Nashville Adventure

Music City Hostel and Other Budget Ideas

by Joseph C. Mrazek (April 2010)

It's estimated that at least three dozen aspiring stars arrive in Nashville every day. After all, it's been the undisputed capital of country music since the late 1940s, when recording studios were finally installed in that bustling city of a half million souls on the banks of the Cumberland River.

But the city has been synonymous with what used to be marketed as “hillbilly music” since at least 1925, when the Grand Ole Opry commenced its regular weekend radio broadcasts from Nashville, Tennessee. Carried throughout North America via AM-radio powerhouse WSM, the station is an acronym for "We Shield Millions" - slogan of the life-insurance company that once owned it). Now an Internet-driven mecca, Music City USA is stuffed with singers, songwriters, studio musicians, wannabe managers, clever promoters and those techno-wizards known as record producers. Only Los Angeles and New York have nearly as many show-biz types per capita as Nashville.

Many of the newcomers, like Willie Nelson and Dolly Parton once upon a time, have more talent than money. If you're looking for for a weird low-budget adventure in Nashville, you should check out Music City Hostel (www.MusicCityHostel.com). Conveniently located between the Tennessee capital's bustling downtown and the leafy Vanderbilt University campus, this homey little hostel occupies a pair of former apartment buildings at 1809 Patterson Street in the Mid-City neighborhood. It's a hit with professional musicians and amateur songwriters alike.

Owner Ron Limb, who emigrated from Korea to the USA as a young boy, and his wife Tracee, a native of South Dakota, run this international oasis in a spirit of true Southern hospitality.

"We see ourselves as a family, a community, here at the hostel," says Limb, a former engineer who modeled his dream-business on the better hostels he had stayed at while traveling the world. He started Music City Hostel in early 2005 and has built a positive reputation, partially via the Internet postings satisfied guests have left to guide others.

Google, the Limbs' energetic Boston terrier, might even pay you a visit. Good company from around the globe is always on hand, in case you feel like meeting new people and making new friends. You might even get to practice your foreign language skills with another guest. I got to speak German with native speakers again after a long layoff.

A bunk in a shared room costs just $25 a night (or $150/week), while a private room for two is $70. The hostel features a small lounge with television & nearby laundry machines & rental computers (there’s free WiFi Internet access throughout the facility), and a large kitchen stocked with cooking equipment. Coffee, tea, oatmeal & waffle batter are complimentary and free food items left by prior guests are usually available. The dormitory suites as well as private rooms have keyless locks for extra security. Ron also has apartments available on short-term leases, for those in town temporarily. Several guests I met were in Nashville for a medical internship or to conduct business.

Guests can walk safely to a tempting cluster of ethnic restaurants around West End Avenue & upper Broadway - everything from Middle Eastern to Indian to Mexican places plus the Noshville Delicatessen. Lower Broadway, with its panoply of honky tonks (live-music clubs) is also within walking distance or a short cab ride away from Music City Hostel. I've stayed at numerous hostels in Europe and Japan, but have found few inns quite as welcoming. Only the famously cozy low-budget bed-&-breakfasts spread across Ireland can compete.

Now for the downside. You might get a roommate who snores, or an unwelcome wake-up call at 3:00 a.m. from a cowboy-booted bar closer. Peace and privacy can be hard to come by. The kitchen is sometimes messy, but at least the bathrooms are cleaned daily. It's not a bad trade-off for the opportunity to meet adventurers from faraway places. You can explore hip and historic Nashville with fellow hostelers.

Here is a partial list of good excuses to visit Nashville, alias Music City USA, in case you need one:

Pay your respects to Hank & Patsy

- The Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum (CMHFM) at 222 Fifth Avenue South, is open from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. daily (closed for a few holidays plus Tuesdays in January & February). Permanent exhibits include Webb Pierce's weird customized Bonneville, complete with mounted chrome-plated pistols and real silver dollars glued to the dashboard. Other items of interest include original handwritten lyric sheets, and a collection of stage outfits and well-worn guitars used by stars like Johnny Cash. Special exhibits, such as one I saw on the Hank Williams family musical legacy, rotate every few months. Admission is $19.99 for adults, $11.95 for kids age 5-17, and free for kids under age 5. The Museum Store is stocked with CDs, postcards, t-shirts, posters and many other souvenirs. If you don't want to tour the collection, you can grab lunch or a drink in the spacious glassy atrium, where "Music City Ambassador" Dave Anderson takes requests and plays country favorites on his Epiphone electric guitar while roving among patrons' tables.

Enter “Honky Tonk Heaven”

- You can drink and dance at more than a dozen bars, such as Robert's Western World (try the fried pickles), that feature free live music all afternoon and evening long in Nashville's neon-lit entertainment district, also called simply “The District.”.
- Until 10:00 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, you can enjoy a good cheap buffet-style meal at Jack's Bar-B-Que. Look for the Flying Pig sign at 416 Broadway. Or you can walk around the corner and visit
- the historic Ryman Auditorium (at 116 Fifth Avenue North), spiritual home of the Grand Ole Opry. Concerts by such artists as Neil Young and Emmylou Harris occur several nights a week at the Ryman. Tickets are accordingly expensive. The Opry moves back to the Ryman from suburban Opryland USA for a couple of months every winter. See it then, if you can afford it.
- You might also catch a celebrity, like musician/producer Jack White (The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, Dead Weather) who moved his ultra-hip recording studio and vinyl-record shop Third Man Records from Detroit to Nashville last year. Kid Rock, Alison Krauss, Taylor Swift and other stars are frequently seen hanging out, shopping or carousing around town.

Buy fresh produce and mingle with local farmers

- The Farmers Market, just downhill from the modest-sized Tennessee state capitol building downtown, is open every day except Christmas and New Year's Day. In addition to vendors selling local fruits, vegetables, molasses and jam, this roofed but open-air market also has a cluster of restaurants in a food court that cater to tourists and state office workers.

Soak up some Culture

-The Frist Center for the Visual Arts (919 Broadway) features exhibits of Southern regional art and world-class fine art. They also sponsor free concerts by offbeat musicians as well as more mainstream groups in the lobby on Friday evenings.
-The Tennessee State Museum (at 505 Deaderick Street) has many interesting artifacts and special exhibits, such as one on the February 1960 lunch-counter sit-ins by young civil-rights activists.
-The Hermitage, site of General & President Andrew Jackson's 19th-century estate, is a national historic landmark and museum located about 12 miles from downtown, in suburban Hermitage. Admission is steep, but it's free a few days a year, including the January anniversary of Gen. Jackson's victory at the Battle of New Orleans.

