That One Time I Tricked the Front-man

He was the lead guitarist of a very popular local band that played the big venue on the west side of Phoenix, Arizona in the early-to-mid-1980s. Full of himself, as all good front-men — and women — should be. Where would David Lee Roth have been in the mid-80s had he not had buns of steel and the attitude of a narcissist?

Jimmy was like that, at least on the surface. I can’t pretend I knew him well enough to see the tender inside of his heart and soul, though I’m pretty sure it was in there. His band, Surgical Steel, played Rockers on the regular and drew the attention of filmmakers. Surgical Steel was featured in the 1985 film Thunder Alley with Leif (be still my young heart) Garrett, Scott McGinnis, and Roger Wilson.

I met Jim Keeler in 1986 at the beginning of my wannabe rock promoter/writer era. He was often hanging out at Rockers when the band wasn’t playing.

Organizing benefit shows

My partners and I were organizing, promoting, and working Monday night fundraisers in support of St. Mary’s Food Bank. People got in free to the show in return for bringing canned goods and other non-perishables, which we had delivered to the food bank later in the week. The owner/manager of Rockers, Rick, was supportive, most likely because Monday nights were just about always the slowest nights of the week after Sunday.

We were always looking for bands who were willing to play for free on behalf of charity. One day I received a call from a woman named Cheryl whose act was a Stevie Nicks lip-sync tribute. She had the hair, the clothes, and the entourage. For those who don’t know, there was a time in the 80s and 90s when there was actually a market for lip-sync acts like hers.

I met Cheryl for dinner one night, at her invitation. She paid for my first-ever seafood enchilada plate at Garcia’s. It was delicious, and I had no idea how to act, because, as you’ll recall, I was a wannabe and had absolutely no idea what I was doing. In reality, I should have treated her to dinner, but I think her initial goal was to see if I could manage her.

At that point, I just wanted to book her and the girls for a Monday night at Rockers for charity.

I went to see them on stage at a Food for the Hungry concert in a park in Scottsdale. She was good. Her moves were perfect. Her lips were expertly synced to the recordings of Stevie. Stevie. My idol. How could I not be enamored? I wanted her for my Monday night show.

Bringing in the ringer

I invited her to join us in the audience the next week, to which she agreed. That night, like many of our fundraising nights, I was helping work the door when Cheryl swept in as Stevie, followed by her lovely gauze-and-lace bedecked entourage.

Just before they arrived, Jimmy had come to the front of the house. He stopped and watched them as they dropped off their canned goods and Cheryl greeted me like we were best buds. I remember laughing at something she said as I pointed her toward a table we had reserved for her. They moved like the ocean, in waves of silk scarves, heads high with the pretense of fame.

Jimmy followed. He stood back, walked around, and finally returned to “Stevie” to tell her that when he was a child, his family had lived just down the street from her. He told her how much he loved her and her work. He was clearly excited. I didn’t know that’s what he said to her in the moment. He told me this later, after he asked me the question.

He was bubbling a bit when he came back to the front to ask me the most important question. The one he should have asked before talking to the woman he thought was the most beautiful, lithe, and talented woman in rock-n-roll. (Okay, I’m putting words in his mouth. My words. That’s how I felt/feel about Stevie).

Jimmy bent over and whispered in my ear.

“Is that really Stevie Nicks?”

I had to tell him the truth. When he told me what he had said to her (and I have to say here that I am fairly positive I am remembering what he said correctly), I felt so bad for letting him think that Cheryl, a Stevie Nicks impersonator, was really Stevie.

It was all in good fun, and Jimmy was good-natured about it.

From impersonator to imposter

Cheryl never did play our benefit show. I didn’t hear anything about her again for some time. When I did, she was no longer known as a “Stevie Nicks Impersonator.” By 1988. Cheryl Cusella was known as a “Stevie Nicks Imposter.”

Cusella was arrested on charges of bilking Arizona investors of $50,000 by promoting that promoting shows that never happened.

The June 13, 1988 edition of Hits magazine reported that Sheriff’s officials said that Cheryl told backers she was promoting shows by Rita Coolidge and Mr. Mister. “Local law enforcement officers say looked just like Nicks. “No one else wears platform boots never took like that,” said detective John “Mery Griffin Is God” Brutsche of the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office.”

Here is an interview with Cheryl on Sally Jesse Raphael:

Apparently Ms. Cusella has gone on to make CDs and write books as a “Christian” artist. However, reviews are rather negative and some commenters on her Amazon listings bring up more recent scams she’s allegedly been involved in. I’m definitely not recommending her work.

******

This story first appeared on Medium