Cody Weathers

Music so hip you'll need a bigger belt


ROQUE: Less Yackin', More Snackin' (studio, 1992)





$5 for complete album mp3 download (includes lyrics, cd jacket, and listening log notes)


$10 for physical CD via special order


The Songs

Cradle/ Pretty One/ Something Out/ Winter Heat/ Essence of My Time/ All Blown Up/ Too Much/ Cocoon/ Running Away/ Sleep/ Old Roses 

all songs written and arranged by Cody Weathers (c)(p)1992, Cody Weathers, all rights reserved. No stealing the worthless material, OK?

Additional MP3 Singles: (includes "Pretty One" and "Winter Heat" from this album for .80/ea) 

Don't Hate the Players(clockwise from L): 

John Fried: bass, speech

John Speranza: guitar, backup vocals, speech 

Neil MacPherson: keyboards, backup vocals

Cody Weathers: lead vocals, drums

Nick Walsh: lead guitar, backup vocals



Cat Mayhugh: backup vocals

Joh3n O'Meara: backup vocals




    Liner Notes


    Notes on the 2000 CD re-release of Less Yackin’, More Snackin’:

    This album, considered by many to be ROQUE’s finest, proved to be their last. Divisive elements had long festered within the band, in particular Nick Walsh’s raging drug problems. Says songwriter Cody Weathers: “Nick was just so clean-cut and upstanding --he got so angry about drug use by our peers that he couldn’t focus on the music anymore.” Walsh was in all likelihood led astray by former bandmate Colby Goff who had been elected Student Body President at Cherry Creek High School and purportedly “got Nick into” hard-core student government and other “clean living” preppie behaviors that ultimately were a greater weight than the fabric of the band could bear.


    Weathers continues, “you contrast that with the hard partying lifestyle of the rest of the band from Speranza’s cocaine enemas to Fried’s potsmoke SCUBA system to my denatured-alcohol breakfasts, and you can see who was a rock star and who was --well, Student Body Vice-President.”


    And what of Neil MacPherson, the brilliant young keyboardist who replaced Matt “Keyheim” Preheim? How did his introduction into the mix affect tensions in the band, either positively or negatively?


    “Neil got mighty spacey at times. Naturally, this created conflict with Nick’s surfing solo style. I mean, all this discord is great for the listeners, but we’re only human --how much force can we resist? We’re weak, the answer is very little. The band broke up over spaciness versus surfiness and whether certain tie-wearing sissy members were sick of getting Taco Bell at practices and would rather we make PB&J and donate the Taco Fund to the homeless. Crap like that. For Pete’s sake, Nick, must your judgement and that of America be on us, the junkie musicians?!”


    And not then because the band members were going to different colleges?


    “Are you kidding? That’s just record label PR, man.... I mean John Fried blew a million dollars on Tijuanan Chicken Whores. A Million Dollars! We were riding an out-of control wave of preppie good looks and drugged-up realism and crazy illegal bestial sex acts. If we’d wanted to stay together, we would have.”





    Cradle: Chorus: Woman, oh woman, gonna rock me to death. Cradle, oh cradle, I'm falling. Lover, oh lover, I can't tell what you meant. Cradle, oh cradle, I'm falling. I didn't meet you long ago, I've never seen your distant land. I've only seen your azure eyes, I've only felt your steady hand. How do you say that in your language? How can I make this all right? Sometimes I need to be together. I think that we should drive all night. Chorus. I saw the smoke spray from your nostrils, I saw the stain upon your teeth. I want to rise and go together, I want to hold you in my sleep. I want to think of you forever whenever smoke gets in my eyes. I want to hold you when you're sleeping, I want to hold you when you cry. Chorus. So won't you hold me in your time. I know I'm hard to understand. Please be happy, and you'll make me happy, too. Time we've spent is but grains of sand.


