I am at a loss to think of something to write about today, so here is a piece I wrote for Rhythms magazine quite a while ago. It’s in three parts. Part one today.
It’s a Saturday night and I’m in a run-down building in an unpopular part of town, just wondering what the hell I’m going to witness in the next room. This is Lucy’s Record Shop at 1707 Church Street, and it’s packed with 16-25 year olds wearing an oddball assortment of regalia. There are dogs wandering around, general disorderly mayhem, and the strongest substance openly available is Pepsi-Cola. I absentmindedly flip through the CDs on sale as I wait for the next band to come on.
There are five bands playing tonight, and I have arrived somewhere in the middle of the action. I believe I may have found the motherlode of alternative music here in Nashville as I peruse an amazing collection of independent releases and immediately wish that my credit card was not already backed up to the max. Soon I hear movement from around the corner which leads me to believe that the next band may be about to come on.
I walk into the next room only to witness them tuning up for about three hours, (I’m exaggerating, but it was a long time). Two nerds on electric bass and lead guitar respectively, who must be brothers, a drummer who looks like…..a drummer, and a thin, greasy singer who looks like Pee Wee Herman meets Don Corleone from the Godfather. One.. two.. three Ah!
It’s a cacophony of sound, but it’s… great! It’s so fucking loud and there are guys standing so close to the front of house that their ears must be pulsing blood. “People Program” are a very strange and exotic band from Chicago, who are a cross between The Ramones and Captain Beefheart and then some. I am grateful that they appear to have rehearsed a lot, and I wish that everyone who picked up a musical instrument showed such thoughtfulness. Well I just enjoyed it immensely but I had to leave as the desire for a strong alcoholic beverage took over so I took off for a place called “The Lava Lounge” which sounded quite interesting. Instead I found myself on Elliston Place, location of the Exit/In and some lesser known musical establishments. Frankly the Exit/In just didn’t look too happenin’, so I opted for a place three doors down called “The Sherlock Holmes Pub”. I left America out on Elliston Place and entered the world of Jolly Olde England for a while.
In a place where beer is almost a cheap as gasoline, it was a shock to find out that in this establishment that a pint of Guinness cost me five bucks! The music was good however, and the clientele interesting enough for me to want to remain there for the rest of the evening. The pub’s music is provided by five fellows who basically sit around drinking beer whilst endlessly performing exquisite Irish/Celtic? toons on a variety of stringed and wind instruments. I really don’t know what you call it, but it sounds like that Riverdance crap on valium. (I’m joking) It was actually very soothing and I could have sat there sipping expensive, imported Irish stout until my wallet ran dry. The next day I discovered that the battery in my car had been fried and that drove me into a state of deep despair. I only had myself and George Hamilton the Fifth to blame for this, so there was no point crying about it. Here’s the thing. It’s so incredibly easy to buy a car here in Tennessee that one can get a little reckless with ones purchases. There is no such thing as a pink slip, green slip, roadworthy check or any of that stupid, annoying shite that poor, miserable, ripped off Australians must endure to have the privilege of owning a car. I know it’s good to be safe but does it have to cost so bloody much? All you need to pay to own a car here is a yearly license tag fee of $23. Yes, that’s $23, not $233 or $600 or think of a number and double it as is the case in ‘Stralia.
I say, “Let The Revolution Begin!” and soon. Let’s not even begin to speak of the price of gas.
Now I have owned many cars but this one takes the cake. I knew it was going to be trouble when I saw it. It’s a sapphire blue, 1966 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham, Limousine edition. This is a monster of a car, a behemoth, the last of the full size American auto maker excesses before the Middle East troubles put the frighteners on everyone and jacked up the price of crude. It’s a mothership, and it’s the coolest thing you’ll find in any part of town. In a country where a lot of vehicles look spectacular, this vehicle is The King Of The Road. Baby, it’s Big Daddy!
It also doesn’t lock and has certain peculiarities that give me reason to think that it may be possessed. Having said that I love it, and wouldn’t swap it for anything less than an 85 Lincoln Town Car, as driven by Geo Jones. It’s also loaded with extras like electrically heated seats, automatic station seek, cruise control, electrically operated everything, (including the little vent windows at the front and rear), and little pull down mahogany tray tables and footrests in the back seats, so’s y’all can have a table to write a number one toon on, and in comfort on your way to yore next engaygement.
