Nashville Confidential

a noble effort nonetheless

I regret to report that I did not achieve my five consecutive nights of live music last week.

Work triumphed over all. Most other things took a back seat, such as sleep, mandolin practicing, exercise regimen and yes, Wilco.

BUT -- and this is a very big BUT -- it was a tremendous week, so chock full of adventures and insights that I cannot fit them all in here right now. (I have about 27 major work projects due 1 October, so please check back after that time. I've been taking copious notes.) And this week even topped last week, which was a darn good one. I have a lot to say about this. Many posts forthcoming.

Teasers:
Buy Buddy Miller's new album right now. His performance on Thursday night was about as good as it gets, and I do not exaggerate when I say it was a religious experience.

After Buddy Miller, Dave Alvin took the stage and set the place on fire. I briefly considered just following the band for the rest of the week, until I realized the 401(k) probably isn't too good. How could the night get any better? I figured it couldn't, so I left before Delbert McClinton came on.

Will Kimbrough is my favorite guitarist in Nashville, and obviously a lot of other people's, too.

BBC2 listeners, get ready to hear my voice on your airwaves. Seriously.

Peter Cooper tells all about the Nick Lowe show, and even does a roll call. Yet somehow I escaped mention. Oh well.

Hey everybody in Nashville, let's go to Jefferson Street. I want to learn more about it.

I always go alone, but I'm never lonely, and I always meet someone cool. Who usually lives in another city. It's better that way.

T minus five days until I get hugs from my little nephews.

self-denial

So in this deadline-laden work week, and perhaps the best week for live music in Nashville, something must give.

What will it be?

The exercise regimen?
Mandolin practice?
Sleep?
Work?
Concerts?

No. I'm afraid the correct answers are:
The log.
House cleaning.
Telephone conversations.

I'll try to post as I am able. Long story short about tonight's Nick Lowe show: fabulous. He didn't do the song I wanted to hear, but I knew he wouldn't, unless he brought along the band Rockpile. (They were not in attendance.) He did play the song Webb Wilder wanted to hear, and I was glad for Webb. I got to visit with him and some of the folks I've mentioned repeatedly in this log. The Belcourt Theater was filled with people I knew, or should have known, and yes, I am easily impressed by things like that. So sue me.

Just don't crowd me at at Uptown Mix tomorrow night. Must sleep now.

a few of my favorite things

After attending the 100th anniversary celebration of the Nashville Public Library, I am now prepared to announce my favorite things about Nashville. I have thought about this list long and hard. Reasons to follow in future posts.

1. Nashville Public Library
2. Ryman Auditorium
3. Bicentennial Mall
4. Farmers Market
5. The greenways system / Shelby Street pedestrian bridge
6. Frist Center for the Visual Arts
7. State Capitol
8. The Arcade
9. The Belcourt Theater
10. (multiple ties) dozens of restaurants and clubs, also professional sporting events

ay caramba

Wish I could take tonight to write all about my weekend adventures but other (business) writing beckons. So tune in later this week. And until I can give you some great, fun news, you'll have to read this depressing tale of pobrecitos battling a Wal-Mart slated to be built on an archeological landmark (!!!) in Mexico. Vaya con Dios, mis amigos.

harmonic convergence

There is SO much good music here, I need to clone myself so I can see it all.

Just got back from the Long Players' latest effort, the Band's second album, and they did an incredible version of "The Weight" as the encore. (After The LPs perform the complete album, they come back and do a song or two from the featured group's remaining catalog.)

I ran into Greg, who I've run into at a couple shows, including The Notorious Cherry Bombs last Friday at the Ryman. DMJ and I went and pronounced it to be fabulous. I wanted to post something, but it would have just been paragraphs of babbling about how great a bassist Michael Rhodes is. Oh yeah, Vince Gill was there too and he was amusing. And Keith Urban was in the crowd. Whatever. (I cannot tell a lie: if you like chiseled featured and windblown hair, kind of the manufactured perfection look, he's hot. However, I prefer a more genuine look.)

Last night EV and I went to see the Lost Trailers, and they had a hilarious opening act, local band Les Honky More Tonkies, which someone next to us described as "a redneck Green Day." Exactly. They were quite Spinal Tappish and into a lot of theatrics, which EV and I both dug mightily. "Less Talky More Rocking," another patron said as the lead singer kept yapping yapping yapping. One of his better lines of the night was, "Shirts are for Yankees," so he took his off and so did the drummer. Both whipped their hair around and did all kinds of jumps and splits.

I think I lost three pounds from the sauna-like conditions at the Exit/In. And this was indoors. Roboto said Uptown Mix was just as bad, and I haven't been back since the 2003 Jayhawks debacle. But Wilco will be there on Wednesday ...

I am in training this week (we are halfway through a four-night spree) for next week (in which are contemplating a record five-night spree, including Nick Lowe and Dave Alvin within 72 hours of one another).

Tomorrow night is David Byrne at the Ryman with M+M, then Saturday night is Webb Wilder with a contingent from work, including our CFO. Using my patented organizational skills, I have strong-armed pretty much everyone I know into going. EV may come along, and even GMT expressed interest in the Webb show. It promises to be a wonderful and somewhat surreal close to this music-filled week.

randomness

Not enough time to do a real post but I have to share three things from recent surfing.