Brush up on your manners

People say "sir" and "ma'am" without a trace of irony in Nashville because it's the South, where politeness is required and rudeness is not tolerated. I was once refused service by a gas-station cashier in Nashville until I said "please." Etiquette and formality, like relics of a dying civilization, are fast fading up North and elsewhere. In Music City you can experience social life as it used to be, but even better since Jim Crow racism has been rooted out. We Yankees could use a refresher course in good manners. Most Southerners will set a good example for you, but in a relaxed way.

Travel backwards in time

Whether you’re
- picnicking alongside the Parthenon, the world’s only full-scale replica of the Athenian temple, at Centennial Park (adjacent to Vanderbilt University),
- hobnobbing at the renovated “first church of country music” - the Ryman Auditorium,
- gazing at ornate murals above the grand lobby of the gorgeous and historic Union Station Hotel (1001 Broadway); or
- boarding a passenger car at thetiny Tennessee Central Railway Museum,
Nashville offers plenty of opportunities for time travelers to visit another era. Some sites, such as the 4 highlighted above, can even be seen for free.

Nashville is an exciting modern city well worth exploring, whether you spend a few weeks or just a few days there. It's a creative capital, full of musicians and music fans, and sits conveniently in the middle of Tennessee, 35 miles south of the Kentucky state line. Louisville is merely 3 hours away by car, and Wisconsin is just ten hours distant. In fact, Wisconsinites will find a familiar convivial and welcoming spirit there.

© 2010 by J.C. Mrazek

Down South - a Dixie poem, nostalgic

Down South in Old Tennessee

by Joe Crawford Mrazek

"'Preciate you," they sometimes
say down in Dixie, where y'all
bend vowels like the lower
Mississippi, where y'all
drop g's like damned
Yankee dollars circa
Eighteen Hundred and
Sixty-One, see?

It's friendly,
traditional,
Nashville -
the Southland.
Ya gotta fit in
somehow everywhere
anyway, don't ya?

So start drawlin' if you
feel so inclined, mister.
Soften & stretch your
voice, ma'am.
Take it easy:
rest a spell.


March 10, 2010
Racine, Wisconsin (USA)

Final Report from Music City

Nashville, Tennessee (USA)
March 2, 2010 - 7:15 a.m. (CST)

Ladies & Gentlemen:
I'm writing this final report on my mission in Dixie, in part, in order to help wake up my hungover & mortally sleep-deprived brain, in preparation for the long drive north to Racine, that dirty old hometown on Lake Michigan. My belongings are sprawled across the lounge of Music City Hostel & I dread the prospect of puzzling them together in my tiny VW in the cold sleet. Alas, some things must be left behind in this material world of limited space. Okay, maybe it ain't Sophie's choice, but some lucky bastard at the Starvation Army thrift store on Charlotte Avenue is gonna get something nice of mine, and cheap.

I dodged a DUI bullet just a few blocks from home at 1:30 a.m. when I was pulled over - for the third time here - on account of defective tail lamps caused by a January battery failure messing up my car's computer. My passengers, Tatiana & Gregoire, bailed immediately. Tat tossed back an almost sarcastic "Good luck, Joe" as they walked away. I passed the horizontal nystgmus gaze test & Officer Friendly let me go with a warning to fix the lights. Thank you, Nashville Metro PD. I love you almost as much as Kid Rock said he likes your fine jail at his induction to the Music Walk of Fame last November. I got within 50 feet of Dolly Parton that warm sunny afternoon & the good vibes coming from her were palpable, folks. Mmmmmm, Dolly....

Well, I failed to find employment in the rapidly downsizing music industry here (C'mon, people, BUY MORE DAMN CDs) but I found something almost as precious: a new direction in my career & life. I'm not sure exactly what it entails, aside from blogging & moving to Seattle as soon as I can get the scratch together. But if it's half as fun as Nashville has been - even on an income of just $198/week UE benefits (plus barter work for my bed), then I can't wait to find out. I spent a couple of hours in the Land of a Thousand Dances last night, otherwise known as rock & soul retro-disco night at the 5 Spot in east Nashville. Man, that was like a scene from the movies when they played Chuck Berry, Wilson Pickett & the Shangri-Las & all the lovely gals in sexy outfits started twisting! But enough about my frustrations & joys & wonder.

Thank you all for sharing this weird journey south with me. Let's get together soon & swap stories. I gotta write some books, I could use your vicarious adventures for additional material or inspiration. Ciao for now, y'all.

Friendly folks on a warm winter afternoon in Nashville

I drove across the Cumberland River last Friday afternoon to a green-space in east Nashville called Shelby Bottoms. I came upon a ballgame at the riverside Old Timers Field. It must have been cabin-fever that drove me to check it out because baseball usually bores me. I found a scuffed brown baseball along the outfield fence as I walked to the gate, contemplating whether to keep it as a souvenir. It was still only 45 degrees Fahrenheit & that ball was a welcome harbinger of springtime - a sporting rebuke to the barren trees.

"Hey," I said to a group of Belmont University bullpen pitchers, "Can fans keep home-run balls in this league?"
"Sure," a tall friendly young player said. I handed it to him anyway.
"'Preciate it," a teammate said.
"Might be a good a batting practice ball, at least," I explained. "Who are y'all playing?"
"Eastern Illinois University," the pitcher replied.
"Well, kick their ass," I exclaimed. "I'm from Wisconsin & we don't care much for Illinois."
"Well," the fella answered, "I'm from Illinois & we don't like you Wisconsin folks much either."

We all laughed at that & I went to watch a few innings from the sun-drenched bleachers for free, surrounded by pretty gals & entertained by music between batters. Bill called me from Salt Lake City during the top of the third. He reported that they were having similar warmish sunny weather out West. But he is off to an even warmer climate in a few days: New Zealand, that lucky adventurous soul.

Afterwards, I almost walked into the path of a young lady chipping golf balls high into the air on a steeply sloped driving range. She waved me on, but I demurred. "I'm just glad you're an accurate hitter," I said with a smile. My beret is no helmet & I am disconcertingly accident-prone.

"I'm just glad to have a warm day to hit," she replied. "I'm from Ohio." I learned that she was a high-school senior with a scholarship to play golf for the University of South Carolina in the fall.

"Nice place for golf," I told her, remembering my summer in Charleston (1996).
"Yeah," she agreed. "It's warm there."

