Chris Hicks: The Soulful Shredder of Macon
There are some people whose guitar strings seem to run straight through the streets of Macon — connecting dusty barrooms to big stages, rehearsal spaces to radio airwaves, memory to momentum. Chris Hicks is one of them. A hometown player with a road warrior’s spirit, he’s lived the life so many dream about — and he’s stayed grounded right where it all began.
This is Held Here, our ongoing series spotlighting the people whose presence shapes Macon’s creative soul, past and present. And if you ever hear a guitar solo soar across a summer night and think, “Yeah, that’s Macon,” there’s a good chance Chris Hicks is behind it. (Featured image on Held Here page by Jack Benas.)
Chris Hicks, Marshall Tucker Band Singer/Guitarist, practicing in studio, January 6, 2024.
Photo by Tom Pacheco.
Guitar in Hand, Soul in the Soil
Some musicians chase the spotlight. Some chase the next town and the next award. Chris Hicks? He chases the next good lick — the next story to turn into song, the next jam with musicians he loves. He’s been everywhere from Lizella back porches to the Fillmore East, from Grant’s Lounge to riding shotgun with Stevie Ray Vaughan. And yet, he’s an every man with every road bending him back to Macon — the place that raised him, shaped him, and keeps him grounded while the music never stops.
And don’t ever try to stop Chris. His cheerful energy carries him from one new adventure to the next before you can even holler “encore!”
Chris isn’t just part of Macon’s musical story — he is Macon’s musical story. And our dang good Ambassador, wherever he goes. After 27 years touring with the Marshall Tucker Band (MTB), he’s been around.
Born in Lizella, Georgia, a few winding miles west of town, Chris came up strumming mountain music with his grandfather on mandolin, playing proms with his high school band, and gigging at every dance hall and roadhouse that would have him. That same boy now stands as one of Southern Rock’s most enduring and endearing figures — yet he never left home. Not really.
He still lives near Macon, out in the country. Still plays Grant’s Lounge on Poplar Street. Still shows up at GABBA Fest. Still walks the same streets as Otis, Little Richard, and the Allmans before him.
“My first album was the Allman Brothers Band (ABB) At Fillmore East on 8-track,” Chris says. “Duane Allman has more influence on my playing than anyone. I still find myself pulling licks that came from what I heard on that record.”
Chris has learned through the years to trust his playing, and trust his ideas. He’s adamant about believing he can do things. He’ll advise young people, too, to break through those self-imposed barriers and believe they can achieve.
All that playing — and believing — paid off for Chris.
From Lizella to the Legends
At 16, Chris got a call from Jaimoe. Yes, that Jaimoe — drummer for the ABB, who were holed up in a cabin in the woods just a few country miles from Chris’s neighborhood.
The Brothers spent plenty of time out there, working up songs, fishing, jamming through the nights. Word got around fast about the teenage guitar player in Lizella who could hold his own — and soon enough, Jaimoe called to see if Chris wanted to come out and sit in. That first jam wasn’t just a thrill — it opened the back door into Southern Rock’s most legendary circle, a place Chris still carries with him every time he plugs in.
“That call was freaky,” Chris laughs. “Not to mention how freaky it was to jam with him again and again.”
It wasn’t just one gig. It became a formative friendship — and a backstage pass into the South’s evolving music. As a teenager, he’d head over to Capricorn Records, just to watch the legends lay down tracks — sometimes even jumping in himself.
He cut his teeth with Loose Change, opening for regional icons like Charlie Daniels, the Atlanta Rhythm Section, and The Outlaws. Under Alan Walden’s management, they recorded in Muscle Shoals, launching a regional vinyl that caught attention and even landed them on a Jim Varney film soundtrack with the song “Love is on the Line.” That led Chris to join The Outlaws in 1989 and later—the MTB in 1996, where he’s remained ever since.
Loose Change kept the wheels rolling, picking up any stage they could find — beach towns, college bars, roadside dives — never knowing when luck might call them back home. One night, on a sandy stage in Panama City Beach, Chris’s phone rang — they were asked to open for Jefferson Starship at the Macon Coliseum. When they later popped open the van doors at the Coliseum’s loading dock, grills and beach sand spilled out everywhere.