This "Rowboat Vets for Truth" page is hilarious. I am not trying to get political here, but as a certified history nerd and person who is really ready for the whole election to be over, this cracked me up. Via Biz Stone's blog.

Hey, I am already working the "Confidential" side of the street. Move it along, Grand Rapids.

This Mapgirl is not me. But I'll be interested to see what eventually comes of this.

dave's not here

I've been getting a lot of mail from the Internal Revenue Service.

The mail is not for me, really. It's for the guy who used to live at my address. Boy, is he in big trouble.

I have tried to stress time and again to the IRS that the guy does not live here anymore. I'm pretty sure they've figured it out and just have to go through the motions before the legal proceedings. I am DYING to open this mail but I know it's a federal offense, so I just scrawl "not at this address" in big, black, block letters and put the envelope back in the mail.

The IRS mail is addressed to a variety of businesses. They are all "import/export" type operations. Wasn't that Don Corleone's front too?

I recently got the scoop on the guy who used to live at my address. Apparently he gave off a "danger Will Robinson" vibe from the very first time he showed up. He had a lot of cash and whipped it around. He dressed in showy boots and a long duster jacket and was quite a character.

Beneath all the flash was an operation designed to cut and run. His "home" was a makeshift business. The main room served as a boiler-room type operation, containing cheap desks and phones. The bedroom had one notable feature: an air mattress. Temp workers came and went.

Then the media showed up. The press started calling the property managers. And the guy disappeared.

He left everything behind, including his sports car, which apparently was hot hot hot.

Things are much quieter here now that it is Mapgirl's abode. There is no sports car. No parade of people going in and out. No boots. The property manager is much happier.

I often get phone messages intended for the woman who used to have my phone number. [She was not a resident of my building; she just had my phone number.] She is a teacher in a Nashville school and is much beloved. People leave messages inviting her to Eagle Scout ceremonies, to report accomplishments in their lives, to notify her of curriculum planning sessions. I wish I knew her number so I could relay these important messages. Sometimes, if the callers have left their phone number, I call them back and let them know the situation so they won't think she is blowing them off.

Every once in a while I answer the call that is meant for her, and I tell the caller, "Let her know she needs to update her number in the school directory." I ask, "Is she as nice a woman as she sounds?" And they say, "Oh, yes. She is wonderful."

I have no desire to meet the import/export guy, but I would like to meet that woman.

four words no man wants to hear

The countdown to the Southern Festival of Books has begun, and I'm sure you're all a-tingle. It's pretty much my favorite weekend of the year, and DMJ and I have decided to make a road trip since it's in Memphis this year. DMJ grew up in / went to high school and college in / Memphis (or, as I like to call it, Meffis) so she is going to visit lots of friends.

I am going to hang out with librarian types by day and enjoy the fancy hotel and all its amenities at night. (Early warning to the patrons of the Peabody Hotel: I will likely be using the pool. This means I will be wearing a swimsuit, and it cannot be helped. This also means I have to buy a swimsuit, an item I have not owned since the Bush 41 administration.)

I adore big, fancy downtown hotels. I have confessed this before. I am ready for fine linens and room service and deep bathtubs and the marching ducks. And hours of mindless television.

I don't have cable.

A co-worker of mine learned this today. When I gave this report he looked as if I'd slapped him in the face. He asked me to repeat what I had just said.

"I don't have cable."

He looked stricken. Ill. Severely depressed. He shook his head sadly, and walked away.

linked

I love reading other people's weblogs (except for the very stupid high school ones that include IM snippets). It’s more than voyeurism – there are some really interesting people out there and I like seeing what they have chosen to share.

Many months ago I came across this weblog, “Remembering My Brother,” and I go back to it from time to time. I don’t know the author, but I love how he writes about his brother, who died at age 19, and how the family is moving on from his loss. They talk about him so fondly and celebrate what a character he was. I also like learning about their family’s culture and traditions.

Sometimes, out of the blue, something reminds me of my cousin Marti and a shadow passes over my heart and I’m just sad. Tonight is one of those times. She died three years ago today and when I struggle with her loss, I go and read “Remembering My Brother”; it makes me think of the many facets of her personality and how much fun she was, how tough and how brave.

when i'm feeling down and out

... I lift up my head and shout, "No matter how bad this day gets, at least I don't have to go to P.E."

Poor girls of today.

CC's friend WJ and I were talking about the fear of P.E. Friday night. He grew up in Washington (Ill.) and hinted that it was the worst hour of the school day for him, since he was not at all athletic and therefore was easy pickings for other kids. He is now a Ph.D. in physics and scary smart. I kind of wish he could go back to high school for just an hour and meet up with all the tough boys -- who I'm sure are living reputable yet mundane lives -- and explain his thesis to them. (He explained it to me, and did a pretty good job, but I really am not going to try to recount it here.)

No one beat me up in P.E., but I still lived in fear of it. I was the kind of girl who prayed my period would last six weeks so I wouldn't have to participate in the swimming unit of P.E. Who lied to my parents once during high school: when I faked an orthodontist appointment so I wouldn't have to take a running test.

Yes, life is very good when you are an adult. There is no P.E.

Instead, you pay money to go to the Y, voluntarily, and do P.E.-related tasks in front of strangers. However, you are not graded on it, and there is no one in the class who will mock you.

Life is very good when you are an adult.