Nashville: Hoe Downing To The CMA’s

USA - Nashville, Tennessee

I have written in a number of unconventional places before: on a beach in Italy, on a train heading towards New York, in a plane heading over mainland Europe. However, no location comes close to the utter randomness of my current literary situation, sitting in a Jeep Patriot, driven by Dean, with my laptop connected to the car’s panel power supply, driving through the night in rural Alabama. Quite literally nothing exists in between the cities of this state, save for signs reminding drivers to watch out for crossing deer, an F15 fighter jet positioned by the side of the road for absolutely no reason whatsoever, and the occasional hillbilly stopping to fill his truck up with petrol before returning to his swampland dwelling, where he no doubt lives with his sister who is also his cousin, mother and wife.

Right here, right now, we are in the middle of nowhere. Not so long ago, however, Dean and I were in the state of Tennessee, and what a state it is! With two large cities in Nashville and Memphis, it has major urban zones, coupled with gentle rolling hills and beautiful farmland for countryside. We arrived in Nashville on a Tuesday, late in the afternoon, and a little tired from the drive through Kentucky to our destination. We had been forewarned at the Jim Beam Distillery in Clermont, Kentucky, that Nashville would be a busy, bustling metropolis over the days we were visiting, due mainly to the 43rd annual Country Music Awards. Nashville certainly did not disappoint, dishing up two nights of incredible music in a city with a rich heritage for the infamous country style of southern states. Nashville is described by many as the capital of American music, and it lived up to this billing admirably. A blaze of neon greets visitors to Broadway, with a mile strip of live music venues, bellowing out their gospel and blues, country and western, rockabilly and popular styles to the pedestrians. Signposts to famous recording artists who have indelible links to Nashville are everywhere to be found. Even the zebra crossing boxes on the sidewalk play music. Artists like The Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, Hank Williams, Elvis Presley, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Dolly Parton, and many more, all came to Nashville to cut their records. It was genuinely inspiring to be in a city that so inspired them in turn.

First impressions were good, then, and the view that we were now truly in the ‘South’ was further enhanced by the number of cowboy hats and boots worn liberally by the men and women of the town. Most of the men had cowboy hats and blue jeans; the women wore knee-high boots made of exotic leathers and alligator skins. After checking in to our hotel, Dean and I headed towards the main part of downtown, predominantly Broadway and the roads off of it. Nashville is famous for music, but Tennessee also has a burgeoning reputation for slow-cooked pork, either as ribs or as a succulent shoulder joint. Abandoning our previous commitment to a strict kashrut-based trip to America, we devoured our cooked swine with glee. The rib joint had a relaxed vibe, with western music setting the tone. Soon the beers flowed and Dean and I, suitably full up on meat Moses would have frowned at, headed on to some live music bars. What a spectacle unfolded! Each bar had a live band of impressive quality, with guitar players and pianists combining with fiddles and vocals to produce sublime music. Forget spending thousands of pounds on a band for a wedding or Barmitzvah; just come to Nashville and take one of the many talented groups here, all of whom play for the love of the music rather than a desire for monetary recompense (although the tips flow heavily at the end of each set, and rightly so). Equally exciting to experience was the reaction to the music of those gathered in the bars. It is clear that the locals of Nashville grow up with live music. They grabbed their partners and either danced in a traditional two-step, or alternatively bopped solo, moving their legs to the rhythm in a sort-of Charleston manoeuvre, only with a sharper kick at the end. Cries of “Hell yeah!” and “Alright now!” were heard over the top of the vocals, as the folk of Nashville sounded their appreciation. To be in such venues, alongside the musicians (who would later mingle with everyone else like mere mortals) and the people they play to every night, was thrilling, and made us all the more determined to enjoy our next full day in Nashville, which would take us to the Musicians’ Hall of Fame, the Country Music Hall of Fame, RCA Recording Studio B and the Country Music Awards.

Content with our first night, and beginning to grow accustomed to the music lifestyle of the South, we were greeted on Wednesday morning with beautiful blue skies. Nashville glinted in the late morning sun, and was made to look even more impressive due to the huge number of uniformed military officials walking around the town. It was Veterans Day, or Remembrance Day back in the UK. On this day, Americans come together to give thanks to those who have fought wars in her name, to remember those who died in battle, and those who still serve today. Much like in the UK, it is a time for reflection and respect for genuine heroes. In America, military personnel are regarded with a reverence that shames our own attitudes back home. For a few brief moments that Wednesday morning it was hard not to be caught up in the emotion of the proceedings, especially with the Stars & Stripes (so common all over every town in America) suspended at half-mast.

Nashville contended with both a Veterans Day parade, and numerous road closures as part of the city’s preparations for the CMA’s that evening. As a result, our route through to the Musicians’ Hall of Fame, just outside the main downtown, was a little more complicated than first anticipated. Nonetheless, it was worth the walk, as we were greeted by a museum that perhaps does not get as much attention as it should. Dedicated to the men behind the stars, to the session musicians who helped form the greatest records of all time, the Hall of Fame contains eyewitness anecdotes, archived film footage, voice recordings, photos, artefacts and musical instruments belonging to some of the great unsung heroes of music. It also helped us learn more about the stars as well. Hearing how Elvis Presley warmed up, or how many takes it took for Dolly Parton to record ‘I Will Always Love You’ helps develop a greater knowledge of the legends of country music, which in turn influenced much of the music we take for granted today. Listen to an early Everly Brothers record, and you will hear just how similar early records by The Beatles sound, or how Simon & Garfunkel harmonies have a near-identical feel.

