Nashville Confidential

freaky tuesday

And so it begins ... The curse of the Balinese bird struck tonight. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. I was driving down the Ellington Parkway (whose mysteries I have unlocked), listening to Webb Wilder, sunroof open, when two birds fell onto my car.

I mean, fell like bricks. I saw them out of the corner of my eye. It's almost like they were divebombing the car. I think they were having some kind of in-flight argument, attacking one another, and both lost their bearings. Think of it as an avian murder-suicide pact.

This is bad karma to admit, but I was not shrieking and screaming because I worried about the birds' welfare. I was terrified they were going to fall into the sunroof.

I had to go wash my car.

Okay, that is one strike. The third freaky thing that happens, I am getting rid of the Balinese bird.

weekend update

I didn't do a good job posting about this in June, and my only excuse is, things happen quickly. And often I have to go to work, where they actually pay me to write about things other than myself. So I am backfilling a little. The activities of this weekend give me a chance to provide "the rest of the story." Follow the links below to get to some past posts ... I recently found them on a disc I burned from my old hard drive, so I’m just now posting these entries ...

This summer, it seems, I have experienced an explosion of new friends and acquaintances. A colleague from my Peoria days transferred here, and Jason's niece (a Peoria-area girl) got hired at [the place where I work] in July. Wherever I went, I saw old friends and met new ones. I just seemed to cross paths with cool people and started spending more time with them. In that vein, three separate posts about this weekend:

friday night: el inca

Two women from [the place where I work] asked me to join them for dinner. They work in a different part of the company and I don’t know them especially well, but apparently they figured out that I like ethnic food. We had a great dinner at El Inca, a Peruvian restaurant located in a strip mall waaaay out on Nolensville Road. (Confidential to KNS: Remember when we went there during your 2003 visit? The location, but more so the conversation, reminded me of you.)

What a great night. Friday night is noche de musica at El Inca, and that involves two guys and a set-up that would make any music professional proud: a giant keyboard, little bongo drums, a laptop computer and a nerve center of mike cords. Programmed music is the foundation of their act, and they put the percussion, keyboard and vocals on top of it. My companions (both single moms ready to bust out on their joint visitation weekend) told me that these guys have a standard set, which always begins with “Guantanamera.” I love that song.

The duo was very enjoyable, but a little loud for the room, so my companions and I had more of a shouting match than a conversation. It was a fun shouting match just the same – about classical music, their kids, houses, travel, mussels, good party spots and blessedly little about work.

Most of the patrons at El Inca were probably there for the music, but also for the Spanish language TV and the opportunity to hang out with other Peruvians. This is their oasis, next door to the Kmart. Some wore their work clothes from Lowe’s and other big-box employers, some had dressed up to make a night of it. Many had the grave, Indian-like face that distinguishes Peruvians from other Latino groups. Everyone was friendly. As we left El Inca, the band was sure to remind us that they play every Friday night. There are many things I didn’t get to on the menu, so I will surely be back.

One of the things I really liked about the woman who drove is that she truly knows Nashville – she took a lot of back roads, away from the interstate. On the way back to town we cut behind the baseball stadium and passed a very cool, rehabbed brick factory called Chestnut Square. She said it’s now an art gallery. Yet another thing to add to the “check it out” list.

saturday afternoon: flea market

Jason’s niece (I will call her JLR here) has been here about six weeks and is adapting very well to Nashville. She is getting involved in volunteer opportunities, having lunch with people, and getting out and about. (Since she is 23, lovely and a frequenter of the Demonbreun scene, I have a feeling she will soon be getting The Line from Mr. Roboto.) I really enjoy talking with her and learning about her ambitions, and she never fails to impress me.

A few weeks ago we answered phones at Nashville Public Television, located across the street from the Tennessee State Fairgrounds. When JLR and I said we wanted to go to the state fair, other people strongly discouraged us. Apparently it’s a far cry from the Heart of Illinois Fair, and is regarded as very unsafe. So we decided to do the next best thing: the flea market held the last weekend of the month.

The sprawling fairgrounds had vendors everywhere -- along the paths, inside the buildings, everywhere. The whole experience made me want to read George Singleton’s “Half-Mammals of Dixie” yet again, because many of his characters and stories revolve around the flea market. I think I recognized one of them in the young man at the concession stand, who had all kinds of bling bling on and wore his food-service visor gangsta-style.

Truly the flea market has a little something for everyone. Among the items you can get there:
Replacement windows
Jewelry (gaudy, classy, cheap, vintage)
Belts
Rugs
“Artwork”
Bedframes
Bottle caps
Vintage nudie mags
Wrought iron
Railroadiana
Bluegrass sheet music
Fiestaware
Pan flute demonstration and CD (autographs optional)

I don’t know how they assign vendors, but I found one building interesting. Under one roof, they had booths for:
Homemade fudge
Dietary supplements
Vitamins
Chiropractic examination
Massage
Roasted nuts
“Caskets-N-More” shop of Germantown.