“Their road crew saw us struggling with our raggedy gear,” Chris says. “They could’ve laughed us off, but they didn’t. They helped us set up, taught us tricks. That kind of help didn’t happen a lot in this business, but I’ll always remember it.”
Moments like that made all the miles worth it — the road might’ve been rough, but every gig brought Chris closer to the stages and studios that would shape the rest of his life.
Early Mentors and Macon’s Living Blues
Back when Chris was just a teenage kid getting calls from Jaimoe, and his head was filling up with big dreams, two other men cracked open their sacred circle and also let him stand inside: Bobby O’Dea and Robert Lee Coleman.
“Bobby and Robert were great mentors to me,” Chris says, paying tribute to them and their generosity.
Bobby O’Dea was a pillar of Macon’s restless groove — an organist, bandleader, and the kind of big brother who raised up a whole generation of local players. They say Bobby kept the doors open at The Rookery, that Cherry Street institution where the stage might host everyone from Jaimoe to Calvin Arline, Clarence Roddy, and Slim Powell — former bandmates of Sam & Dave, Otis Redding, and Percy Sledge. Long before Bragg Jam, Bobby’s open mics and legendary jam sessions brought Macon’s music family together, gig after gig.
And then there was Robert Lee Coleman — truly an unsung hero in the history of Southern music. Born in Macon on May 15, 1945, Robert grew up under the influence of his guitar-playing stepfather, and like so many greats, got his first taste of the spotlight playing gospel in church. By his teens, he was leading an extraordinary group of young musicians called the Underground Railroad — a name that must have carried powerful weight for a Black kid in the Deep South of the 1960s.
One night in 1964, Alabama soul singer Percy Sledge dropped by to hear them play at Clint Brantley’s club on Fifth Street — and was so blown away that he recruited nineteen-year-old Robert into his band. Just two years later, Sledge released “When a Man Loves a Woman,” the first Southern soul song to ever top the Billboard Hot 100 — with Robert’s guitar in the mix.
Robert’s talent carried him to James Brown’s stage in 1970. For three electrifying years, he toured and recorded with the Godfather of Soul and the newly formed JBs — his guitar groove became the backbone of “Hot Pants” and “Make It Funky,” and you can still hear his riffs on Revolution of the Mind, recorded live at the Apollo.
But no matter how far the road stretched, Robert always came home to Macon, just like Chris does to this day.
Through most of the 1980s, Robert and Bobby O’Dea anchored the house band at The Rookery — the kind of band where any night might bring in Jaimoe, Big Mike, Tinsley Ellis, Chris himself, or even Dickey Betts! Sitting in with them meant Chris was stepping into Macon’s living, breathing songbook.
Macon’s past, present, and future were all jamming together in that tight corner bar. Chris soaked up every lesson: keep your eyes on the bandleader, feel the spaces between the notes, and when it’s your turn, open the circle for the next kid.
These days, if an electric city bus passes you on a street in Macon, you might see Robert Lee Coleman’s face rolling by — a full-color portrait paying tribute to a man who still holds court every Monday night at the Back Porch Lounge, still mentoring by example.
Mr. Robert Lee Coleman:
Chris Hicks’ mentor, standing in front of the Macon, Georgia, bus with his portrait, 2022.
Photo by Bill Brookins
Bobby O’Dea may be gone, but ask anyone who played Cherry Street back in the day and they’ll tell you: Bobby was a saint — a big brother who raised them all, including Chris, song by song.
In the Studio
Producer Paul Hornsby remembers Chris’ early days well. In his book, Fix it in the Mix: A Memoir, Hornsby writes:
“Chris was a young hot-shot guitar player around town. Alan Walden brought him into Muscadine Studios when he was with Loose Change, and even after they broke up, Chris kept coming back. He’d cut his own stuff, work with other people — he just loves to make music. When we did his record Dog Eat Dog World, he cut one of my songs, ‘Georgia Moon.’ I always heard Gregg Allman singing that one in my head, but Chris brought it home — he’s got the voice for it. We became buddies, and we still do shows together now and then. He’s an exciting performer, and he brought new life to the Marshall Tucker Band.”