And so are most of the people you meet here in Nashville - even in wintertime. Like the singer/percussionist Mississippi Millie & her Wild Animal guitarist Tiger Gagan, who entertained me with a blues set at Flying Saucer on Saturday night. That was a nice warmup for (Appleton, Wisconsin's own) Cory Chisel & the Wandering sons show at the Mercy Lounge. I'm gonna miss this place after I leave town tomorrow.

Pre-Raphaelite paintings at the Frist Museum: Imagine!

Puerto Rico's loss is Nashville's gain this month as the Frist Center for the Visual Arts presents a special exhibit (through May 16; see www.fristcenter.org) called "Masterpieces of European Painting from El Museo de Arte Ponce." These gems - from a museum built in 1959 by collector (& co-founder of the Puerto Rican Pro-statehood Party), Luis Ferre - range from religious iconography circa 1350 to Lovis Corinth's 1910 Expressionist nude "Pregnant Woman."

Perhaps the most appealing artworks on display hang in the last two galleries, among a group of sumptuous paintings by members & adherents of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. They were a loose affiliation of anti-academic artists, established in England in 1848 as part of an aesthetic quest for "truth to nature" & ideal beauty. Here is a brief survey of my favorite seven paintings in the entire exhibit:

* "Ysoude with the Love Philter" (oil/canvas, 1870) by Frederick Sandys (1832-1904). A portrait of a demure brown-eyed brunette (elsewhere named Isolde) in semi-profile holding a red rose. Based on the tragic Arthurian legend of a misdirected love-potion, a rich blue hue dominates the color-scheme of this eye-catching work in which symbolic flowers abound.

* "The Escape of a Heretic, 1559" (oil/canvas, 1857) by Sir John Everett Millais (1829-96). In this dramatic scene from the time of the Spanish Inquisition, somber brown tones pervade this depiction of 3 figures: (1) a nobleman/rescuer disguised as a monk aims a dagger at (2) a cowering bound priest/captor, while (3) a beautiful young woman in a robe, partially concealing a heretic's shirt complete with devil & flames, flees the cell with a startled expression. The oppressive interior is relieved by a glimpse of a tree through a tiny window in the background.

* "The School of Nature" (oil/wood panel, 1893) by William Holman Hunt (1827-1910). This portrait, originally of Hunt's 16-year-old daughter Gladys, presents a seated beauty sketching on her red pad in a summer garden, a dog at her feet & a fountain behind her. It features a face repainted, for some unexplained reason, by another artist into that of a more mature woman. It remains an alluring, contemplative composition in which green & pink colors prevail.

* "Roman Widow (Dis Manibus)" (oil/canvas, 1874) by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-82). My favorite of the entire show, this painting offers a seductive yet aloof blue-eyed redhead (based on Rossetti's favorite model, Alexa Wilding) performing a funerary ritual with zither-like instruments beside her husband's cinerary urn. Gold, pink, auburn & green tones lend the portrait a vibrant sheen & a vitality that belies the morbid subject.

* The small Briar Rose series (oil/canvas, 1871-73), a triptych comprised of: (1) "The Prince Enters the Wood" (2) "The King & His Court" & (3) "The Sleeping Beauty" by Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones(1833-98). This rather eerie trio of paintings, executed in Burne-Jones's semi-crude mystical style, presents a variety of figures sleeping in a forest, in a garlanded courtyard & in a bedchamber of slumbering beauties, respectively. Based on the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty, as interpreted by Alfred Lord Tennyson in his poem "Day Dream" (1842), there is a hallucinatory quality to the series.

Asked why he hadn't - like most artists who tackled this popular subject - depicted the awakening of Sleeping Beauty, Burne-Jones replied: "I want it to stop with the princess asleep and to tell no more, to leave all the afterwards to the invention & imagination of people." Good words to live by in this era of comatose imagination.

Poem for a Danish singer/songwriter & part-time gypsy gal

A lovely, friendly Dane named Connie made my day simply by walking the two miles from the Greyhound depot to Music City Hostel & arranging to spend the night as our guest. I said hello over a small meal at the dinner table & her smile thawed my frozen heart. Half an hour later I was driving Connie & her guitar to Lower Broadway, where she was determined to busk her way out of temporary poverty.

This radiant foreign gal, fresh off the bus from Canada via Detroit, managed to get a geezer in an Air Force uniform to bestow a tip before she'd even played a note. I handed her a pair of berry-flavored Ricola lozenges for her sore throat, bought her a sweet tea with lemon at Jack's Bar-B-Q, and gave her an audience. For good luck, I tipped her a buck. I watched her perform for 20 minutes, by which time my greenback had plenty of paper company in her tip-cap. Here's the poem I wrote in her honor:

A Busker on Broadway

by Josef C. Mrazek

Connie commands the corner of Fourth Street and Broadway
a Danish queen of the folk guitar, strumming and singing
through a winter Nashville afternoon, alert and fearless,
picking those cold steel strings, making them ring warmly,
performing as though her next meal depended on that pile of
wrinkled dollar bills falling into her green tweed cap.
Busking is merely business, but music might just be
her soul’s salvation.

She inspires the lunchtime passersby who return her smile,
who stop to listen, to comment, to appreciate the bright
sight of a striking blonde in a black billed hat, absorbing
the life-giving sun in a black sweater, legs encased in torn
blue jeans atop red suede shoes outside Gruhn Guitars,
‘round the corner from the famous Ryman Auditorium,
within view of the Cumberland River, adorning the dirty
sidewalks of honky-tonk row. She dwells supreme in
Hillbilly Heaven.

An approachable angel in dreadlocks drawing upon
a repertoire of Americana classics – Sheryl Crow,
Neil Young, “Me and Bobby McGee” - plus songs all her own
in Danish and English, she pauses to take requests, sips sweet tea,
then launches into “Part-Time Gypsy,” daring to rhyme playas with
Himalayas, opening her heart, pushing notes past delicious
lips, attracting coins and other satisfying signs from
a generous universe.

Stax soul, Dream Boogie & a Memphis Boy: the Muse gets inspired

A devotee of both pop culture & highbrow art, your friendly neighborhood Muse of the Weird can find inspiration almost anywhere. I got enough thrills this week to last about a month - at a movie & pair of museums, no less. I'll try to translate my enthusiasm into entertaining, web-text for the Attention Deficit Generation.

The Stax Museum of American Soul Music (SMASM) sits grandly on McLemore Avenue in a rundown part of Memphis - bluesman Memphis Slim's old home is a crumbling ruin just across College Street. Sadly, Soulsville USA has become yet another struggling Mississippi River city attempting to re-brand itself (justifiably) as the Birthplace of Rock 'n' Roll. Located adjacent to a new music academy for high schoolers, SMASM treats visitors to a wealth of memorabilia & interpretive info about soul music, a worthy complement to 1960s rock 'n' roll & pop. Soul artists like Ray Charles & James Brown clogged the R&B charts as well as the pop hit parade with innovative songs circa 1959 to the early '70s.

