Soothing sounds from the steamy jungle

The Nashville music scene never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes I laugh and shake my head at its pretentiousness. Other times I just sit back and smile and watch amazing, humble bands do what they do best. Last night I experienced the latter, thankfully. I don’t think I could have made it in the jungle-like humidity of The End if I had to deal with stuck-up rock boys in the process.

Cool Hand Luke introduced the world to their new CD at the show. I suggest you check out their new album, The Fires of Life, especially the tune Cinematic. I really needed their laid-back sound last night after all the stress I’ve been under lately. I love a good, loud rock show, but there is something soothing about Cool Hand Luke. Of course, we can’t forget Aireline, another Murfreesboro product set to play the New Band Showcase at Cornerstone in about a month’s time.

Now I just have to get to Cornerstone. I leave that item in the hands of the fest. I helped with their Web site coverage last year, so I’m waiting to find out if they need my help again. Only time will tell. If they don’t need my help, I’ll save on the trip!

Making a special guest appearance...

Check out my guest writing spot on Kudzu. Thanks to Shane for taking a chance on an unknown kid...wait, nevermind, he knows me.

Kudzu

What's missing?

Don't be scared! It's just the Chuck Norris Experience.

I was going through an old photo CD, and I found these guys. This was a photo taken over the summer at Cornerstone, and the guys had formed a gag band called Chuck Norris Experience. I was seriously fighting bladder control when they took the stage.

I guess I just miss Cornerstone. I miss the craziness, the camaraderie. You really never know what is going to happen when you get there. Above all though, you just feel the love of the people around you. It doesn't matter if you know anyone. You can meet people from every state in the union and then some, and feel connected to them. I hope to make it back this year, but if I don't, I know I will always be welcome no matter when I make it back.

The finished product

Here's the story: Leisure ain't easy

Please let me know what you think.

Enough to make a grown man cry

I sometimes forget the power of the press. Then I look a man almost twice my age in the eyes and tell him that I wrote a 100 inch story from the material I got from two days of following him around. He tried not to show it, but Steve was a little weak in the knees when I delivered the news. I don't know why.

I mean come on, let's compare here. He's powerful, the head of a golf tournament, able to grant all-access passes or fire people (which, he told me, he did yesterday.) I'm...fresh-faced, barely out of college, and I don't think I could fire anyone, even if I had the authority. Yet because I wield a pen, people tend to fear me. I can honestly say that I am not like many of my colleagues in the journalism world. I am not bent on ruining people, and if I write something, I would nine times out of ten wish it could be positive.

The only "negative" reporting I've ever done was in college. It was an investigative piece on the state of the university medical center. They need a new building badly because it is overcrowded and the basement floods every time it rains. Yet the university continues to make additions to the stadium that sits just behind the medical clinic. The piece may have been negative, but was written with the intent of bringing about positive change.

So I'm understanding more and more the fragility of what I do. The power of the press is a mighty thing. I thank God that we have the freedom to write - good, bad and ugly. Without it, the force of change would be limited, and fresh-faced kids would not stand a chance against the all-access pass granters.

Best...week...ever

There are experiences in life that go beyond anything you can describe. I was blessed with the privelege this week of following the director of an LPGA event around for two days.

Where do I even begin to describe the manic pace that my subject set? He is one big ball of energy, and not only that, he is wholly passionate and focused on making the tournament a success. It was a great experience.

To top it all off, this is possibly the best story I've written to date. It's great to see myself growing in my profession as a writer. Like my friend Tony says, I need to start writing my book. Never fear. Production for I Only Drink on Mondays is underway.

Sure, the fuzz in normal

The LPGA tournament started today. I was expecting to feel one of the following:
1. Overwhelmed
2. Frightened
But none of those things were to be. Darn. It was a quiet day today, with just a pro-am and a qualifying round in the afternoon that didn't really require my attention. So when I got home I felt like I should DO something...like remove any and all moldy leftovers from my refrigerator. But then I thought better, and sat down to write out this entry. Expect more tomorrow as I embark on my journey to follow tournament director Steve Nieman for the story I am writing. Should produce some humorous fodder for this page.

For those of us who are craving a little FIF love now that the horn-infested greatness is gone, I submit this for your perusal. Looks like one Reese Roper is creating an album. I can't wait to hear it!

Have Mercy!

I have a new favorite venue in Nashville. The Mercy Lounge has this air of cool about it that you don't get in your average seedy music joint. There are couches for lounging and lamps that cast a warm glow over the whole place. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the Exit/In, but you must admit it lacks any sort of ambiance.

I've come up with a title for the book that I have wanted to write for so long: I Only Drink on Mondays: Tales of a Dancing Baptist in Nashville. I'm thinking the title might need some trimming. The basic concept of this book a satire of the Nashville music scene...and wouldn't you know it, I've already started collecting archtypes to add to my growing list of characters. I found a prime suspect last night at The Thrills and Spy Mob show at Mercy Lounge.

You've seen him. He's the guy who's wearing a concert T-shirt at least one size too big, preferably Metallica, REM or U2 (I'm still trying to analyze why this is often true, but it is.) He's the guy who actually knows who the opening band is, yet instead of cheering along with everyone else, tends toward the overly enthusiastic. Everyone behind him smirking with pity, because they themselves have never been enthusiastic about anything in their whole life. The horror of showing emotion over a band you actually like! Hey, I thought the band was great too (Spy Mob rules!), but I probably could have fared just as well without the knowledge that they hail from your hometown in Minnesota, and you think they are the greatest thing since the guys from Metallica cut their hair.

So the search continues. I'll take any and all suggestions for characters that go into this book. No one is safe from lampooning, even myself, whom I have labeled a cynical music snob with a penchant for lambasting anyone who has the audacity to go on stage for an acoustic set and proceed to use the same two chords for five songs straight.