    Pretty One: Oh pretty one, are you tangible? Do you breathe, or are you magic? Are you swift and shallow; do appearances betray you? Holding you, I trace your flesh, supple muscle, bones of willow, hair of winter sunsets blown by kisses from within you. Pretty one, have you no idea, or do you try to leave behind you all the broken hearts you used as stones to build your future. Closer now, I taste your neck. In my mouth, you tense your tendons. Every sound within you passes through me as a closed door. Pretty one, do your eyes delight to see the dawn of new beginnings? Does the saffron sunset make you laugh or make you weep? Now I feel the life within you, touching me and warming me. Are you swift and shallow, or does stillness make you deep? Chorus: I will try to love you just the best I can, and I will try to pledge you heart and mind and hand. Oh pretty one, will you dance with me, spinning, turning, falling to me. Do you find me pleasant, or does confidence betray you? Closer now, I feel your sweat on your hands behind my neck. Salty, you are tasty as you shine with bitter dew. Pretty one, will you never lie; will I fear the truth instead? What is left when hope is gone and emptiness surrounds me? Close my eyes, I probe inside, gently sifting piles of memory. All is open, but there are no signs to point the way. Pretty one, you are beautiful, I have glimpsed your crystal caverns. I have felt your gentle eyes like light upon my shadows. Closest yet, I see your heart, rainbows fill it up with colors. Rosy, you are happy, let us hope it's always with you. Chorus.


    Something Out: If I could have the wisdom to know when my mouth runs away.... I'd be a better man to fight your pain if I knew what I should say. If I could have the courage to let a spark grow into flame, I'd be a warmer man beneath the stars by a fire that lasts the rain. Chorus: Haunt me, hook me, overlook me, throw my heart a bone. I miss you when you're gone, so why can't we work something out. If I could have the tick-tocks to work the knots out of this cord, I'd be a better man who knew you well, but time I can't afford. I must confess impatience has cost me more than I could pay. Were I a better man, I'd read your mind, but I fear I've lost the way. Chorus. Br: Haunt me, hook me, overlook me, throw my heart a bone. How much time is there, anyway? How much time?


    Winter Heat: If you were alone and needed someone, I would dig my grave, I would wait for you. If only I knew that in the end, you'd be by my side, I would wait for you. No matter how cold the icy ground, I would take your pain just to be with you. Chorus: I see the shadows of the winter heat dissolving in your eyes. If you were afraid that I would hurt you, I would break my hands just to reach for you. If only to feel your silken touch on my crooked hands, on my crooked face. If I could deserve a tender kiss, I would dig my grave, I would wait for you. Chorus. If I could convince your winter lips that I'm not the beast that you think of me, I would be happy just to wait if I knew that you would be there for me. I'll leave you my darling. I'll leave you my dear.


    Essence of My Time: I have no things to leave behind me, I have no past to hold me back, 'cause I am here now, with you, that is my life. I have no recent inconclusions, I have no reason to doubt your simple ways 'cause I am here now, with you, that is my life. I have no cloudy preconceptions, I've no idea what I might expect from you, but I am here now, with you, that is my life. I have no weight upon my shoulders, my mind is clear, but my conscience knows a way, to find you here now, the essence of my time. Chorus: What is real, I ask the essence of a flower, and what instead is in my mind? Am I in circles, or a spiral towards a center? What is the essence of my time? There are no questions you must ask me, I've no demands or behavioral codes, but I am real, here in the shadow of your life. I walk and talk, but only through you, I open gates, but I keep the fires away, and I am here now, with you, that is my life. I have here instruments of torture, I have here cures beyond your wildest dreams, and I am here now, with you, that is my life. I have here instruments of pleasure, I have here tears to salt your very eyes, but I am here now the essence of my time. Chorus. I have no fear as I approach you, I've no idea how I'm losing my control, but I am here now, with you, that is my life. I have my wings, but they are budding, I have a compass, but it does not show the way to find you here, now --the essence of my time.


