originally posted by Eden Mylunsch:
If they catch you receiving bottles shipped over state lines in Tennessee they make you do hard time working the cleanup shift over at the Bluebird Caf in Nashville on the "Geezers of the 80s" song circle nights. "Cruel and Unusual" doesn't even begin to describe the punishment. This is night where all the writers who'd co-written minor hits in the really bad era of the post-"Urban Cowboy" Country Music Scare sit around and swap songs and reminisce about the hits they co-wrote with thirty some-odd other writers for the likes of Earl Thomas Conley, Keith Whitley, Kenny Rogers, Alabama, Eddie Rabbit and others whose "hits" aren't exactly up to even the B sides covered by Ernest Tubb, Johnny Cash, Buck Owens, Webb Pierce, or even crooners such as Carl Smith or Ray Price. I think Dante considered this the 5th or 6th ring of hell, but I'm not sure that even he went that deep.
Plus you generally have to wait in line to be tortured at the Bluebird. It's like having to pay a cover charge and then wait on line to get in Hell. Generally speaking, of course (I throw this in as a disclaimer in case anyone's brother-in-law is playing there currently).
Or you could, not THAT long ago, wonder over to the little bluegrass hole-in-the-wall place and sit around with 75 other people and listen to great musicians, like, for instance, Edgar Meyer playing bass in a little side gig. Or could have gone to a tiny place and listened to Lambchop (of course, skraft never clued me in on that one early enough to go listen). Or go to the local Unitarian Church to hear someone and expect Emmylou Harris to show up because she's a friend. (The sound of Emmylou singing a capella in a little church would have been enough to convert me to Unitarianism if anyone there could have explained exactly what Unitarianism is.)
No doubt the industrial music and the truly horrific thing that is Nashville Country has crowded out most of the real music, but there's still real music to be found here. Plenty of talented studio musicians who find themselves Working For The Man just to pay the mortgage, like many people (the lucky ones with jobs), but who play music for their own enjoyment around town.
Of course, now I am too old to go out to listen to music anyway.