Being practical, JLR and I raided the overstock booth for personal care items (hairbrushes, toothpaste, etc.) She bought some fun little gifts for her grade-school-age sister.

The whole experience did make me think about purging all the totally worthless crap I have stored in cabinets, desk, bookshelves, closets, etc. I’m sure that the nice vendor with all those old glass bottles felt they were valuable treasures and wondered why no one else wanted them; I have many similar prized possessions.

I was almost free and clear but in one of the last buildings, a wooden sculpture caught my eye. The wily seller sensed my interest. Apropos of nothing, she told me, “It’s from Bali.” And she took almost half off the price.

No sooner had I brought it home than I experienced buyer’s remorse. Now all I can think of was her willingness to sell it, and the fact that it’s from Bali. I wonder if I have bought some cursed artifact (similar to the Brady Bunch’s misadventures in Hawaii). If something bad happens to me, you will know why.

saturday night: the 'boro

Morrissey is coming to the Ryman in October, which has thrown many music lovers here into a tizzy. I am excited for them. I will not be vying for one of the tickets, but I know what it’s like to learn that someone you really dig will perform in town. Somehow I missed the Smiths / Cure scene, and I feel that I have disappointed M&M in this regard.

I trust their musical tastes (after all, they led me to Scott Miller & the Commonwealth) so when they suggested an outing to Murfreesboro to see Seth Timbs, a singer they like, I willingly signed on. He was very enjoyable and melodic and I would like to see Seth's full band sometime.

The show was at a little cigar bar on the town square, and Murfreesboro is a college town, so I had a quick tutorial in today’s cutting-edge campus fashion. I’m so unhip and I’m beginning to sound like my mother: So many of the young women there were pierced and tattooed. And may I stress, low-rider pants are not for everyone. Only one guy in the whole place could qualify as attractive, and he stuck out like a sore thumb. He had showered before coming out for the night.

Well, it was a rousing success on every other front. The music and our discussion made me want to sit up and listen to CDs all night long; instead, I went to bed. So those CDs will make it into my rotation this week. Springsteen’s “Incident on 57th Street” (" ... and Spanish Johnny whispered ..." ) is first on the agenda.

happy birthday, dear log

The log turns two years old today!

DMJ has crafted a new banner for the site. Many thanks, D, for all your time and talent. I owe you.

In a burst of self-revelation, I have posted an "About Me" page. I have resisted this for nearly two years, because it's nearly impossible to write one without it sounding like a personal ad. (And yes, I am as comfortable in jeans as I am in heels and pearls.)

But it's all about Music City, not about me. So enjoy these pictures from the wonder that is downtown Nashville.

music for healing

Why I was crying tonight at 12th & Porter: [Well, not crying, really, but I did have tears in my eyes.]
(1) Will Kimbrough sang "Closer to the Ground," a song I love, love, LOVE.
(2) Tommy Womack explained why he was involved with the show and how much he loves the show's host, his former manager, who took ill a few years ago. It was a very emotional moment, and he said he prays for her healing. Then he said, "Music for healing. Music for healing. Music for healing." Yes, he is a preacher's kid.

The event was the Sweet Relief benefit, which raises money for musicians' health care costs. It was $20 at the door, and some barflies who overheard the cost said, "Who's playing? Sting?"

I still can't get over that many people in this town will not play to see live music -- and they certainly wouldn't pay $20. Man, I would have paid $20 just to hear "Closer to the Ground."

the sailor's hornpipe

I truly love the area of town where I work, but sometimes I wish I were in downtown Nashville during the day. First off, I would hang out a lot at the Arcade. The friendly folks at Thursday Night Fever made the midday downtown scene even more appealing with this hilarious post. Please note our special mention as vocab winner of the day.

When I worked in downtown Peoria, every once in a while the sternwheeler (which I hear has since decamped for some other river town) would play a little calliope tune. I do miss that. And church bells, which you could hear in my neighborhood.

upcoming concerts

While I try to figure out how to update and post the Musicalog, you can view (even download, for inspiration) the list of upcoming concerts.

I will probably not be able to attend all of these wonderful events. But we live in hope.

Download summer_musicalog_04.doc

reasons to smile

Author Tim Gautreux will be appearing at the Southern Festival of Books (my countdown to 8 October has commenced).

I nominate this guy for poet laureate. (Thanks to Tony Plutonium's weblog.)

The circle will not be unbroken, and Mother Maybelle's guitar is staying where it should: here in Music City.