My head is full of music, more so than usual. I have just returned from a trip to Nashville to celebrate a friend’s 60th birthday and to visit my daughter, Ariana. Nashville is the Music City and the City That Listens. Live music is everywhere – in restaurants, bars, theaters, music clubs, the airport and the street. Over three and a half days we heard classic country, bro-country, country rock, rhythm and blues, Dixieland, top 40 covers, bluegrass, Americana, gospel, and roots. We heard a mandolin player in his 80s, numerous singer-songwriters trying to get notice, and 3 kids aged 10 and 11 blowing horns like pros.
Very talented kids drawing a huge crowd on the street corner.
The first afternoon, we walked in the alley door of Tootsie’s, a famous bar on the music strip. A tight 3-man band drew us in. A lone couple was swing dancing in front of them. We headed downstairs to the main bar which was packed with people, all tourists like us, listening to a guitarist playing cover songs by the front door. A band joined him; the drummer played in the window. A lanky young man, also a guitarist, he told us, requested a song about Texas, his home state. While the band learned the song on their IPAD, he bought them all fireballs. A fireball is a shot of cinnamon bourbon. They tossed them back and began to play.
Friday night, we went to the Ryman Theater, aka The Mother Church. The Ryman was the home of the Grand Ole Opry from 1943-1974, when it moved to a much grander theater. Playing the Ryman stage marks a big transition in the careers of young artists. The first act was Sam Hunt. He said he had been working in the Nashville music scene for five years and was grateful to make it to this stage. We heard two other performers. My favorite was Charley Worsham. Young, playful, a prodigy on guitar and mandolin, his passion for playing was infectious. His lyrics were catchy, including this memorable line, “Your sex is on fire,” sung at lustily by everyone in the theater.
Ariana, who has been in Nashville for only 5 months, has a song on the Billboard chart called “Brand New Key.” To pay the bills, she is a server at a music club called Third and Lindsley. Vince Gill plays there on Monday nights when he is in town to try out new tunes. On a recent day off, she shot video of some of her songs, hoping to get some good demos to help promote her music. She is about to release her second song, “You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me,” to radio stations nationwide.
There is an exuberance to the music in Nashville filled with yearning, hard work and hope. Fans and artists adore each other. Songwriters routinely co-write songs together. Talent tantalizes at full volume from open bar doors and unamplified on street corners. Being around so many musicians who just love to play any way they can, makes me want to run home and practice. I want to play scales and songs and improvise. I want to play piano and sing all my old favorite songs, from classical to folk. For fun. For joy. For my soul.
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