Letter From America: Part 2   

Further Adventures in Nashville in April 2014

Everything seems to happen slowly here. It's as if there is time, and then there's Tennessee time. It might be something to do with the heat; it slows you down. Or at least, walking slowly conserves your energy. I have yet to see someone here running for a bus. Or it might be that you get used to having to wait a full fifteen minutes for a slow-moving train to cross your path, and there's nothing you can do about it. This opportunity to fully consider things is evident in much of the songwriting I've come across in the last two weeks. No observation is rushed, no word is wasted. The songs are as matured as the local bourbon. 

Performing at The Ryman Auditorium

 

I grew up listening to Country Music. My dad had many Country albums. Most of them were quite schmaltzy from the "Nashville Sound" era of the mid 60s when pedal steel guitars gave way to rich string sections and choirs. But it was the songs that appealed to me. The clever use of language with succint phrases, conveying in a simple way, stories of love and loss, hardship and adversity, shared truths and common experiences. When asked what you need for a good song, veteran songwriter Harlan Howard, who penned classics such as I Fall to Pieces and Heartaches by the Numbers, said: "Three chords and the truth". I firmly believe that. Back then when I was listening to Ray Charles on our Dansette record player, singing You Win Again, I had no idea he was covering a song by Hank Williams. When Charlie Pride sang Tiger by the Tail, it was my introduction to the songs of Buck Owen. This was the early seventies, I was in to Bowie and Bolan, and yet I knew off by heart all the words to Johnny Cash's A Boy Named Sue. One album, in particular that had a profound effect on me was Marty Robbins' Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs. The storytelling, the rhymes and the metre are still a benchmark for me. I have heard songs here in Nashville that have given me the same goosebumps that hearing Robbins singing The Master's Call gave me back then. 

I played at a venue called Richard's Cafe in White's Creek, about ten miles north of Nashville, situated across the road from where Jessie and Frank James once hid out. Although it's only half an hour from Nashville, you are transported to the owner's home state of Louisiana. There is Cajun food on the menu - I had Alligator Bites, Red Beans and Rice, and Jambalaya. Oh, and Pecan Pie! Richard is also a musician and songwriter. He makes Tony Joe White sound like James Blunt. Even our waiter is in on the act: he casually announces that last week he had a song of his played on the TV drama, Nashville. 

After my gig at Richard's, I headed back into town to Bobby's Idle Hour Tavern, one of the most difficult open mic nights to get into. Although I wasn't booked to perform, the English accent swung it. 

What I didn't count on, was that when the doors closed the real business started. I was told that the barman, Jonathan, was a great writer but that he rarely played. I cajoled him that I would not be here again, and eventually, he agreed to play. The songs, and the unique, laconic style he played them in left me stunned. One song about the devastation that man is wreaking on the planet called Only Man Can Make a Mountain Cry made me cry. After he finished, the guitar was passed around. Thankfully, I wasn't next. But as the guitar went from one writer to the next, it was brought home to me once more that this city really was the home of songwriting.

Right: Scott Stilwell at Douglas Corner Cafe

Another venue name that that kept cropping up was - The Douglas Corner Cafe; where the great Guy Clark recorded his live album, Keepers. 

I took the bus. but being dropped off at a junction where Robert Johnson might have said, "Hmm, maybe not" did make me wonder about the merits of wandering the streets of midtown Nashville with a thousand dollar guitar.

The venue is, to put it mildly – earthy: dark and dingy - everything I hoped it would be. It was hosted by Donny Winters, whose band, The Winters Brothers Band were contemporaries of Lynard Skynrd and the Allman Brothers, and whose father had played with Marty Robbins. Every now and then, from behind the mixing desk, Donny would add some incredibly beautiful dobro playing to the music being played on the stage.

As Nobody had served me so well at the Bluebird, I opened with that. Once again, it hit the spot. When it came time to do my second song, I opted for Crazy. I invited a young girl who had played earlier, up on stage to play the trombone solo from the recording - on kazoo! It worked a treat. I made lots of friends that night.

Brad from Oklahoma, and Scott from Iowa iinvited me down to the National Songwriters Association International (NSAI) on Music Row to write a song with them. Co-writing is a common occurrence in Nashville but it was new to me. Brad offered up a song he had that he was happy for us to work on. It's hard criticising someone's song when you don't know them. Fortunately, Tomorrow is too Late is a good song; it just needed knocking into shape. Scott and I both contributed valuable changes and we all went away thinking it was a better song; Brad is now back in Oklahoma recording it.