    All Blown Up: I don't care if you're made of air. I don't mind if you waste my time. Look at me, all blown up, I've put myself in pieces. If you care, then you'll never call. If I'm solid, then I'll surely fall. Look at me, all blown up, I've put myself in pieces. Chorus: I didn't want you at first, I just thought you'd be good for a while. I didn't need you at first, I just thought you'd be nice for a smile. But then I looked inside your heart --it's so magic and tragic, I've got to have it. I don't see what you think of me. I don';t hear what I ought to fear. Look at me.... I might fright if you spoke delight. Close my eyes from a nice surprise. Look at me.... Chorus. I suppose if I'm on my toes I'll propose and hand you a rose. Look at me.... It never ends, no, it just pretends. No last line in this life of mine. Look at me.... Chorus.


    Too Much: Chorus: I would love to love you, I would kill to steal you, I would steal to touch you, I want too much. I must control my rage again, but still it coaxes, "give in." I feel so hard, so cold. I wish I had your hand to hold. Now, as I wander through my mind, I cannot face what I might find. I feel you slipping far away. Will this dog ever have his day? Chorus. The swingset clatters in the wind. The starlight shines on me so thin. The midnight field, my toes are bare. I smell you in the misty air. I will not blame you for tonight. You could not see him in that light. And what you shared you lost to him. I will not damn you for this sin. Chorus. I must disguise myself again, so you can't see how hard it's been. I feel so empty and misplaced --my search for substance yielding space. I see your eyes in yellow skies, the sunset thinks you are unwise. Then all at once, you slip away. My lunge to grab you is too late.


    Cocoon: Lift up your eyes now, Jodi. Don't tell me what they've done. I'm sorry the world's as tart as that. Shouldn't there be some kind of cocoon to take your pain away? I'll help you inside now Jodi, but I can't give you peace. I'm sorry that that takes so much time. Shouldn't there be some kind of cocoon to take your pain away. Chorus: Step inside and find your old cocoon on the doll shelf in your old bedroom. Find it dusty --fragile to the touch. Realize you can't make it your crutch. Butterflies must always carry on. You can't crawl back; you've been out here too long. Please, Jodi, cry. If you hold this coal, it won't cool down. Please, Jodi, fly. You must trust your wings or fall and drown. Look at the lights now, Jodi. Herein, you will be safe. Stay with a crowd 'til the dawning of day. Try to not think of the kind of cocoon that hides your face away. Look at the sun now, Jodi. Know that you can fall in love. Know that this love shall be returned. you can find love outside a cocoon and flutter down south again. Chorus.


    Running Away: Once a man set out to dream; like a sculptor, he would cut and labor the living stone, but he's still not done. He pictured wings --pictured and felt them With his eyes, he knew the dangers. Other men had gone there long before. Chorus: Here I am once again, dreaming a dream with your voice at the end. All I hope or pretend is you're still not running away. Then he turned, looking for angels, facing the forms of succubi Whose hideous screams he'd never heard before. Down the path, roses and violets, smelling of lilacs, farmgirls and tyrants, and haystack attractions under dewy moon. Chorus. Br: Your beautiful angry eyes cover me with, smother me with questions. I'm a dirty young man, dirty little boy, clay in your hands, your perpetual toy, praise in your eyes, pain in your cries, dirty young man --people can't stand me. On the road, off in the distance, rising smoke from the tribal fires of the very angels he was searching for. In his mind, under the ocean, kisses of mermaids licking his salt lips --ways of life he'd never dreamt before.


    Sleep: Put down reality, put down identity. Pick up the fantasy, sleep. Walk down the secret path, slow down --don't run so fast. Reach out and hold my hand, please. Drink from the hidden stream, don't be afraid to dream. Trust me --I'm what I seem, sleep. Look through the broken glass. Dead blood, it dries so fast. Fall now and hear the last scream. Chorus: When you have nowhere left to turn, then turn to me. When you feel ice within your veins, I'll set you free. When you have no more strength to run, I will protect you. Sleep. Put down resistance, put down persistence. Turn to submission, sleep. Change what you cannot change, all else must stay the same. realize internal flame, dream. See through your blinded eyes, let go --be hypnotized. Broken hope, now realized, sleep. I hold the magic key. Come now, and carry me. Look deep and you will see your mind. Chorus.