Paul would know. Long before becoming Capricorn’s go-to producer and founding Muscadine Studio, Hornsby was bandmates with Gregg and Duane Allman in Hour Glass — the band he’s often said really captured the ABB sound first. He and Chris still play together now and then, just like he said — they even shared the stage during a 2024 holiday show at The Society Garden, one of Macon’s most beloved outdoor venues. Tucked under the trees in the Vineville neighborhood, The Society Garden is a music-lover’s oasis, where hometown legends and rising acts take turns under the string lights. If there’s any musical justice, Paul and Chris will be back on that stage soon.
Paul has spent a lifetime anchored in Macon’s studios and on its stages, helping shape the city’s sound one note at a time.
And if Paul Hornsby is one root, Alan Walden is another — just as tangled in Macon’s musical soil, impossible to pull out even if you tried for a thousand years. (His photo is also on that electric bus, next to Robert Lee Coleman.) Alan famously auditioned nearly 200 bands before discovering Lynyrd Skynyrd, then managed some of the South’s biggest acts — the same circle of legends that Chris Hicks would one day call friends and bandmates, with Macon at the center of it all. Alan and his brother Phil Walden were the beating heart, and sometimes the competing heart, of Capricorn Records, the label that turned Macon into the cradle of Southern Rock.
This town wouldn’t be what it is to music without the Waldens’ vision and stubborn love for the artists they believed in. And when Alan puts his faith in someone, it means something. He doesn’t give praise lightly. But here’s what he wrote about Chris in his book Southern Man: Music and Mayhem in the American South:
“Chris Hicks should have been right up there with Clapton and Duane and all of the rest. This cat plays fantastic guitar — not good guitar, great guitar. He’s since pretty well taken over The Marshall Tucker Band. Chris Hicks is a powerful singer, too... I’d put Chris up against anybody in the world. Pay attention to him.”
Alan’s words say it plain — Chris isn’t just another player. He’s the real thing, and he’s ours.
A Good Man, A Great Player
Yes, we should pay attention to Chris. Because he isn’t coasting. Not even close. Friends, fans, and fellow players will tell you the same thing: his talent runs deep, but his kindness runs deeper. He makes folks feel seen, welcomed, and part of the music. Maybe that’s why he’s got a fan club cheering him on from Macon to Muscle Shoals and back again — they know they’re not just following a star; they’re standing with a good-hearted friend who lifts everybody higher.
If you doubt it, just scroll his Chris Hicks & Friends Facebook page sometime — the comments are a chorus of love that goes on for miles.
The Night He Sang for .38 Special
Beyond the Facebook fan club, the man’s stories could fill a jukebox — and each one proves he’s been right where Southern Rock lives and breathes.
Chris’s Southern Rock résumé isn’t just long — it’s legendary.
For example, on the Southern Spirit Tour — a roadhouse rolling-thunder of The Outlaws, Marshall Tucker Band, .38 Special, The Fabulous Thunderbirds, and The Barefoot Servants — he wasn’t just part of the show. He helped make the show.
“Van Zant was out of .38 a couple nights, and I got up and sang his parts — ‘Wild-Eyed Southern Boys,’” Chris recalls. “Nobody sits in with .38. But before it was over, they were pulling us out onstage.”
That’s the kind of trust Chris inspires, and moments like that just keep finding him.
Missing the Shuttle, Catching a Ride
Chris has been known to show up in the right places, trusted by legends, stumbling into these moments that become folklore.
One night, after a Volunteer Jam — where Lynyrd Skynyrd played their first reunion show — Chris missed the shuttle bus back to the hotel.
No problem. He started walking when a car pulled over. And who was inside?
“Stevie Ray Vaughan and his people,” Chris says. “I sat down next to Stevie Ray. He and B.B. King and Toy Caldwell had just finished jamming. That was the kind of night it was.”
It’s the kind of night that defines Chris’ career: serendipitous, star-studded, rooted in sound, soaked in story.
Hard Work and Heart
For all his road miles, Chris has never lost touch with what grounds him: family and hard work.
“My dad taught me to work hard at anything if you expect good results,” Chris says. “He’s a hard worker to this day. My mom taught me to be true to myself and my own heart. She does that every day, too — always know what’s right, know what’s wrong.”
Chris remembers his grandpa — the man who taught him his first chords — with a warmth that never fades: “I’d love to talk to him again and pick a few.”
