Memphis, Nashville

So I've been reading Jonathan Byrd's blogs and I'm torn by conflicting desires -- one, the urge to get off my ass and write more stuff like this, and two, the almost irrepressible urge to burn my guitar, break all my pens, jump in a van and follow Jonathan around, ala Dead Head. That boy can write. Write the paint off the walls. Visit him at jonathanbyrd.com and you'll know what I'm talking about, if you don't already.

Memphis, Nashville, Cambridge. This is a good week. Frantic, crazy, half-assed, neurotic, exultant. Run of the mill, in other words.

Memphis was the National Folk Alliance. I'd never been, but the word on the street was you always go home feeling beaten and bruised. Which didn't happen. Maybe the tired hasn't worn off enough to feel the pain. Thursday morning Marsey decided to get the girls up at 4:00 with me, throw us all in the van and go to the airport together. Since we'd be a week apart, I was really happy to see everyone in the morning. We got about a half mile past the end of our road when Mars asked, "what's that sound?" Turned off the radio and hear the signature "whup whup whup" of a flat. So we drove the rim back to the house, I threw all my stuff in the back of the wagon, said some hurried goodbyes and left only about 15 minutes behind my already tight schedule. I think it's always best to start something off on the wrong foot. It kinda feels like you've paid your karmic dues already. And it gives you a good excuse when other things start to fall apart. I didn't miss any flights and got to Nashville on schedule.

The ride to Memphis is really a whole 'nuther story. I caught a ride with a dear songwriter who described herself as a "new driver" and wanted some company for the ride. All I'll say is that for the second half of the drive, where I was behind the wheel, I found myself doing just a bit of drifting lane to lane as well. Something about the power steering maybe? I gave up the delusions I have harbored for years now that I'm going to be a good driving instructor when my own girls are ready to learn how to drive. I hope she can git my finger indentations out of her passenger side door. We did stop at Loretta Lynn's Kitchen for a dinner buffet. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and a bunch of other things totally unidentifiable to someone with my non-Southern eating experience. I want to give it a fair shake, so I won't judge southern cuisine until after I have some that hasn't been on a steam table since yesterday.

Arriving was lovely -- I said "howdy" to at least three old friends before I even got my room key. I got my stuff up to my room, hung up some shirts, said hello to my roommate, and then it was over. Time to pack up and go home. That's really how it felt. Thursday, Friday, Saturday a blur and then time to go. I have vague memories of the Fox Run cover jam on Saturday night, from around 1:30 to 5:30am. I don't know if I can quote Eric Schwartz's newest song here, but we were all singing it as we trolled for a place within walking distance that served breakfast at 2pm. No such luck.

I brought my new portable recording rig with me, and was blessed to have both Amy Speace and Karen Mal take some time out of their hectic schedules to record parts for the album. Karen's singing and playing mandolin on Blackberry Time and Raven in the Apple Tree, Amy's singing in Peace and Quiet, the song we wrote together. Amy's session felt like some kind of final challenge in a folk version of Survivor -- we had about an hour for her to pack her room, check out, and record for an album. All on one hour sleep. Welcome to folk alliance.

Other highlights? Playing in the round with David Wilcox and Randall Williams to a packed house at the Kyser Shortcut Capo showcase. Getting beamed to Texas for 8 minutes by catching the tail end of Ken Gaines' "Third Coast" showcase. I almost get teary-eyed just thinking about it. Westy's marinated chicken sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day of the conference. Sleeping on my totally deflated air mattress because the pump got switched "on" by the TSA folks who inspected my bags, draining the batteries. Does it seem to you like it should have cost me $23 for 4 D batteries and a six pack of beer? Either Shiner Bock is a lot fancier than it tastes or I'm an easy target for the enterprising convenience store owner.

So that was Memphis, in a nutshell. Next stop, Nashville. Whew! Lisa Aschmann, a dear friend from Kerrville, was kind enough to put me up for a few days, hook me up with some great shows, and show me the ropes a bit. We played the late show at the Bluebird on Tuesday with Joni Bishop and Irene Kelley, great songwriters and good folks. Who'da thunk that THE Bluebird would look like that. I mean... you know what I mean if you've been there. The room looks and feels a little like a renovated Little Caesar's. But I think there were more ears, per capita, in that room than in any other room I've played. People really listening, people really hearing.

Got to sit in on an honest-to-God song pitching session, met Wood Newton at a record store, co-wrote most of two songs with Lisa, caught a showcase for an up-and-coming next-big-thing, and it was over. Time to catch the plane home.