Theme Time: Nashville Here I Come

This article was the first one I wrote for the Pickers In A Jam newsletter. It appeared in the March 1997 issue.

My family's trips to Nashville come few and far between. The first was four years ago when I was in ninth grade. We went to the SPBGMA convention and I, never having been to IBMA, was quite overwhelmed. It was far and away the most exciting thing I'd ever experienced. This particular trip changed my life in a big way because it was there that I saw Little Roy Lewis picking the banjo and decided that was what had to do. So I did.

My tenth grade trip to SPBGMA was notable because it was the first time I'd ever been to the Station Inn, the first time I'd ever seen the Del McCoury Band and the first time I'd ever met Ronnie McCoury. Big weekend. Our third and final trip to SPBGMA was significant because my brother went to the Grand Old Opry, met Bill Monroe, and got him to sign a napkin to me. I also ate lunch at The Cooker with John Hartford, among others, and was charmed and honored when he ordered me a glass of fruit tea. Up until this year, that was the sum total of our Nashville excursions. There was a year that we didn't go at all—twelfth grade—but now, in my first year of college, we decided that we had deprived Nashville of our presence long enough.

This New Year's was important because it marked the end of a tumultuous, albeit exciting year, saddened by the deaths of too many important people and close friends. The new year is filled with possibilities and I hope it will be a great deal less significant than the last. It was only appropriate that it be celebrated at the Station Inn.

It promised to be a big night. The Nashville Bluegrass Band and the Sidemen were playing. My brother Chris and I went over early with our aunt, who works there. We were the first to arrive. As we walked in, the building was dark and silent, smelling faintly of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol—big surprise. But the silence was not dead and already the air was tinged with excitement of the night to come. There was much to do, so while our aunt got ready behind the bar, Chris and I took care of the decorations. We put party favors and noise makers on the tables and hung up streamers, lots of streamers. When the lights were turned down it looked like Henry and Henry Interior Design had done a bang-up job.

People started arriving at 6:30, for a nine o'clock show, so when the Sidemen--Terry Eldridge, Mike Bub, Rob McCoury, Rootin' Tootin' Gene Wooten, Mike Compton, and Jason Carter--took the stage, the crowd was primed and ready. The band blasted off with a twin fiddle version of Roanoke, courtesy of Jason Carter and Stuart Duncan. Stuart was a special guest for the first number, after which he left the stage, but we heard more from him later. They continued on their journey with “Today Has Been A Lonesome Day,” sung by Terry Eldridge. I could listen to that man sing forever. To further that purpose I had installed myself on the very front row. Decorator's privilege. Midway through the set the stage was graced with the presence of Ronnie McCoury, much to my satisfaction. He sang "Angelina" and significantly raised the beauty index of the stage, not that it was hurting before.

The next additions to the ever-growing conglomeration of musicians, which already included Paul Zonn, the world's only bluegrass clarinet player, were my brother, on mandolin, and Ed Dye, on vocals and bones. Ed, if you are not familiar with him, is one of the biggest characters in bluegrass. He has been around the Nashville scene forever, plays the Dobro, is a card carrying member of the Sidemen, and has appeared with the Nashville Jug Band, the Front Porch String Band, and the Nashville Mandolin Ensemble. Tonight he was in rare form, decked out in a tuxedo with long underwear underneath. He sang "Country Boy" and "Sick, Sober, and Sorry," dedicated to "all you people in the morning." His confetti-throwing self whipped the crowd into a frenzy before making way for the Nashville Bluegrass Band.

The NBB delivered their usual consistently good material and provided some hilarious stage patter that wouldn't be appropriate to relate here. The highlight of the set was when they gave away the door prize—a ham. Yours Truly was invited on stage to draw the ticket. While I drew I received one of the biggest honors of my life: Alan O'Bryant bit me on the leg. I'm not kidding. It was no little nip either, it hurt. From what I've heard he doesn't bite just anybody, so I felt special. The lady who won the ham's last name was Fish. Ed Dye commented, “I can see the headline now ‘FISH GETS HAM!!’” It induced much laughter and applause.

As the hour drew close to midnight the champagne started flowing and the crowd got loud. We rang in the New Year with “Auld Lange Sine” but the music didn't stop there. Various people played until about 1:30 a.m. in a laid back festive atmosphere. After the music was over, everyone mingled and talked until the last person was ushered out at three a.m.

Chris and I left in the same manner that we had arrived. The building was dark and silent, still smelling of smoke and alcohol. But it was not a sad departure, or a final one, because we knew that the building would be swinging again the next night and every night thereafter. We drove home the next day but this trip has changed my life too. I now know that I have to move to Nashville. Whether in the near future or down the road, I know it’s the place for me. [Editor's note: in 2001 I did move to Nashville!]