with every famous American country musician:
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Eddy avec Le Monde, preparing for vocal session

The Hawks recorded 6 songs as Eddy’s backup band May 6-9, with Bernie Dressel on drums. We played guitars, steel, dobro, and did background vocals, helped with the arranging, and drank many, many bottles of wine at the three hour lunches the French are famous for (a tradition we desperately need over here). A gleaming high tech espresso machine was there from the first morning, producing a crema only an expert barista could hope to match.

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The sessions went just great. Philippe Rault, Eddy Mitchell’s longtime producer, who arrived in American during the summer of love ’67 and has lived an enviable dual Paris/L.A. life ever since, was trop cool, betraying only a hint of irony at those moments of doubt and pain every recording presents. When the producer and artist are lingering over trout and a last bottle of wine on the patio, you know everything’s going to be all right. We Hawks felt a real wistfulness over an imagined older and wiser Euro approach to doing things. Many a last joke before rising from the table, and many a cigarette and whiskey as tape rolled.
p rault.jpg
le producer

Gabe Witcher, who’s in Jerry Douglas’s band, came in and did some blazing fiddle, and also doing some great playing was Bob Dylan’s old guitarist/fiddler Freddy Koella. It was great fun.freddk.jpg
Freddy et le whiskey

The other half of the album will feature members of Jackshit, which includes Pete Thomas, Elvis Costello and Los Lobos’s drummer, should be a pretty great record.It’ll be released on Polydor Europe, and a DVD of the sessions will be included. A crazy Frenchman with a high definition camera followed our every move.

On Monday a three way vocal with Eddy Mitchell, Little Richard, and Johnny Halladay is rumored to be happening.

FREIGHT TRAIN BOOGIE REVIEWS “CALIFORNIA COUNTRY”

Hawks main vocalist and co-writer Rob Waller has been known to say country never died, it just changed names. But the California country rock of this band, one of the finest on the scene, takes some by ways down back roads from L.A. to Bakersfield clear up to Marin County, making them heirs in my book not just of the Byrds and Burritos but Workingman’s-era Dead and New Riders. This group of songs doesn’t quite reach the heights of the best of Grapevine to me, but is more consistent and fully realized. The opener “Motorcycle Mama” is not the Neil Young song, but makes reference to it the final chorus. Slices of life songwriting laced with passion and humor (try “Slash from Guns N’ Roses”) and the by now required ode to cannabis (“Barrier Reef”) show the band to be at a peak, musically that is. Pedal and lap steel, psychedelic guitar solos and the excellent fiddling of Brantley Kearns (the fifth Hawk?) flesh out the solidly written tunes, making this a must have disc. And check out their website for note worthy blog reports from a down to earth band on the move.

four and a half stars
www.freighttrainboogie.com
Reviewed by Michael Meehan

A NIGHT AT COLE’S: IT’S SOCIAL SECURITY

Everybody knows your name at L.A.’s oldest restaurant and bar.

By Margaret Wappler
Times Staff Writer
L.A. Times
April 13, 2006

In the swampy back room of Cole’s P.E. Buffet, L.A.’s oldest restaurant and bar, the downtown dive feels like a small-town church. Lights beam through stained glass while the audience sings “amen” with the ragtag country band I See Hawks in L.A., some with their eyes closed, some holding hands.

It’s the kind of moment that defines Cole’s, a welcoming beacon occupying a stretch of 6th Street, an area jaunty with downtown hucksters by day and spookily desolate by night.

On this particular cold and drizzly Friday night, everyone’s wearing peacoats and sweaters. But despite the New England wear and weather, this is definitely L.A. When the Hawks’ Rob Waller and Paul Lacques harmonize about an SUV flipped over on the 405, the crowd whoops in knowing, ironic tones.

The dimly lighted Cole’s, ratty and elegant with its old-fashioned signs advertising buttermilk for 15 cents and tiled floor covered in wood shavings, has many identities. But most of all it’s a downtown institution embraced for its cheap beer, easy conversation and family-like ambience. Forget the Standard and its ilk, with prickly doormen, VIP rooms and overpriced martinis du jour, or hipster hangouts such as Pete’s or the Golden Gopher, which feel more like annexes of Silver Lake. Cole’s, open since 1908 and famous for its French Dip sandwiches, is where a discerning drinker can find authenticity in all its junky splendor.