After a brief introductory film, I was captivated by SMASM's initial exhibit: an evocation of a Sunday gospel service using weathered wooden slats, pews & the granite cornerstone (dated 1906) salvaged from Hoopers Chapel (TN) A.M.E. church, along with videos of preachers, singers & celebrants moved by the spirit to dance & shout. Gospel music, of course, provided the foundation for country music as well as the soul sound. Several important artists, including Sam Cooke & Aretha Franklin, crossed over from sanctified singing to soul stardom. If secular blues is the devil's music, as the old taboo would have it, then you can book my ticket to Hell right now.

While covering the notable work of such Memphis labels as Hi & Goldwax, with nods to Motown & other out-of-towners, SMASM focuses on the unlikely story of Stax/Volt Records, established & operated (along with the Satellite Records shop) by an unmusical white brother & sister. Jim Stewart & Estelle Axon had the good sense to hire a loyal bunch of talented Memphians, including writer/producer (later performer & so-called savior) Isaac Hayes. Even when forced to use crude 2-track tape recorders in a renovated movie theater, Stax's resourceful studio staff managed to produce some of the most unforgettable wax tracks ever made.

Booker T & the MGs, a harmoniously integrated group (2 whites & 2 blacks), made irresistible dance music ("Green Onions," "Time is Tight," etc.) that facilitated the death of segregation in the South. This instrumental group (which John Lennon satirized as "Book a table & the maitre D's") was the Stax house band, backing such stars as Sam & Dave and the overpowering Otis Redding, whose untimely death in a Madison (WI) plane crash in 1967 foreshadowed the demise of Stax half a decade later. In the replica Stax studio room, you can get within inches of Booker T. Jones's Hammond M-3 organ, Andrew Love's baritone sax, Al Jackson Jr.'s drumkit, Duck Dunn's bass & Steve Cropper's Fender Telecaster.

Sensory overload looms along every corridor as records play, producers reminisce, gold records shine & Tina Turner's slinky mini-dress & stage shoes beckon. Videos of '70s Soul Train TV dancers, projected on a large wraparound screen, invite you to find your own groove on a polished dance floor. It was a time of black pride & nearly universal appreciation. The ecstatic crowds attending Stax's revue tour of Europe in 1966 simply blew the musicians' minds.

Back home, Stax artists ruled the streets of Memphis. As funky Rufus Thomas bluntly put it: "If you were black for one night on Beale Street, you never would want to be white anymore." As proof of soul music's enduring popularity, I needed look no further than the Sarratt Cinema on the Vanderbilt University campus Wednesday night (Feb. 10): a packed house attended the "Sam Cooke: Legend" documentary, introduced by writer-in-residence Peter Guralnick, author of "Dream Boogie: The Triumph of Sam Cooke," a detailed biography by a master interviewer & fine prose stylist.

The Musicians Hall of Fame & Museum (MHFM), in contrast to SMASM, awaits a merciless wrecking ball in shining downtown Nashville, alias Music City USA. A poor stepchild of the nearby Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum, MHFM has the misfortune to be located on the footprint of the city's controversial new convention center. It is stuffed with equally riveting items donated by members of such legendary studio collectives as the Nashville A Team, the Memphis Boys, Detroit's Funk Brothers & LA's Wrecking Crew. Those gentlemen played on too many great country, pop & rock records to mention. I had the good fortune to shake hands with humble 70ish drummer Gene Chrisman, who was wearing his Memphis Boys jacket as he strolled with his family inspecting the exhibits, including a snare drum he'd autographed.

I learned that Gene Chrisman played on the first 45-rpm record I ever bought, Elvis Presley's 1969 hit "In the Ghetto" (written by Mac Davis) as well as on one of my favorite blue-eyed soul/pop tunes of all time, the Box Tops' "Cry Like a Baby" (1968; by teen-aged genius singer/songwriter Alex Chilton). Even as the MHFM's director, another fella named Joe, handed out trophies & medallions to the likes of DJ Fontana, Elvis' drummer for 14 years, a different kid of wrecking crew was busy demolishing the building next door. "It's a damn shame they're tearing it down," DJ said in his brief acceptance speech, referring to the MHFM.

Amen, brother. Even the greatest musicians are too often relegated to the shadows cast by big stars.

Justin Townes Earle at Mercy Lounge (January 27, 2010)

I'm pleased to report that Justin Townes Earle thrilled the near-capacity crowd at Mercy Lounge (around 400 souls) on a 44-degree Wednesday night in Nashville. He played his acoustic guitar with such force that he broke a string once, but it hardly slowed him down at all. That young man - just 28 years old - has absorbed 80 years of roots-music tradition, country as well as blues & folk (not to mention his Daddy Steve's heavy country-rock legacy) & distilled it into appealing original music that is both nostalgic & contemporary.

His opening acts, the Elvis-faced but uncharismatic Caitlin Rose (with a yet-to-be-named band of five guys), plus the gorgeous & dynamic Dawn Landes (with her 2-piece band The Hounds, featuring a bearish backup singer who played harmonica while drumming), got things rolling. Now that I'm listening to Patsy Cline on WSM-AM those ladies fail to impress by comparison. But I enjoyed Dawn's sexy original song in the French language, which she introduced by dedicating it to French cowboys. She used to live in Paris, where she spotted a beauty salon that specialized in cowboy hairstyles, whatever the heck that is.

Justin Townes Earle in concert is the REAL DEAL, folks. My only regret is that I didn't wish him luck at the Grammy Awards (he's nominated in the new Americana category) when he strolled past me at the club entrance. He stopped to hug a friend & say he'd forgotten something outside. The lanky man was dapper in a black suit & red-checked shirt buttoned to the top. Onstage he looked as geeky as Buddy Holly in those large specs. Yet his awkward movements & occasional mugging did not detract from the polished performance. He was obviously entranced by the sounds his string trio made.

The lineup included a lady bassist & a bearded fiddler. They opened with "Poor Fool," my favorite song from JTE's excellent album "Midnight at the Movies" (thanks, Samara). His stage patter is charming, peppered with heartfelt "Thank you, folks" & "Ladies and Gentlemen..." Justin is an artist who appreciates & respects his audience - too rare a quality among young performers in this awful Age of Irony & Narcissism.

