Brothers in arms Remembering Beaver Brown’s Bobby Cotoia BY BOB GULLA

You may have read in this space last week that Bobby Cotoia, a founding member of Rhode Island’s legendary Beaver Brown Band, died from complications of liver disease on September 3. He was a little over 50 years old and he spent 32 of those with the band, right up ’til last year, when his illness prevented him from committing to the rigors of touring. Having to pull out of the band hurt Cotoia deeply, even though he told his buddies he’d be getting better soon, and that sometime soon he’d be well enough to rejoin. Bobby Cotoia was a born performer, naturally suited to the supercharged shows of Beaver Brown, and he couldn’t imagine life without the privilege of entertaining people.

If you don’t know the Beaver Brown story, or if you weren’t drawn to the band’s anthemic roots-rock back in the day, well, here’s a brief rundown: John Cafferty, Bobby C., Pat Lupo, Gary Gramolini, and Kenny Jo Silva — a few years later joined by saxman Michael "Tunes" Antunes — formed in South County in the early ’70s as kids. They lived together in a few houses in Narragansett, the five original members eating, sleeping, and playing music under the same roof. They were tight-knit, a brotherhood that believed in nothing less than playing music for a living, which they did immediately, thanks to their local popularity. At first, they worked the beach bars along the southern Rhode Island coast. But they soon expanded beyond those borders to clubs throughout New England, New York, and New Jersey. They gained confidence and developed a classic, early rock and roll-inspired sound.

The band’s big break came a full 10 years after forming, when a movie director, Martin Davidson, saw the band live and invited them to write songs for his upcoming film Eddie and the Cruisers. While the film died at the box office, HBO picked it up in 1984 and it caught fire. The film’s success, powered by Beaver Brown’s terrific soundtrack, catapulted the hometown rockers to the top of the charts with "On the Dark Side." All of a sudden the Narragansett kids had a double platinum recording on their hands and plenty of reasons to be cheerful.

Record company woes and some tough luck prevented the band from sustaining momentum or any superstar possibilities. But Beaver Brown was able to parlay their success into a lifetime of music-making — gigging and entertaining audiences for over three decades. It’s been a great run.

Last week, after Cotoia died, band members past and present assembled for the wake and funeral. It was The Big Chill with the backdrop of a band — rather than a class — reunion. There was a tremendous outpouring of appreciation; hundreds came to pay their respect and retell their favorite Bobby stories. Everybody had one. After talking to a dozen or so of his closest friends, it was obvious that many people loved Bobby, who had also become a good husband and father of two. He was the kind of person who lifted others up. Bandleader John Cafferty, one of a handful of guys who loved Bobby like a brother, opened up about him.

"When he walked onstage, he had a smile on his face and a song in his heart. And by the time Bobby left the stage, everybody else did, too. Millions of people all over the world saw him perform and people would look at the guy on keyboards and just love him. He was joyous to watch."

Gramolini, the band’s guitarist, was also eager to speak about Bobby. "If you watched him onstage, he was a show by himself, a natural musician. If he knew someone was watching him, he’d do anything to entertain. He’d play with his feet, face, elbows, a real showman, a ball of fire. He was like that offstage too. He used to make us laugh all the time. If he knew someone was listening to him he’d just go off, he was a Jackie Gleason character. He had a talent for the ridiculous, and he’d go on and on and on about whatever was on his mind."

Mike Kulick owned the recording studio in Pawtucket where Beaver Brown did much of the pre-production work for Eddie and the Cruisers. Bobby’s life-long friend going back to their early teenage years, Kulick was there for just about every rehearsal, and he worked for the band in many capacities, including driving them from gig to gig across the country. He roomed with Bobby on those long tours. They were inseparable.

"Bobby was just an endless stream of creativity and was blessed with the ability to find the magic within all his endeavors. Everyone undoubtedly recognized the extent of Bobby’s natural musical talent, but Bobby’s magic didn’t end there. It seemed that no matter what new endeavor Bobby tried — whether it was fishing or golf — something positive would come out of it."

Kenny Jo Silva, the band’s longtime drummer, also remembers the way Bobby lived his life. "He really enjoyed people laughing and he was a great entertainer. This is nothing to diminish his ability; he was a fantastic musician, and had a great sense of melody." He laughs. "Bobby always had his own weird slant on things. He was our own version of Yogi Berra. He’d make up words in conversation to suit his purposes. He had a lot of spirit he injected into the music and that came through in his performance. In fact, it became the basis of the band’s spirit —he embodied the good-time party spirit the band was known for."

