Todd Mathis

My heart is heavy these days. This past month I lost my good friend and collaborator Paul Bodamer. I have released a number of recordings over the past 11 years, and Paul has had his hand on most of them. From engineering, mixing, mastering, playing drums, singing backup, producing, or all of the above, he’s there. And even if he didn’t do one of those things, I probably asked his advice about a mix or what to do with a certain aspect of a song or recorded it with some of his equipment.

We talked weekly and if 2 or 3 days went by without texting it was odd. A lot of it was about music but there were also numerous conversations about our families, religion, politics, the state of the world, and a few stupid jokes thrown in there. He was always there to listen, especially recently when I lost my dad and my day job within days. He called me his brother.

Paul was a force in the studio and out. When I met him he had already established a great ear for mixing, but over the past couple of years he had also upped his mastering game. He loved UAD plugins but he also lived by the rule of “less is more” and to let the art and song speak for itself. He always got some of the best drum sounds out of such little gear. He read constantly, soaking up recording techniques and was always up for trying something new and not just doing it the same way because there were good results the previous time. We didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but as a good producer he always deferred to the artist. He may have fought for a certain mix or chord change or added part, but if I didn’t “feel it” he’d drop it. He loved people so he was always ready to jump on to the next project, and the studio “hang” was one of his favorite things.

A couple years ago I was at the studio with Carl on a Wednesday night listening back to a Willie Nelson cover I’d just recorded. I’d been in a writing rut so instead of not doing anything, I decided to do an EP of covers. Now, before Paul had small children, I’d be in the studio with him a good bit of the time, but for the past few years it’s been me and Carl in there with Paul popping in occasionally when he had the time. Or he’d come in later and mix/master the stuff we’d been working on. This particular night I think he’d just ran by to grab something to use at his house or something he’d left. He popped into the control room and said “What’s this?” I told him it was a Willie Nelson song and without skipping a beat quipped “So you’re singing it like Johnny Cash? Ha!” and was out the door. Well, that pissed me off for some reason and I decided not to work on that track anymore. That track was “Me and Paul” by Nelson. He never stuck around to hear the tag line at the ending of each verse. And I never told him I’d chosen it for him. I hope you get some rest my friend. I love you.

Above:  Paul goofing off in the studio January 2020.  It would be the last time we were in the studio together.  We were working on my brother’s album.  

Last year over my birthday weekend I had a few local musicians come to the house and record some 70s country covers with me. It was a lot of fun and turned out pretty damn good so I decided to put it out around my birthday this year. It’ll be released on all digital platforms by August 21, but I may drop it earlier via Bandcamp and the like. I’ll post on Facebook, Instagram etc. if any of you check in there. But by the 21st you can steal it from Spotify, etc.

The second release is an Interruptions of the Mind project that I started back in 2018 called The Border. Most of it was recorded with Carl Burnitz at High Fidelity while working on Learning to do the Harder Thing. I’m not sure why I waited so long to release it, as it has been done for at least a year, but anyway, you’d have to take a deep dive into my head to figure that out. It consists of 5 tracks, but I am releasing it as a stand alone single of 12 minutes and 17 seconds with each separate tune going into the next. It felt right that way because in my head (see, here we go) it is all one piece.

Hope you all are well and loving the ones around you with your actions and telling them how much they mean to you.

My dad always supported my music. When I wanted to start playing guitar at age 12, he went and purchased a little Phantom acoustic from the local music store. At one time years ago he had purchased a 1950s Les Paul and tried playing, but soon sold it, so I think he had a soft spot or maybe lived some of his dreams through my playing. He put me on stage for the first time in Cowpens, SC when a band was playing “House of the Rising Sun.” He had asked the guitarist if I could sit in. I was horrified, as I had only been taking lessons for about a year at the time, but got up there and faked my way through it. When I started playing in Betty Sneetch in college, he and mom would often come out to our bar shows or festivals. The same with Capital/Boxing Day. I remember us playing a festival in Charlotte where we opened for My Morning Jacket. Tickets were like $50 or something, and I look out into the sparse crowd and there’s mom and dad. I was like, “Did you guys pay $50?” Dad was like, “No, we just came through that fence over there.” LOL. They saw American Gun at a few festivals and bars, but never made it to see this last incarnation of My Only Friends Left. Dad couldn’t stay out quite as late and his health hasn’t been great.

On June 27, dad was buried and me, my brother, my sister and my wife, all played and sang at his funeral. I know he would have enjoyed it. Thanks for all the support dad. You will be missed but kept alive in our memories.