A ’66 Fleetwood Brougham
Speakin’ of engagements, I have been playing a couple of places since I got here. One of them, ‘The Wagon Burner’ , down on Broadway, finally closed it’s weary doors at the end of December and I had played there a couple of times to mixed reaction. The second time I played the Wagon Burner, I cleared the room. It wasn’t really that hard because the room was pretty darn clear to begin with. I was basically a guest of George Hamilton V during his regular weekly stint down there. This night was particularly fun because we had the writer of that wonderful Geo Jones hit song, ‘Yabba Dabba Doo, The King Is Gone’ (and so are you), playing rhythm geetar. I’m proud to say that Roger also played for me on the debut performance of a new song of mine called, ‘I May Be Moody (But I Ain’t Blue)’. The Wagon Burner is totally weird and it may be a good thing that it’s gone for good. Pat, the woman who ran the establishment, was not the friendliest of people, and in fact, had many times chased customers out of the place because she didn’t like the shoes they were wearing or some such trivial reason. Of all the people you may choose to run a bar, she was not the most gifted at keeping the place solvent. Think of Moe’s Bar in the Simpsons and you’re getting close. Come to think of it, Pat and Moe would make the perfect couple
But elsewhere I have had a torrid time. My house is haunted and I think I’m going insane. Every afternoon at sundown a big monster called depression comes out of the hallway and roams about the house scaring the hell out of me.
The cranky old man next door has gone away, and the house on the other side has been vacant for the duration of my stay here. This thing is starting to get to me, and I feel like I won’t get out here alive. It sounds like I’m being melodramatic, and I can see the foolishness of this train of thought, but nevertheless the feeling is real and quite frightening. Stupidly, when I left Australia to come here, I made rash statements such as, “I’m leaving and I’m never coming back”, which gives you an idea of my dissatisfaction with the path my so-called career had been taking. Now these words have come back to haunt me, and I feel like I will never get back to The Land Down Under. I can’t, for the life of me, ever see myself back Australia, and in my fevered mind, I picture myself the victim of any number of tragic mishaps. Yesterday, two employees of the local Captain D’s seafood restaurant are shot in the back of the head execution-style and left in the freezer, as the robber made off with the cash. A local school girl doing a part time job and the 26 year old manager with a wife and two kids, blotted out forever by some creep, who probably wanted money for drugs. It’s appalling and it makes me scared to venture out doors. I can’t stay indoors either, and so I am perpetually wandering about the house frightened out of my wits.
Faron Young – killed himself 10th of December of 1996. Probably the same week I wrote this article
I have bought a video camera in a effort to document my adventures here, and one night, as I am taping myself talking into the lens, I see the hallway light which is reflected in the tv screen, go out behind me. I play back the tape and just as I say the words, “I’ve had a happy time and a sad time here in Nashville”, the light goes out on the word “sad”, as if on cue. I am really spooked now, and so I decide I must get rid of whatever it is that is making my life some kind of zombie like hell. I didn’t obtain that mail order $25 Doctorate of Divinity from the back pages of the National Enquirer for nothing you know. Later on I drove around town with the video recorder on inside the car, while I talked about stuff. When I played it back later, there was a voice I didn’t recognize which responded to something I said. This only compounded the paranoia that I already had too much of.
This is where the ghostly voice appeared in the video.
The next day is Saturday, and I’m now holding a full scale house cleansing session. I have subsequently learnt from George that the folks who lived here previously had experienced some phantom activity, particularly in the hallway, which is where I am now conducting this ritual. Suddenly a great gust of cold wind blasts out of this area and hits me square in the face. I can’t believe this is happening, and all at once I feel an immense wave of sadness come over me. I actually start to cry real tears at this point, because I feel such terrible unhappiness, and then it seems to move away. I’m not the crying type, so that was just weird. I am saying “It’s ok, you don’t have to stay here, you can leave this horrible place, go towards the light.” When in doubt, I can safely recommend that one. Just to be sure, I keep a candle burning in the middle of the floor in the hallway for most of the rest of the day, and after a long while it splutters and finally goes out. I don’t have any more trouble with spooks after that, so maybe I was successful. If you do have unwanted spirits lurking about, call me.
I decide it’s time to leave Nashville. I’m running out of money and the haunted house business has left me feeling like a complete wreck. I don’t think I can achieve much more at this stage, and I really need to earn some money, which I can’t do legally here anyway. It’s not something that I want to do, but I don’t want to stay here like this either. I’m stuck in limbo like the spirits who were trapped in the hallway, only I’m alive, thank God.
Part 2 Tomorrow