Left: Playing Elvis's piano at RCA

I felt as though I ought to hit the tourist trail; there is a lot to do here but I decided to be selective. I visited the famous RCA Studio B where Elvis recorded a huge amount of material. Jim Reeves, The Everly Brothers, Dolly Parton and Roy Orbison were regulars, too. Walking in to the studio gave me goosebumps. When I was invited to play the piano which featured on literally hundreds of hit songs including the Big O's Crying and Elvis's Are you Lonesome Tonight? it was all I could do to stop myself welling up. 

Right: The Ryman Auditorium

I didn't think that experience could be topped. But the following day, I visited the Ryman Auditorium, a converted gospel tabernacle, known as the "Mother Church" of Country Music, which was home for many years to the famous Grand Ole Opry radio show. While I was waiting in line to have my picture taken on stage, I started thinking about all the greats who had graced that stage over the years: Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, Buck Owens; and the ladies : Patsy, Dolly, Tammy and Emmylou; and of course, Hank Williams. When I got on stage, the guide handed me a Martin guitar. I strummed it and it was in tune. I couldn't resist it; I started singing and playing Your Cheating Heart. Quietly, at first. The photographer said: "Belt it out, sir." so I did. the acoustics were amazing. I was lost in the moment. I like to think that a ghostly choir of Hank, Patsy and Johnny were singing along with me. The people in the auditorium clapped along and applauded at the end. So, now I can tell people that I've sung at the Ryman.

I came to Nashville because I'd always wanted to visit the place where all those albums my dad had were recorded. But I also had a new album of my own, Songs From the Last Chance Saloon to promote, and I wanted to see if those songs would stand up by themselves in the home of songwriting. Despite its title, it is not a Country album, and yet, in some way I feel like I'm bringing it back home. I come from an Irish background; the folk traditions of Ireland heavily influenced Country music, so I like to think that that is why my songs have been accepted so readily, here in Tennessee. 

I have been humbled on my visit to Nashville. By the kindness of the people, by the passion with which the writers of these songs live their lives, but mostly, by the songs I have heard. And I have been privileged to have been accepted as a colleague by the many songwriters I have met in the past two weeks.

I know in my heart that this will not be my only visit to Nashville. I've made too many friends here not to come back here someday, soon. There is a real community of spirit in this town. I think it helps songwriters to be among like-minded souls when striving to realise a dream. They might be waiting tables or tending bars but when you ask them what they do, they say: "I'm a songwriter". I've always said that I write songs not because I want to but because I need to. In a bar, late one night, one Nashvillian put it quite succinctly, when he said: "You don't choose music, music chooses you".

Till next time, Music City, "If the Good Lord is willing and the creek don't rise."

Letter From America: Part 1

On the tenth anniversary of my first visit to Nashville in April 2014, here's a blog I wrote at the time…

The flight from London to Nashville was via Detroit.

This flight was eight hours long. Eight long hours.

I spent the 4-hour wait for my connecting flight in a bar, sipping Budwieser and watching American football on TV - I hadn't a clue what was going on, except that it was extremely violent. It's like rugby played by psychopaths dressed as Robocop.

The flight to Nashville was an hour and a half but the clocks went back another hour, so now I'm six hours behind. I arrived in Nashville at 10.30pm but my body knew it was really 4.30am.

The cab ride into town was interesting. Every signpost had me singing a different song: Memphis (in the Meantime); Chatanooga (Choo choo); Clarksville (Last Train to); Knocksville (Girl). Excited but extremely tired, I fell in to bed and was asleep in seconds.

I woke up  early the next day and looked around for a diner to have breakfast in. A policeman recommended Puckett's, saying it served "the best country breakfast in Nashville". If the breakfasts on offer were part of your regular diet, you would die of a heart attack within months - but I had to try certain foods at least once. I can now reveal the mystery of what "grits" are: basically porridge. A porridge which some diners put cheese on. Imagine Quaker's Oats on the same plate as your full English breakfast and you're nearly there.

Whatever breakfast you order, it is served up with incredibly attentive service and a smile - and the famous bottomless cup of coffee (I managed six refills before I felt guilty!). When will we adopt this policy in the UK?