    Old Roses: "I'll love you if you treat me right" was one of our popular lies. An understood deceit grew between us. No love would even see us. Chorus: You're not a thing to me but old roses. Wilted up, I blow you away. You're just as useful as these old roses, out of water and you're starting to fray. And I'll forget you any day now, forget you any day and throw your rosy shell away. Old roses, you can decay. "Judge people by their own standards, rather than the standards of others," she said, "learn to tolerate what doesn't harm you. Sift love on your sisters and brothers." Chorus. "Spread love and you will find the answer, rather than the fear spread from hate," she said, "think before you judge the actions of others. Sift love on your sisters and brothers." Chorus.

    Listening Log:

    Fried came up with the album title.  Neil MacPherson, who did the original caricature coverwork, preferred the name "Eye Patch," and made his own alternate cover for distribution to his friends.  This was ROQUE's final studio album and our best --we actually planned to record this, then break up (we were all going to different colleges).  Audioworks went bust (possibly because of us) later that year, so subsequent studio efforts (for other incarnations of the band) were recorded at Free Reelin'.  I intentionally wrote very hard parts for Fried to play, using him as a hybrid bass/lead guitar, which I continued for the rest of the time we played together since he can't be stopped.  Similarly, I arranged more complex parts for Nick and new keyboardist Neil "The Glove" MacPherson (who played keyboard in the pit orchestra of "Flower That Shattered the Stone," which I scored and musically directed). 


    Cradle: We played a really high-energy version of this live at the upstairs Mercury.  Couldn't hear the vocals for crap, but otherwise a lot of fun.  I was a little bit smitten with a girl from Denmark, just long enough to pen this and do nothing.


    Pretty One: I really like this song, but for the life of me cannot memorize the words.  Every time we've tried to play this live, it has failed miserably as a result.  The other philosophy that I embraced on this album more than any other prior album was the importance of somehow building the song from beginning to end.  To that end, I often brought in parts (say, lead guitar or keyboard) as the song went along rather than having them play the whole way through.  This song was written a couple of years before the album, but arranged fresh for this version.


    Something Out: One of my favorites.  I love Speranza's solo at the top of the song, which ends with a "wind-down glissando," where we started madly detuning his string on the final note.  Nice solos by all three players, very distinct variety of ideas.  Jason Kaneshiro later recorded a cover of this (in a song swap) that's on Tongue Meets Eyeball.  This version was included on Songs You Hate.  I shopped this song very aggressively to publishers, but couldn't land a deal for it.  Wishing that somehow the force and simplicity of love's feelings could by themselves successfully navigate the social obstacles to romance.


    Winter Heat: I like this song a lot, too.  We used to play it all the time at Paris on the Platte, but it's been quite a while since I've dusted it off.  Overall, I think I did a better-than-average job writing for this album, and somehow avoided the dreaded "Trouble With Hearts" curse where I felt compelled to include a song which, in retrospect, was pretty terrible.  I think all of the songs on this album work really well together, and I'm happy with each of them.  This one might be summed up as "oh, what I would do for your heart."  Fried and Speranza call the keyboard part in the bridge "the Running Man part."


    Essence of My Time: Also a little bit older.  Also on Songs You Hate.  This was an optional inclusion at the session.  Basically, we had a very limited budget, and needed to record basic instrumental tracks (the part where we sit together and play the song sans vocals, sans solos, as a group) by a certain time.  If we had enough extra time, there were a couple of songs we'd add.  This was one, and "You Can Stop Hiding" and "Shy Birds" were the others (which we didn't get to).  The high point of this song, for me, has to be the way Speranza hits that heavy guitar at the end (it's actually two parts --a rhythm part and a subtle lead line that fits inside it, making it seemingly oscillate high and low).  I wrote this while thinking about what we take with us when we die, not that it's much of a reflection on that topic.