JTE delivered several new songs in addition to renditions of such someday classics as "They Killed John Henry" & "Black Eyed Suzy." He dedicated "Mama's Eyes" to his local mother who, he said, could not attend because of the late hour (he went on at 10:00 p.m.). With a nod to some Beat literary forebears, Justin name-dropped Gregory Corso (the poet) & Herbert Huncke (the junkie) while introducing "Midnight at the Movies." He also informed - us with deadpan earnestness - that in New York City, where he now resides, he is considered a Southerner. His drawl, his musicality & his polite manners left no doubt about that. He gave a shoutout to Woody Guthrie along the way (as he did when I saw him in Milwaukee last July) & treated us to a honky-tonk rambling-man number as well. He even reflected briefly on his delinquent youth, when he roamed the streets of Nashville with a rat-tail, bad attitude & drooping trousers. I learned today (in a book about his Daddy) that Justin was born at Baptist Hospital, just a block away from my digs at Music City Hostel.

Matt Burton, a Cheshire guitarist/pianist (& Jackson Browne fan) who accompanied me to the show, enjoyed it too. Maybe Justin Townes Earle will gain an international following a la Bob Dylan, whom he reminded me of at times with his paradoxical blend of shyness & confidence. As long as he keeps on writing entertaining songs & doesn't let New York turn him into a jaded jerk, he's got a shot.

Time travel in Nashville: radio triggers imagination

Here's a snapshot of Weirdland, Music City Section:

Driving on a cool grey Sunday afternoon through tree-lined Richland, an old planned residential district on Nashville's southwest side near Elmington Park & West End Middle School, I was lucky enough to have my VW's radio tuned in to WRVU (91.1 FM), Vanderbilt University's fine community radio station. My soundtrack for that short excursion (from the carwash on Charlotte along undulating Bowling Avenue onto upscale Woodmont Boulevard unto mall-choked Hillsboro Pike) was provided by WRVU's "Spoonful of Bluegrass." The DJ was playing scratchy old recordings circa 1930 by Fiddlin' John Carson, the Skillet Lickers & other so-called hillbilly acts from a time before country music had acquired any respectability -- despite its widespread popularity.

I tried to imagine what that old weird America (that inspired Dylan & the Band's "Basement Tapes" in 1967-68) looked like, smelled like & sounded like. How did a winter Sabbath afternoon in Nashville go down in the Depression era? Back then, the woman who became my Grandma Crawford had to leave the farm in Arcadia, Wisconsin & go to work as a maid for a rich family in Whitefish Bay; Grandpa Crawford was glad to be employed at a CCC camp & therefore able to send money home to his widower Pa; Grandpa Mrazek fished for food & rode the rails. I cast my mind back to those hard, intense times before television kept people indoors getting fatter & lazier. Before most people had cars that isolate them from one another & inflate their egos to a dangerous size. I longed for a taste of life free of the techno-media-cocoon that threatens to smother us all. My imagination did not let me down.

I envisioned streetcars clanging along rutted roads bustling with pedestrians: embittered men whose heads were covered with felt fedoras & tweed caps, anxious woman in ankle-length skirts concealing petticoats & other elaborate underthings, hungry kids in woolen knickers & gingham pinafores. I smelled coal-burning furnaces blackening the skies, piles of horse manure in the gutters, cold rivers ready to receive the baptized come spring. I heard pianos playing in parlors, tobacco-stained saliva hitting brass spittoons in taverns, preachers summoning sinners to salvation on downtown streetcorners, gospel choirs harmonizing in vaulted redbrick tabernacles, a gunshot.

And then I returned to the present, a rush of traffic & crammed consumer aisles at the Harris Teeter grocery store. At least my radio & my imagination still work.

Meeting a Rock & Roll Hall of Famer in Music City

My ex-biker buddy Gypsy from Racine (WI) & I were having lunch at Cafe Bosna at a suburban strip-mall in historic Hermitage when we struck up a conversation with a friendly couple at the next table. The guy turned out to be Ed King, guitarist with Lynyrd Skynyrd from 1972-75, a role that he reprised from 1987 to '95. His most lucrative claim to fame was as co-writer of "Sweet Home Alabama," which Kid Rock performed with Skynyrd at the ceremony celebrating the Jacksonville (FL) Southern rockers' induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (Class of 2006).

Before that legendary stint with Ronnie Van Zant & the boys, King was a founding member of the L.A. psychedelic rock band The Strawberry Alarm Clock ("Incense & Peppermints"). While touring along with The Beach Boys in 1967-68, King said that Carl Wilson stopped by his hotel room & showed him the chords for "God Only Knows" (from brother Brian Wilson's masterpiece album Pet Sounds). Ed also told us that Ronnie Van Zant never wrote down the lyrics to Skynyrd songs before recording sessions. Man, was that good ol' boy a poet. To seal his rockstar legend, Van Zant even died in a Buddy Holly-esque way (plane crash in Mississippi, 1977).

Just goes to show you: you never know who you might bump into in Music City. Or where. Gypsy was astounded -- I've been telling him that he needs to get out more. Ed was kind enough to give us an autograph & shake his admirers' hands. The only cross word he had was when I mentioned Warren Zevon; Ed complained that the late, great L.A. raconteur & provocateur stole his "Alabama" riff on "Werewolves of London." Ed is now retired & living in Belle Meade, Tennessee. Former security manager (& crash survivor) Gene Odom had a heap of praise for Ed in his book about Lynyrd Skynyrd. Ed is quoted as saying that manager/producer Al Kooper made the band's commercial success possible. Props to Al.

The Infamous Stringdusters pack The Station Inn

On Wednesday, January 13th The Infamous Stringdusters charmed a nearly full house at The Station Inn, warming us up on a chilly night in Nashville. That six-pack of young bluegrass-inspired acoustic harmonizers even brought their own microbeer brand from Virginia (see my mini-review below). Their performance was intoxicating in a sober kind of way---a bit too clean, controlled & contrived for my taste. But then I'm a sucker for Appalachian murder ballads & honky-tonk grit. Anyway, I went as a proxy for my German pal Raphael, a TIS superfan busy working on an Arizona cattle ranch.

The Infamous Stringdusters lineup is a non-Dixie geographical smorgasbord: the memebers hail from Idaho, Colorado, Wisconsin, upstate New York & Long Island. From stage left to right, the players strum, pick or slap the following instruments: banjo, dobro, fiddle, double bass, mandolin & 6-string guitar. They play their acoustic instruments well & with enthusiasm. Their repertoire consists of originals in a bluegrass boogie style, with lead vocals embellished by 2- & 3-part harmonies. The Stringdusters' most acclaimed song so far is the title track to their 2007 debut album "Fork in the Road." They swap solos with jam-band gusto--I imagine that both Bill Monroe & Jerry Garcia would dig these guys.