Moving on from the Musicians Hall of Fame was a trip to Nashville’s top attraction: the Country Music Hall of Fame, which includes a museum and exhibition honouring the very best of country music, and later rock and pop stars who cite country as a defining influence, as well as a tour of the legendary RCA Studio B, where Elvis himself cut some of his finest records. For two young men who had spent many a Haberdashers’ lunch hour playing on the guitars and pianos of the Habs Music Department, this was like manna from heaven (ironic, given the pork consumed earlier). We boarded a tour bus and were greeted by Anita, our guide. Anita was a fan of our accents, as she pointed out on a number of occasions. Interestingly, she had less time for the Welsh accent, articulated by the moody Welsh couple who left the tour early and seemed less than enthusiastic in their response to Dean and I saluting them as fellow Brits abroad. That minor disappointment aside, the bus ambled its way towards RCA Studio B, still used occasionally today as a recording space, and sitting like a behemoth bestriding the music industry. RCA Studio B, alongside Sun Studios in Memphis and Abbey Road in London, has left an indelible mark on the history of music and popular culture. It was here, often at strange hours of the early morning, that Elvis Presley cut records like ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight’, and where Hank Williams once brought Paul McCartney, and subsequently George Harrison, to make music. The sense of history, then, is palpable, with microphone stands left in their original positions, gigantic four-track recorders (nowadays easily placed in the palm of your hand) sitting heavily on the tiled floors, and stand-up pianos waiting to be played (not allowed, unfortunately). The closest we got to actually playing music was a brief F#-minor chord by me on a celeste. We also enjoyed some classic music as the tour progressed, and were fascinated to hear the development of basic gospel sounds into twelve-bar blues and close harmonies that would later become the foundations of rock’n’roll.

Back at the Country Music Hall of Fame, Dean and I also enjoyed four floors of music and popular culture memorabilia and exhibitions, with real manuscripts, recordings, instruments, photos, interactive zones, and much more, detailing the careers of all the great country music artists and their impact. Hank Williams, understandably, was given plenty of attention, given his prominence as perhaps the first country artist with mass appeal, only to give in to drink and drugs before his career could reach the legendary status of other artists who took on the baton from him.

Meanwhile, outside the actual Hall of Fame building, a sense of expectation and excitement was growing by the minute. Flashbulbs flickered in the Magic Hour evening sky, laser and light beams shone high up above the skyline, girls were screaming in high-pitched wails of energy, men and women were dolled up to the nines, either walking along, or gazing agonisingly at, a long, red carpet, while military personnel in dress uniform paraded up and down. Dean and I, stumbling out of the Hall of Fame in a musical reverie already, found ourselves right in the middle of the Country Music Awards pre-game. Pushing our way through the crowds, we found ourselves by the barriers to the red carpet itself, taking in the excitement and intrigue of high-profile celebrity events, straining our necks forwards at the sight of each limousine, launching into a paparazzi-style frenzy of photography skills at each sight and sound. In front of us were two girls from Indiana who were actually attending the awards. So excited were they about taking photos of the red carpet that they forgot they actually had to walk down it. Away they scuttled to change and reappear as bonafide ticket-holders, entrusting Dean and I with the awesome responsibility of taking as many photos of Taylor Swift as possible for them. Taylor Swift is nineteen years old, has already sold millions of records, and has broken the top ten in the UK alongside a succession of number one hits in America. She was pretty much the only celebrity at the CMA’s that Dean and I had even heard of, let alone recognised. We simply could not let Maggie and Alex, our two new friends from Indiana, down, so there we stood, as the daylight faded into a slightly colder evening than we had been experiencing recently, waiting patiently for Taylor Swift to grace us with her presence. As the most famous celebrity at the awards, naturally she arrived last, before schmoozing the rope line with admirable staying-power, providing Dean with a number of excellent photo opportunities with his new Nikon telephoto lens.

After a brief return to our hotel room, we emerged back into the Nashville night, mingling with the crowds pouring out of the awards. The main streets were thronged with people, and music was everywhere. We ended up in a bustling joint called Rippy’s. Meat and drink was consumed, and it was not long before the obvious female attention came our way. A girl called Courtney introduced herself to us, claiming we were dead-ringers for American pop outfit The Jonas Brothers, famed for their big hair and celibacy wristbands. Well, Dean and I both have big hair, but perhaps that is where the comparison should end. Nevertheless, we chatted with Courtney for a while as we listened to a number of performers on the main stage in the corner of the bar. The system for live performances in bars and clubs in Nashville is neatly communal. The core members of the group, usually lead guitar, bass and drums tend to stay the same throughout the evening, but others take guest spots on guitar and vocals during the set, while meandering through the crowds with tip jars when not on stage. For happy punters like Dean and I, it was a great opportunity to talk to those who had just been performing, questioning them on how much practice it takes to get that proficient and who they draw their inspiration from. One guitarist in Rippy’s was from Scotland, and was really quite remarkable. He moved his fingers up and down the fret-board so quickly they were blurs of light. Rippy’s is a fine example of the Nashville social scene, drawing in a crowd of all ages, from older couples in cowboy hats and boots who dance close together in probably the same manner they have done since their High School prom decades before, to young twentysomethings who want to sample a night out without the hip-hop of the northern cities. You do not have to be a country music fan to enjoy Nashville, just a fan of music itself, of how it is used to bring people together and, in the case of this entire region, shape communities and dreamers alike.

Sad to be leaving Nashville, but exhilarated from the experience, the next morning we loaded up the Jeep once again and headed out for the open road. From one music capital to another: we’d be walking in Memphis by the end of the day.