The last time I was in Nashville I had just witnessed the complete working of a room. My manager/uncle had just raised a chant of "Steelers! Steelers!" and revved up all these guys wearing Pittsburgh regalia and they were all chanting for our singer to sing. Our guitarist led her onto the stage. "Just one number" said the baffled MC as they began "This Man" a wonderful country mini-drama where one woman warns another woman of a particular mans foibles and misadventures with yet another woman (and booze). At the conclusion of this number the bar roared it's approval as the two launched into another number, this one entitled, "I'm Gonna Dance With My Baby". I stepped out the front door onto Broadway to get a breath of fresh air. We had been doing this about four hours now, up and down Broadway. I turned and manager/uncle was there behind me with a beer in his hand. "Isn't this great, Donnie" he said to me. I hate being called Donnie. "I don't think you can have that beer outside, I think it's against the law." I said as a very well dressed cow-couple walked toward us. "Is it against the law for me to be drinking this out here?" manager/uncle enquired of the two-steppers. "I believe that it is, sir." drawled the cowboy back at manager/uncle. With this he chucked the almost full Budweiser into the unsuspecting oncoming traffic of Broadway and staggered back inside the bar. I followed quickly behind. She wound up singing three songs before they asked her to kindly leave the stage so the featured performer could earn his pound of flesh.
This time we are in Nashville to meet JD who has successfully driven our van of equipment all the way from Portland with our filmographer 20yrs his junior. I suppose they didn't have much to talk about but JD did get to envision him in all kinds of different life-drag. Dresses, robes, turbans, sequins and the like. We were still reeling with the news from the the rental car that no matter what Expedia said the extra mileage would cost us so much more and since we already signed a contract our lumps would just have to be taken. What a racket. Sort of like insurance, but we'll get to that shortly.
We checked into our No Name Inn and situated ourselves between the smokers and the non-smokers. Beer was bought and unwinding started almost immediately. JD was as southern as they come. Spinning yarns around us west coasters until we were just a big ball for him to bat around.
"So what do you do?" "I drive a truck." "What do you haul?" "Pianos, mostly used Bosendorfers." "Really" "Yeah, they're knock-offs." " 'S that so." "In Alabama." "Nice." "Oh you poor things I'm gonna have to send a lifeboat to reel you back in" We fell for pretty much everything he said. My favourite story was about his dog Elvis who had died and how he had a lot of female dog friends in the neighbourhood. JD would see all of Elvis' children but when he called to them none of them would come to him. Pretty funny stuff. I could just see him on Comedy Central sitting on a half-made bed smoking a cigarette and telling you how mama would mutter "Lor' Lor' Lor'" as you watched her wig walking away from you.
In the morning me and the guys met up with Mr. Love. Mr. Love was the bass player in the project where the three of us had initially met. We had lunch at a decent bar and grill and reminisced about old times and even some of the new ones. Mr. Love and our singer had gotten married not too long after the whole project had turned into one big long knife in the back. She was out of town as luck would have it. We finished lunch and headed back to the rental car so we could follow Mr. Love to their abode. As I approached the passenger door I noticed the indentations first then the scratches. They were on both the passenger front and back doors. Unbelievable. We had only gotten liability. Now at two days into the tour we were already at least a thousand dollars in debt and had yet to play a single note.
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