The Stringdusters write and perform with levity, as in the whimsical tune "You Can't Handle the Truth," but they mix in some moments of gravity. For example, the guys dedicated a bluesy compassionate number to the people of Haiti, ravaged by an earthquake this week. Instrumentals & covers are thrown in for variety's sake. They have an admirable rapport with the audience--bassist/singer Travis Book even thanked a lady near the stage for her tropical perfume. His big grin & blissed-out guffaws, however, wore thin on me.

The second set featured a lovefest with guest singer/songwriter/guitarist Sarah Siskind, who's had a song covered by the great Alison Krauss & whose boyfriend is in the band. She told their meet-cute story about an open invitation to jam at a festival in the Rockies, but her songs sounded mediocre to my jaded ears. I couldn't help but think that the obscure part-timers in Folkswagon (from Racine, WI) put on a better, more moving show than these full-time professionals.

The Infamous Stringdusters are doing a weekly January residency at the venerable venue on Twelfth Avenue South, where the audience was overwhelmingly comprised of 20-somethings apparently turned off by the pop pablum that still dominates the mainstream media. In between a heavy tour schedule roaming the byways of America by van, the band released "The Infamous Stringdusters" album on Sugar Hill Records in 2008. Check them out if you like fine string music with pleasant harmonies.


Insider Info: Prompted perhaps by my flattery, Stringduster Andy Falco (guitar/vox) told me that their special guest next week (Jan. 20) will be the acclaimed country star Dierks Bentley. But the boys are trying to keep it on the down-low for fear of a mob scene at The Station Inn, so don't tell anyone else. The club only seats 200 people & the bar is tiny.

Beer Review: I tried the Starr Hill (Virginia micro-brewery) Jomo Lager that the Stringdusters supplied for this gig, but I found it a bit bland compared to the piquant local Yazoo Dos Perros ale. At least the lager was a buck cheaper than the ale ($3 vs. $4 per bottle). I got drunk & lost a leather driving glove--my second this month! What does that Freudian slip suggest?

Steve & Justin Townes Earle, critical darlings

Will Hermes, one of the critics polled by Nashville Scene (NS), a local weekly, had these kind & insightful things to say in NS's 10th Annual Country Music Critics Poll (see the Jan. 7th issue at www.nashvillescene.com) about two of my favorite Americana/country musicians:

"I loved the father/son symmetry of the Steve Earle/Justin Townes Earle records, which both spoke to tradition, albeit in different ways. Pops bowed to his own creative father on "Townes," with covers that played fast and loose stylistically (see Tom Morello's weirdly appropriate hip-hop noise guitar on "Lungs"); the kid played originals looking back to a still-earlier era while also covering The Replacements. These guys understand tradition is something to be both cherished and run up against." - Will Hermes, whose music journalism/criticism appears in the NY Times, Rolling Stone, Spin, Entertainment Weekly & The Village Voice as well as on National Public Radio.

Overall, Steve Earle finished 16th with "Townes" in the NS critics poll's list of the best country albums of 2009, while Justin Townes Earle's "Midnight at the Movies" got the #8 spot. JTE was also voted the #8 songwriter, ahead of Kris Kristofferson & Guy Clark, but behind Buddy & Julie Miller & even Taylor Swift. The talented Avett Brothers took 15th with their fine record "I and Love and You." Number one went to Miranda Lambert's "Revolution." Thankfully, the Americana sub-genre is embraced by Nashville Scene's editors as being "country," rather than relegating its artists to the margins - as some narrow-minded industry leaders seem to prefer.

Sadly, Neko Case didn't make the cut in either the album, the singles or the female vocalist categories. Apparently the 77 critics who participated in NS's poll think that Ms. Case's brilliant "Middle Cyclone" strayed too far from Americana/alt-country land into pop/rock territory. But at least they showed some wider awareness by choosing Elvis Costello's "Secret, Profane & Sugarcane" as the #11 country album of 2009. Maybe that's Elvis' reward for his many years of championing New Orleans roots music & the classic songs of George Jones & his traditional country ilk. Thankfully, such quirky & often neglected artists as Lyle Lovett & Loudon Wainwright III got nods in the NS poll as well.

NOTE: I'll give you a report on Justin Townes Earle's Jan. 27th show at Nashville's hip Mercy Lounge at Cannery Row as soon as I can.

Historical Weirdness at The Hermitage - a Battle Anniversary

This is the kind of town where you might spot an odd pair of bumper stickers on the same Chevy sedan, as I did last week in east Nashville. One said "Trust Jesus" & the other read "I Don't Suffer from Insanity, I Enjoy Every Minute of It." So, in anticipation of some historical weirdness, I drove out Lebanon Pike on a frigid Friday afternoon in order to take advantage of a free-admission offer by The Hermitage, former plantation home of the semi-democratic genocidal slaveholder General & later President Andrew Jackson (1767-1845). [See a $20 American banknote for a heroic portrait of the man nicknamed "Old Hickory".]

The occasion for this act of public generosity by the caretakers of that national historic landmark was the 195th anniversary of the Battle of New Orleans (Jan. 8, 1815). On that date U.S. Army regulars under the command of Gen. Jackson, aided by Jean Lafitte's pirate band as well as some local Indians, defeated the numerically superior British invaders near Chalmette, Louisiana. Due to the slow spread of news in those pre-telegraph days, the men who fought & died there didn't realize that the War of 1812 had already officially ended by the terms of the Treaty of Ghent, signed on Christmas Eve 1814. At least the battle later proved useful to Gen. Jackson, whose victory at New Orleans vaulted him to such national prominence that he won election to the White House in 1828.

Jackson's first biographer, the British-born James Parton (apparently no relation to Dolly), visited The Hermitage in 1859 & was struck by a stern painting of the President. It inspired Parton to describe Jackson paradoxically but memorably as a "democratic autocrat, urbane savage, atrocious saint." After quitting Congress in 1798, just one year into his only term in that corrupt club of blowhards & master schmoozers, Jackson said: "I was born for a storm, and a calm does not suit me." Instead of pursuing electoral politics, he became a lawyer & land speculator in Nashville. He eventually built his 100-slave cotton plantation & quasi-classical mansion 10 miles away, very close to my pals Yuri & Gypsy's house in suburban Hermitage, Tennessee.