    All Blown Up: Perfect example of how Fried's rock-solid playing allows me to go out on a limb with my drums.  Nice solo from Nick.  He did his homework on these songs --really sat down before the session and figured out some great kernels to build from.  Great tone, great solo from Speranza.  This is about the frustration of my awkward way with women.


    Too Much: This was a "must play" song for practically every live set I played for several years to come.  The next "Do You Want It?" :)  Speranza totally hooked me on drop-D tuning with his suggested re-arrangement of the chords for the chorus.  Arguably Nick's best solo of all time in the bridge.  I gave him a written lick for the first & last phrase, but he went wild in between.  This song was re-recorded for Guitool and included (in that version) on Songs You Hate.


    Cocoon: Fried's playing Speranza's infamous "pry the frets off" fretless bass to get those smooth scoops, particularly evident on the bridge octave overdub.  Very nice solo from Neil.  Totally fits the song, and I love the trailing ending.  The drums were recorded as an overdub with the tape sped up so they'd sound lower and fatter on playback.  I like the spreading effect of the "wha-aah" backup vocals that diverge to a half-step apart.  I like this song, and shopped it to publishers as well.  I think I can see now that it's not really the best song to sell, though.  I re-recorded this in a different arrangement with the Stunt Beatles several years later.  This is about struggling to say/do the right thing for a friend (not really named Jodi) who was sexually assaulted.


    Running Away: One of my most difficult arrangements to play.  I personally can't pull this song off live, although Speranza cobbled together a very good solo guitar arrangement that we occasionally did.  A lot of very tight counterpoint --I was ver proud of this song.  By band consensus, this song made it onto Songs You Hate, although I probably wouldn't select it now.  Another song based on dream imagery.


    Sleep: Very difficult to pull off live without a piano.  Dave Potts recorded a cover of this in a song exchange which I included on Tongue Meets Eyeball.  Very haunting tone from Speranza.  I wrote this feeling very sad about a friend's suicide.


    Old Roses: Poor Vicki (I'll spare her additional embarassment on the worldwide web by withholding her last name).  The disaster unfolds like this: in the year prior to this album, I got my heart a little broken and then tried to get back on the horse with Vicki, a very nice girl I was peripherally acquainted with.  I asked her out, she said yes.  Her friends called me and told me to cancel so they could surprise her for her birthday.  That was OK with me, and I suggested that I could even drop her off at their party (impying that I'd go out with her some other time).  Somehow, this got misinterpreted as me standing in the way of their plan, so they told her, and she had to call me and say something like, "my friends say you're ruining my birthday."  So I apologized for the confusion and --seemingly-- set the record straight.  She said, OK, call me later and we'll reschedule.  So far within the reasonable realm of human behavior.  Not for long.  I'm 100% ashamed of how the rest of this turned out.  I called her and tried to reschedule.  Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.  Even after John O'Meara overheard the following exchange, "Yeah, he's nice, but I wish he'd stop calling me," I didn't stop calling.  She was so civil, and somehow, I couldn't just take the hint and cut it out.  I had to be told.  Well, I never was told.  I badgered this poor girl who just didn't have the guts to tell me to my face.  And it made me so angry I wrote this song when I finally did give up.  I owe her a big fat apology.  Do you think I should call her?


    The story of the outro: the end of this song is a theatrical homage to the restaurant manager of Paris on the Platte, who got up in arms the first time we played the whole night there because there were five of us instead of two, which presumably meant that we would require $25 in free sandwiches instead of $10 (actually, we had no idea that there were any sandwiches involved).  Ultimately, we resolved it by agreeing to appear as "ROQUE & friends," but still get all the sandwiches we didn't really want to begin with.  French diplomacy --gotta love it!  See, I'm a conflict-avoider, preferring to resolve differences through satirical songs that my enemies will never hear.