Because every note Chris plays now is a little piece of that old porch music, still alive and still reaching for what’s next.
Right now, Chris is touring with The MTB on their All Our Friends Tour, sharing stages with rock legends like Bachman‑Turner Overdrive and Jefferson Starship through October 2025. On this tour he’s backed by a knock-out lineup of respected long‑time bandmates—Doug Gray, B.B. Borden, Rick Willis, Marcus Henderson, and Ryan Ware.
Still Hungry, Always Creating
Chris thinks fast, talks fast, plays faster — and that’s how he’s become a bridge between eras: one foot in the golden days, one in the now, and both hands carrying the legacy forward.
On the YouTube Southern Rock Insider series that Chris hosts, his curiosity shines and his deep knowledge of music and players astounds. His whirlwind energy and stories reveal a musician excited to look back and look ahead—digging deeper into Southern Rock, uncovering connections, and forging new paths.
In short, Chris is a delightful host: part historian, part showman, part musical detective.
He’s sat down for candid, two-part interviews with Capricorn legends like Willie Perkins, Alan Walden, and Paul Hornsby; spotlighted his original band, Loose Change; and caught up with newer voices like Crawford & Power and Williette Donna Hall Foster. He’s also delved into the careers of fellow Southern Rock veterans like Steve Hammond—sharing rich stories and letting Hammond reflect on his own journey—and Eddie Stone, exploring his musical path and influences.
Between guests, Chris turns the camera inward, riffing on the greats—Toy Caldwell, the Outlaws, Southern guitar gods and their gear—with sharp insight and a reverence only a fellow musician can offer. Best of all, he’ll often grab a guitar mid-conversation and sing a few bars that light up the screen. His personality is bright, infectious, and full of heart—equal parts entertainer and archivist. Watching him feels less like a show and more like swapping stories on the back porch with a friend who’s seen it all and still can’t wait for what’s next.
Through every gig, every late-night jam, every Southern Rock Insider episode, and every song traded across a smoky stage, Chris has become the keeper of countless musical kinships — proof that Southern Rock isn’t just a genre, it’s a living, growing family.
And maybe that’s his true gift: Chris isn’t just a player in the Southern Rock story — he’s a lodestar at its heart. His spark has connected him to more musicians than any map could hold.
Just think: the MTB alone has seen more than 30 members pass through over the decades — each one carrying their own network of songs, stages, and sidemen. Trace those branches out far enough, and you’d find Chris standing right at the center of the music universe, a true Six Degrees of Southern Rock, keeping the circle alive.
And now Chris carries the torch for the ones who came before, keeps the circle unbroken for the ones who’ve passed on, and opens the door wide for the next ones still to come.
He also holds their songs in his hands — picking up their licks, telling their stories, and making sure the music never stays in one place too long.
Ideas Keep Knocking
He’ll tell you he’s done everything he ever dreamed of — yet not nearly enough. Because for Chris, the riffs keep buzzing, the ideas keep knocking, and the road will always call him back out again.
But home will keep him steady while he chases whatever he dreams up next.
How did Macon ever get so lucky to have Chris grow up in her red clay, and give her back so much life? He’s proof that this town’s got a way of raising legends who never forget the streetlights and neon lights, and the smell of beer and barbecue drifting out of doorways, that first showed them the way.
So here’s to Chris Hicks, our star and our good man — still strumming, still believing, and still reminding us that a joyful spirit can carry us anywhere we’re brave enough to go… and that coming home can be the sweetest note of all.
Chris Hicks is Held Here by the chords he’s struck that keep echoing long after the show’s done — by the songs that travel, the family in his heart, and the road that always leads him home. He’s held here by the simple promise that Macon’s music will always find its way forward… just like him.
Some stories in this profile were first shared by Chris Hicks in an interview on Everyone Loves Guitar.
About the Author
Cindi Brown is a Georgia-born writer, porch-sitter, and teller of truths — even the ones her mama once pinched her for saying out loud. She runs Porchlight Press from her 1895 house with creaking floorboards and an open door for stories with soul. When she’s not scribbling about Southern music, small towns, stray cats, places she loves, and the wild gospel that hums in red clay soil, you’ll find her out listening for the next thing worth saying.