Styling himself a "Great White Father" to besieged native Americans, Jackson came to be called "devil" by the Cherokee & other tribes upon the Trail of Tears, which led those poor people from Georgia to Oklahoma circa 1831. Pres. Jackson ordered that death-march relocation (on the heels of Congress's infamous Indian Removal Act of 1830) so that white folks could grab more arable land. Jackson then maneuvered for re-election in 1832 by co-founding the so-called Democratic Party, long-time home of Southern segragationists & their spineless Northern liberal allies. End of history lesson.

My favorite part of the visit, aside from the cafe's free hot chocolate & the fine linen-cotton postcards with black & white historic photos on sale in the museum giftshop, was the elderly "interpreters" in period costume who guided us through the mansion, tossing off facts like faded confetti. I posed several questions in order to break their boredom at the rote recitation of antebellum life at the beautifully preserved Hermitage with its 175-year-old French mural wallpaper. I also dug the large brick smokehouse, built perilously close to the kitchen -- the original mansion burned to the ground in 1834. And I especially appreciated the show & tell demonstration by Mr. Meyers Brown, Curator of History at the Tennessee State Museum, in the Hermitage museum's window-lit lobby.

Dressed in a sharp 1812-era blue woolen US Army uniform (complete with high leather boots, white breeches, fancy black shako hat, big silver buckles, leather chest straps & cool old wire-rimmed spectacles), Myers stood beside a table groaning with military supplies of the time from his personal collection: hard-tack biscuits in a tin pan, dried salt pork, rope tobacco, cotton fatigues for summer wear, a metal specs-case and, of course, much weaponry (bayonet, smooth-bore rifle with ball-and-buckshot cartridges, rifled hunting gun & a deer-horn pocket-knife). His enthusiastic account of the battle, fought on a marshy barren plain alongside the Mississippi River (I visited the site when I lived in New Orleans 20 years ago), as well as some military tactics of the time provoked many queries from me & a bearded gun afficianado with his fascinated young son.

This brief trip backwards in time almost made me regret having missed the morning wreath-laying ceremony at the sheltered Grecian tomb shared by Old Hickory & his beloved wife Rachel, who didn't quite live long enough to assume the role of First Lady. Not being militaristically inclined, I wondered whether I'd have joined in the Pledge of Allegiance as the Tennessee Army National Guard posted the colors. I just have too many qualms about the US government's past & present policies abroad to feel very patriotic anymore. Afghanistan looks too much like the Vietnam of my boyhood television horror.

Nevertheless, I do recommend that you visit The Hermitage the next time you're near Music City USA (adult admission fee: $17). The grounds are gorgeous & peaceful, and an architectural restoration of the mansion's facade & columns is progressing nicely. There are aslo several outbuildings that I didn't explore, on account of the 20-degree cold.

Seasick Steve, "Scruffy" Bob & a Music City tourist tip

While reading "Uncut," a hip British pop-music magazine at Borders the other day, I came across these bits of funny musical trivia:

(1) In an interview with Seasick Steve, a cantankerous 67-year-old California-bred tattooed & bearded bluesman whose recent debut record -- entitled "I Started Out with Nothin' and I Still Got Most of It Left" -- has reportedly sold a quarter million copies, Seasick Steve asserts that "It's a good idea to bleed [as a performer onstage, a la Son House & Mississippi Fred MacDowell] or you're just a karaoke act." Let it bleed, Steve!

(2) After arresting a man, later identified as Bob Dylan, for being a suspected burglar or vagrant while the genius was walking in the rain without ID near Bruce Springsteen's boyhood home last July, 22-year-old Long Branch (New Jersey) Police Officer Kirstie Buble explained her decision by describing the Mystery Man a "an old scruffy man acting suspiciously."

Now, you can call him Bobby, or you can call him Zimmy, you can even call him Travelin' Lucky Wilbury--but ya don't have to call him "Scruffy," ma'am. No wonder Bob said, on the debut of his Theme Time Radio Hour, that "whichever way I go, I always end up in one place: Lonely Avenue." Hang in there, man. At least it's a better address than Desolation Row.

Obscure Nashville tourist tip: Check out the Tennessee Central Railroad Museum, if you can find it (near the river downtown; donations accepted). Pretty blond Miss Amy gave me a cool little tour. I bought a red "TC Nashville Route" patch there yesterday & have already sewn it onto my brown denim jacket. All aboard!

New York Times' narrow notion of Nashville

In the Sunday (January 3, 2010) Arts section, the NY Times featured an article by Jon Caramanica headlined "Nashville Inches, Ever So Grudgingly, Into the Future." In that reductive piece Caramanica makes several controversial claims, including this one: "[C]ountry has been the most commercially significant genre with the smallest amount of stylistic innovation. In addition it's been particularly slow on the uptake with digital and social media, making it less accessible to younger audiences, and more deaf to their desires."

Caramanica dismisses Taylor Swift's massive crossover success as being "marked with an asterisk" & he never even bothers to mention such breakout young artists as Miranda Lambert & Lady Antebellum. Instead, he focuses on tired old stories, like the travails of the Dixie Chicks, who were "all but excommunicated" from country radio after their public attack on Pres. Bush in 2002. "It felt like a warning shot to upstarts of any kind: Thank you for coming, Nashville will neutralize you now," he concludes.

Describing Music Row as "lumbering, stubborn" & "the last vestige of the record industry as it used to be," Caramanica completely ignores the vibrant Americana scene in Nashville. What do those whom he refers to as "the city's oligarchy" make of that Yankee journalist's comments? I'll follow the Music City press & let you know--should the industry's mouthpieces or local music journalists here bother to react at all. But I reckon that those folks have grown impervious to attacks by the Yankee intelligentsia.

My Year in Music (2009 edition)

I ain't ashamed to admit that I wept hard when my 18-year-old cat & best pal ever, Miss Miko-san, died in February. But then Wilco "(The Album)" came along & gave us another "sonic shoulder to cry on." Fortunately, I had more cause for joy than sorrow this year. My Song of the Year award goes to Neko Case for "People Gotta Lot of Nerve" (from her brilliant 2009 album "Middle Cyclone"), a perfect pop tune with an animal-rights/wildlife-revenge theme.

Both of my favorite concerts occurred outdoors in the warm Wisconsin summertime:
* Justin Townes Earle twanged up Cathedral Square in downtown Milwaukee, a benefit for WMSE-FM ("anti-Established in 1981"). In addition to performing originals by the gifted son of hardcore troubadour Steve Earle, JTE & his mustachioed cartoonish seed-cap-wearin' hipster-hillbilly sidekick covered Mance Lipscomb & Hank Williams songs. [The Grand Ole Opry has sinned--time to let dead Hank back in.]
* Shemekia Copeland (daughter of Texas bluesman Johnny Copeland) shouted & growled the blues with a confidence far beyond her 30 years. She even stepped into the crowd sans microphone at the Racine Zoo's natural amphitheater. Backed by a tight band grooving hard on the moody murder ballad "Never Goin' Back to Memphis," Shemekia shared her powerful talent with an appreciative crowd of mostly whitefolks. God, she has soul to burn!