Bobby’s oft-mentioned energy and spirit was just one of the factors contributing to the band’s incredible run. There was the immense musicality of the band. Each member had been leaders of bands of their own before joining Beaver Brown. Each one had mastered their instruments. Each one possessed a passion for performing and a love for music strong enough to hold them together for a miraculous length of time. And from Day One, they had chemistry.

"All of the guys were dependable, and they would work hard," says Cafferty. "We were all guys who understood the big picture — we realized it took all of us to get the job done. Each guy onstage had charisma and stage presence. My job in the middle of it all was to be the point guard, bring the ball up and get it into everybody’s hands, so during the course of the show the lights would shine on each guy."

"The band was way bigger than all of us individually," says Gramolini. "We were all part of an engine. Bobby would kick my ass onstage and we’d kick his ass onstage. The energy would be like a wave and we’d just get on it and ride."

Don Culp, a drummer who met the band as a teen, recalls how they reached out to an aspiring young musician when they could have just pushed him aside. "I met them in 1976, when all six members of the band came in to study karate. They taught me how to hang and be cool. I would always hang out next to Bobby because I sat on the right hand side of the stage when they played." Silva taught Culp his tricks on the drums — which he now uses with the Becky Chace Band — and he became one of the band’s closest associates. "Bobby always encouraged me to pursue my dreams. In fact, all of those guys changed my life and I’ll never forget them for that."

Over the years, the Beaver Brown Band grew into a family that covered Rhode Island and extended nationwide as the band’s network of colleagues, connections, and loved ones expanded. Throughout the ’80s, they were the most popular local band in Rhode Island, and the most successful, as their singles made the charts and the band was booked on global tours. Not bad for a bunch of kids from Narragansett.

"They were some of the greatest nights I ever had in my whole life," says Cafferty, quietly. "It was a brotherhood and we shared our greatest nights together. It felt like you had it so good. It was amazing what we could all do together. And I shared those experiences with this great bunch of guys. It was like being on a team. It was like going to the championship. We felt like we could win a championship every night onstage at night if we all did our jobs."

In that regard, Bobby Cotoia was definitely a champ. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why the band members I spoke with were so touched emotionally by his passing. Their starting lineup lost its MVP. That team, together since 1972, suffered its first real loss, and a permanent one at that.

"Bobby was irreplaceable," says Antunes. "We did what we did for 30 years together. For two hours a night onstage and the ride back and forth to the gig, there’s so much that takes place, that mosaic of life that takes a lifetime to build. When you do what you love to do for 30 years together it creates irreplaceable friendships."

"I always remember that at the end of the night we’d end up in Bobby’s room," says Cafferty, truly overwhelmed by the passing of his friend. "When you do a gig, it’s two hours onstage and 22 hours off it, so the playing part is the easy part. But anyway, after the show we’d end up in Bobby’s room and that’s when you talked about what just happened and you dreamed about what you wanted to do next. Bobby was always in the middle of that."

At the wake, John, Gary, Pat, Kenny, and Tunes got up to share some stories about Bobby, who was lying just behind them, resting painlessly for the first time in years. Awkward at first, the band members imparted a few of the funny, poignant, and revealing Bobby stories they had experienced. There was the one 25 years ago about Bobby’s B3 sounding uncharacteristically off-key at a gig, only to find out that he had been playing so enthusiastically he put his fingers through five of the keys.

Then there was the one where John and Tunes were doing some kind of crazy dance having some fun center stage, making a spectacle of themselves, when they saw most everyone in the audience looking past them to their left. "We turned and saw Bobby holding a note on the keyboard with his tongue and he was balancing the B3 on his thighs with his hands outstretched holding onto it. All we could do was laugh."

After the wake, the entourage headed to the cemetery to lay Bobby to rest. The funeral, in Gramolini words, "was incredibly moving and celebratory." Family and friends, devastated to see such a colorful life blacked out in midstream, were nonetheless happy to be together in Bobby’s memory.

At the end of the service, Tunes pulled out his saxophone and played the "Tender Years" melody. Written by Cafferty, it was perhaps the band’s best-loved song, highlighted by Antunes’s soaring, deeply soulful sax line, which Cafferty added, "he nailed every night."

He nailed it this time, too. When the band plays the song, Tunes’s sax fades out as it draws to a close, giving way to Bobby Cotoia’s tinkling piano notes lingering sweetly in the air. Only this time, Bobby wasn’t there to play his part, and the cemetery remained shrouded in silence. Each person at the gravesite finished Bobby’s notes in quiet, tearful tribute.