"Eat at Athens Restaurant on Franklin Pike at 3:30 a.m. [...]"

I went to the Justin Townes Earle show at The Basement this past Wednesday. I enjoyed the show, partook of an appropriate quantity of whiskey and cigarettes, and got a CD autographed to boot. JTE’s stage presence reminded me of those old time Grand Ole Opry performers who are maybe a little bit campy with their stage remarks. “Hey Cory, let’s sing that one that girl didn’t appreciate”, he said before explaining that he writes a lot of songs for girls but that the girls don’t always like the songs because he tends to write the song during the downward phase of the relationship. But make no mistake, JTE, Cory Younce, and Josh Hardin put together a nicely paced show, with tight harmonies, and good crowd response (except for this guy who passed out on the front row.) The next morning, I told my wife that one of the things I loved so much about live music in small clubs was the performers connection with the crowd. "I mean, do you think Brad Paisley at the Sommett this weekend is going to yell to the sound guy, 'Hey Marty, can give me a little more me on my monitor?'"

After the show, I went a few blocks up the street to the Athens Family Restaurant, to complete the “125 Things to Do in Nashville Before You Die” that says “Eat at Athens Restaurant on Franklin Pike at 3:30 a.m. after a long night of drinking.” It was midnight, not 3:30 a.m., but I think it still get to count it. After all, it was a work night.

Here is my journal entry from the night, which I wrote while at Athens.

Just left The Basement seeing Justin Townes Earle. Amanda Shire opened the show. She had cool songs and she played the fiddle; but holy cow was she a piece of eye candy in her short white dress that looked like lingerie, worn with red cowboy boots. Oh my.

So anyway, I’m hanging out at the Athens Family Restaurant after the JTE show and who do I see but Charlie—the guy who played guitar for our poetry reading at the Ugly Mug.

“This was the first record I ever owned,” one guy said and he was talking about that Pink Floyd record with that song “Money”. “Really?” someone said, and the first guy said, “Yeah” and smiled like you might when thinking about kissing a girl that was too pretty for a guy like you to be kissing. And then another kid at the same table—they were all kids; none of them had seen 30 yet—for some reason stood up and started singing “Jesus Christ Super Star” complete with big sweeping Broadway show arm motions and the other kids swatted at him and told him to sit down. The one girl at the table leaned over at the impromptu performer as if to say “You are so crazy and that’s why I’m so head over heals in love with you” while another kid talked about some special way Pink Floyd recorded that album. The waiter threw in his two cents. Its one of the reasons I love living Nashville. In other places, everyone one is a football coach; here, everyone is a musician.

“We are out of whipped cream”, a girl said a different table with another couple of youngsters. I’d be surprised if anyone at this table had celebrated a 25th birthday. I looked over at them because, well, hearing a girl say she’s out of whipped cream, you just have to check that out. But its not what you might think—she was eating strawberry shortcake. “When do I get my food?” one guy asked the waitress when she came to bring the second can of whipped cream. “I had the same think he had,” he said, motioning to the plate of the second guy at the table, who was already plowing into whatever it was that they had both ordered. “Sorry,” said the waitress, and the guy said “Nevermind.” “It’ll just take like two minutes”, she said, but he said “That’s okay. Nevermind.”

“Ron Paul runs the whole thing,” said a man who was probably thirty but didn’t seem to worry about forty yet. His head was shaved and he wore thick black earrings that were banded and reminded me of something I’ve attached to the end of a hook in a fruitless attempt to attract fish. He wore a Luck 13 shirt, and was talking to another man. A pack of American Sprit cigarettes sat between their plates, as the bald guy said something about how we helped the Chinese beat the Japanese. When they weren’t talking, they were each reading books, but I couldn’t tell what the books were.

One by one they all left and I was alone except for the waiter whose Uncle had the recipe for the calamari I was eating along with my steak and eggs. Calamari and steak/eggs between midnight and 1 am may sound odd, but I can never pass up calamari or steak/eggs. I've just never been to a place where both were served. I didn't look at the dessert menu, because what if they had tarrimissu and creme brulee, I would have been forced to eat those too.

(Athens Family Restaurante photo by Eugene Peretz)