Watch for Racine's own folk 'n' rollers Folkswagon, a fun new band that inspired my move to Nashville. Their moving, heartfelt Thursday night sets at J.J. McAuliffe's bar on Monument Square, proved that Folkswagon & its charismatic singer/songwriter Rachelle Laundrie have a promising future. They're about to release a debut record, "Fresh Fruit"--buy it if you can find it. Better yet, catch them live the next time you're near Racine, Wisconsin.

Bob Dylan dropped a bomb, the bizarre & abominable charity project "Christmas in the Heart, but he redeemed himself with "Together Through Life," a bluesy bucket of guts that opens ominously with "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'." Thanks, Jack Frost (Zimmy's producer persona)--keep on nippin' at our ears!

Honorable mention goes to fellow Badger resident Cory Chisel & the Wandering Sons, who put on a fantastic December show at the Exit/In in Nashville. Check out his 2009 album "Death Won't Send a Letter" for some fine alt-country/retro-rock sounds.

Best of all, I discovered my mission on planet Earth this year. While acting as an agent for Kenosha bands Ash Can School (original rock) & The Hot Club of Rambler City (gypsy jazz), I devised a prickly alter ego named Joe Impresario. A showbiz wannabe, keen cultural critic & ecstatic poet all in one, Joe's motto is "Music is Life, y'all--Dig It!" After turning 49 in October, I took his advice. I abandoned my condo on the Root River in Ratscene U$A and hightailed it to Dixieland. I've found a temporary home at Music City Hostel, where American bohemians, budget travelers & international adventurers rub shoulders, entertained by Google, Ron & Tracee's tiny Boston terrier hostel mascot.

Ah, the old reliable geographical cure saves me again. Now it's time to convert a weird epiphany ("Go South, man!") into a paying profession. God knows I'm tryin', y'all. Wish me luck 'cause I'm a-gonna need plenty in this shark pool. What does the New Decade have in store for me, for you, for our culture? Stay tuned.

Dedicated to Vic Chesnutt (1964-2009) & Miko-chan (1990-2009). Rest in peace.

Paying my dues in Music City

Down But Not Out in Nashville by Joe Crawford Mrazek (Dec. 27, 2009)

I've been cursing (mostly under my breath) at having to play part-time janitor & handyman at Music City Hostel in exchange for my accomodations, which are admittedly quite comfortable now that the owner has upgraded me to a bedroom in a condo instead of bunk in a claustrophobic dorm room. I take solace from this fact: Kris Kristofferson was working as a janitor at Columbia Records Nashville studios when, in late 1965, Bob Dylan showed up to record his masterpiece double album, "Blonde on Blonde" (1966). I can only go up the ladder now, right?

At least I'm within walking distance of Music Row. And I recently managed to get inside a studio, Bayou Recording on Seventeenth Street, to observe a demo-record session. I'm determined to make it as a promoter & manager of Americana artists. I know I have the skills & the savvy for this difficult mission, so nothing gets me down for long anymore. I try to look at my apparent humiliation ("I got a law degree for this shit?") as Zen lessons in modesty or a tonic against arrogance, which I am prone to. Wish me luck, y'all. I'll need lots of it.

Time Jumpers at The Station Inn: Nashville swings, Western style!

Muse of the Weird: An Americana fan in Dixieland (first post, Christmas Day 2009)
by Joe Crawford Mrazek

Nashville spoils a Yankee newcomer with pleasant surprises. Among them is The Station Inn, an unpretentious bluegrass/trad-country club on a hip block of Twelfth Avenue South near downtown. It's a roomy plywood-floored family-friendly honky tonk rich in promo posters, including one for a local Minnie Pearl show in 1944 & another for the Canton (Ohio) concert that Hank Williams died trying to reach on New Year's Eve 1952. It's the kind of establishment where the door to the toilet bears signs saying "Men" as well as "Gentlemen," just so everybody feels at home.

A perfect venue for Americana artists of all stripes, the Station Inn's large folding tables frequently seat appreciative celebrity patrons. I attended The Time Jumpers' show there on Monday (Dec. 21st), the shortest day of the year, but one that turned out to be surprisingly long on entertainment for a 2-set gig. This Grammy-nominated Western-swing group started circa 1998 at the Grand Ole Opry as a backstage jam "therapy session" for veteran studio musicians & elite backup singers. The Time Jumpers' lineup may be constantly evolving, but the band's performance skills are highly developed.

Fiddlers Kenny Sears & Joe Spivey set the dance rhythms on most numbers, aided by slap bassist Dennis Crouch & brush drummer Rick Vanaugh. Andy Reiss's electric guitar & Paul Franklin's pedal-steel enhanced the sound with moving melodic fills & sly improvisational quotes. Jeff Taylor's accordion added just the right Tex-Mex Southwestern flavor. Filling in for "Ranger Doug" Green (a founding member of cowboy-comedy stars Riders in the Sky) on hollow-body rhythm guitar Monday was "part-Time Jumper" Vince Gill, a big country star with a gentle tenor who fits in well with this troupe of spotlight sharers. Vince split lead male vocal duties with Kenny, who kidded Vince that "you gotta earn your Christmas money."

Balancing all that impressive male energy, Dawn Sears & Carolyn Martin delivered sweet, smoot & sassy vocals, taking turns on lead or harmony -- whatever the song required. The Time Jumpers' repertoire ranges from familiar ballads (e.g. "It Ain't Nothin' But the Blues") to lively original instrumentals. For a rousing finale, the band saluted Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys with the swing-era classic "My Window Faces the South." Mixing gospel, jazz & country styles in a satisfying stew, The Time Jumpers keep Western swing sounding fresh & delicious as ever since it's invention during the Great Depression.

The audience's enthusiastic response to every solo & song complemented the relaxed professionalism of the players. My evening at The Station Inn was made even more memorable by meeting Emily, a brunette bartender who also works for bluegrass legend Del McCoury. She graciously handed me a copy of the Del McCoury Band's latest CD, Family Circle (2009), which was released on the day I arrived in Nashville (Oct. 27). On the following day, I met Del McCoury after his in-store appearance at a suburban Best Buy. There are no such things as coincidences, Wolf in Wisconsin tells me. 'Bye!