December 2011

I fancy myself an early Felice Brothers fan. Fell in love with their debut and caught them performing on a porch at SxSW (caught it on video). As a lover of folk music, it was impossible not to love the contrasting Dylan-esque vocals of Ian Felice and the Cat Stevens-esque vocals of Simone Felice.

I think it was the following year in Austin when we found The Felice Brothers again, this time at a much larger venue. I found James Felice in the audience before the show and asked “Where is Simone?” He quickly said “He couldn’t make it this year,” but, although not formally released at the time, the reality was that Simone had left the band. Felice took the stage that night on what was probably the drunkest night of my life in Austin, Texas (which says a lot because I had my bachelor party there). It was then that I witnessed the band’s new direction. They wore slick shirts with buttons and collars, combed their hair, and started rapping during a few songs. If it hadn’t been for my friend distracting me by taking his shirt off and asking passersby to pour his full beer over his head, I would have been more upset.

Suffice it to say, I wanted nothing to do with The Felice Brother’s album released in 2011. I made an attempt to get through it, but had to pull the plug at the disastrous third song entitled “Honda CIVIC.” Pop sounds, synthesizers, robotic voice effects. I remember thinking to myself, “Damn, I miss Simone Felice.”

Simone has been busy since leaving the band. He published a couple books, started a two-man band called The Duke and The King, nearly died (for the second time), and is now set to release his debut solo record in April of 2012. As I discovered his new single, “New York Times,” I also discovered a beautifully written account of his brushes with death at age 12 and again at age 33. It’s a must read:

Apparently when you die they call for a priest. And priests come quick. My mother  Patti wouldn’t let him in, kept him at the door with a look, a red palm held out, a string of words: ‘You can’t have him.’

He listened. The beat of his black sneakers fading forever down the hall. No last rites that winter day, no good book. Just a cold line on the computer screen by the bed, flat and then back alive, God’s own crude Atari game.

And hearing his mother relive the story may reduce you to a puddle:

The seizure made you arch your spine. You bit your tongue. Your eyes rolled back in your head.

When the seizure was over I held your hand and you looked at me and said: Mom I’m gonna die. I told you: No you’re not going to die. But then you did. Just like that. You knew. Somehow you knew.

The screen flatlined and all the bells started ringing. When the doctors came running I thought they were going to ask me out of the room but instead they told me to climb up on your bed and talk to you, tell you you can’t die. They shocked your chest. They shot you full of adrenaline. And I held your face and told you you couldn’t die.

There was an ice storm that night. The worst in a century. The roads were closed, so they had to send a State Police 4-by-4 to gather the neurosurgeon and nurses and bring them all to Benedictine.

The surgery lasted hours. Afterward, the doctors came and said you were alive. But not to get our hopes too high. If you survived the first 24 hours you’d have a 50/50 chance of living. If you lived you would likely have some degree of brain damage. If you lived there was a good chance you’d be blind.

‘Does he play the piano?’ someone asked.
‘No. Why?’
‘The area of his brain that’s been affected

Seriously. Read the essay. It’s a miracle that this guy is alive and another miracle that he has the assets to write and play music. Below you’ll find his new single, an old single and a performance in an abandoned train car.

Simone Felice – New York Times

The Duke and The King – If You Ever Get Famous

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