Scrappy, young and fiercely tightknit, the Cole’s Friday night crowd is drawn to roots, blues, country and folk-rock with retro style but modern bite. Amy Farris, Kenny Edwards and Mike Stinson have played here, plus Carlos Guitarlos, tonight content to observe in a sozzled haze from the sidelines.

I See Hawks in L.A. have played nearly every Friday without amps and only one microphone since 2003, letting the starch acoustics and attentive room carry their golden-hued music.

“Cole’s is full of ghosts and history,” singer and guitarist Waller says, pointing to a booth where, according to legend, Mickey Cohen and Bugsy Siegel bet on cards.

“We’ve played in a lot of clubs and here it’s so real. We get to choose who we play with, there’s no sound man messing things up, no cover. We just pass a bucket around and we do all right. It’s just turned into something magical.”

Many of the Hawks’ fans feel the same. Rye Baerg, a UCLA student who lives in West L.A., has been coming to see the band play at Cole’s for a few years. “To me there’s something very honest about their music. And something very L.A.,” he says. “Whenever I listen to them outside the city, it makes me think of here.”

Outside of the back room, the rest of Cole’s is content to listen to night manager Ali Mazarei’s iTunes with its head-scratching mix of Turkish dance music, Guns N’ Roses and Coldplay. For the first time, someone has hooked up the TV to a live feed of the Hawks’ performance in the back, but no one pays it any mind. Patrons buzzed on Chimay, the de facto house beer, crowd into red leather booths and chatter aimlessly about work, friends and lovers, while barflies ages 20 to 50 cling to the mahogany bar or each other.

Chuck Dedeu, the bartender from Spain who calls Cole’s his home away from home, has a bandage wrapped around his elbow from the blood drive Cole’s hosted earlier in the day in memory of Laura Esguerra Adams, a bartender who died last year.

Mazarei has reluctantly managed Cole’s for nine years as a favor to his aunt and uncle, Gitti and Marty Benishti, who bought the bar 27 years ago. But he’s also had the biggest hand in rebuilding Cole’s. In the mid-’90s, Cole’s didn’t have the customer base to stay open past 8 p.m. Though Mazarei was smart enough not to change its comfort food-heavy menu with most items priced around $5, he brought in some bands, a first for the bar.

Steadily, as downtown gentrified and the Pacific Electric building that houses Cole’s rented out lofts, the establishment’s fan base grew. Now it stays open every night until 10 p.m. and often later, if there’s a party or a show.

Though Mazarei regularly greets orders with a grunt, there’s no denying his affection for many of the regulars. He knows all about them: Allan eats the same meal everyday, a turkey plate with a side of broccoli. Celia writes about downtown on her blog. The USC guys play poker with Mazarei. Cole’s has become his social life.

“It’s a community help-out kind of bar,” he says. “It goes past employees and customers. If I’m busy, people help me out and step behind the bar.”

He also admits it has its drawbacks. “This place is worse than Cheers,” he groans. “Everyone knows everyone’s business. I went on a date on Sunday and some of the regulars tried to meet me at the place. I had to change my plans at the last minute to throw them off my path.”

But while he’s in Cole’s, Mazarei belongs to the customers and they belong to him. Mona Shah, a 30-year-old regular who lives in one of the Pacific Electric lofts, finds comfort in the bar’s cast of characters.

“We’re all living here, this weird place,” Shah says about downtown L.A. “Cole’s has been here for ages and ages but none of us has. These cast members are like my family. I feel safe here.”

Margaret Wappler may be reached at weekend @latimes.com.

NEW HAWKS CD “CALIFORNIA COUNTRY” AVAILABLE HERE NOW!

Greetings, fans, friends, and radio listeners!

Our brand new CD “California Country” is officially out MAY 9, but “California Country” is available now on this website for friends and fans. Be the first one on your block to have you own legitimate copy of the Hawks’ brand new record.Order the CD
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The Hawks
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