Hubbard at Tin Pan South

Birmingham Steve recently posted a few videos from the April 1 Tin Pan South shows at Mercy Lounge. Lucky for me, he caught my favorite song from Hubbard’s set. Lucky for Wife, he caught all of Mike Ferris’s set.

The night started out with a writers-in-the-round set with Mike Ferris, Amy Speace, and Ray Wylie Hubbard. I don’t remember the set lists exactly, Hubbard started it off and I hate to say that I can’t remember the name of it, but it was a good ‘en, and I remember thinking how much it wasn’t fair for Amy Speace to have to follow him.

Then it was Speace’s turn, and she knocked it out, too. I think she sang “The Killer in Me”. Whether she sang that one first or last, I don’t remember, but she sang that one.

And I’m sitting there with my Jack/water, and Wife and SIL, thinking “Well, what’s Ferris gonna do, because I don’t think he can do all that gospel stuff by himself.” And then he sang “Mary, Don’t You Weep” by himself and he just nailed it. My jaw dropped, I was so blown away. I’ve seen him perform at the 2008 Americana Music Awards, but that was with the band and the taxi squad. But I was amazed with the sound he was able to bring out just by himself.

Hubbard was up next and had the quote of the night. “I feel like a stain,” he said.

Indeed.

Rather than even trying to top Ferris’s performance, Hubbard sang “Snake Farm”, which includes the lyrics “Snake farm. Kinda sounds nasty. Snake farm. Pretty much is.” (Repeat and Repeat.) I was never a big “Snake Farm” fan, primarily because it was my second Hubbard album, after “Delirium Tremolos”, and it was a big let down. But Hubbard turned “Snake Farm” into a sing-along and took the crowd back.

Ferris closed with “That’s How I Got to Memphis” and then Hubbard closed with “The Messenger”, both seen here, courtesy of Birmingham Steve.

Congrats to Birmingham Steve aka “Sparky”, who I got to meet that night, for reaching the million views mark with his YouTube videos. I think I may have been the millionth view, and as far as my history of the event will be recorded, it was Grayson Capps singing “Love Song for Bobby Long.”

There’s no video of the Daddy set that followed the Ferris-Speace-Hubbard portion of the program. Without even looking at the tape, Sparky said that the bass drum was so loud (and it was!) that it probably knocked out the mic.

That’s okay. I have my memories. And a set list.

Drive Fast and Take Chances

A few weeks ago I got a traffic ticket in my subdivision for not coming to a complete stop. Getting a ticket in your subdivision is bad enough, but the policeman pulled me over in my own driveway! My son was playing nearby and there was some other drama going on about a dog and a rabbit that my son was much more interested in, to the point that twice he ran right past the policeman and me standing in our driveway without even looking over at us. The policeman says to me, “Got you on your way home, huh?” and I responded in the affirmative, thinking this would trigger some sort of fairplay clause where he would tell me that he was going to let me go this time with a warning, being as how I have such a clean record and all. Apparently that was as likely as Officer Obie giving Arlo Guthrie and his friends a medal for being so brave and honest on the telephone.

I paid the ticket today. $125, thank you very much. Apparently I could have gone to traffic school instead of paying the fine. But that’s a pain, and you have to go up to the court to elect that. I have a work thing on my scheduled court date, so I just decided to just "pay the fifty dollars and pick up the garbage", in a manner of speaking. Really, I didn’t decide anything—Wife encouraged me to pay the ticket because she knows otherwise I'd let it slide and then wind up with a warrant for my arrest. She bought the money order, prepared the envelope and told me where to sign. She’s trying to keep me out of jail.

So, if you are in my subdivision, “drive real fast and take a lot of chances” so Officer Obie will have you pulled over when I come rolling on through that stop sign.

It’s Friday, and everyone needs a good happy song on Friday. Hopefully I’ll have “Don’t It Make You Want to Dance” in my head all day long. I have a co-worker who tries to fill my head with pop ditties, like the “doohdoohdooh…” from Sugarland’s “All I Want to Do” song.

Actually, that Sugarland song doesn’t suck.

Kind of makes me want to dance. Makes me want to smile.

But maybe I just like that Jennifer Nettles.

"Strike up a conversation with a stranger at the Nashville Film Festival"

Wife and I are heading out to the Nashville Film Festival this evening in Green Hills. Tonight's attraction is the theatre debut of Peace Queer: the Movie. Actually, that’s my primary reason for attending. Wife’s primary reason is that she likes to hang out with me. And that’s cool.

Assuming we can talk to a stranger in line at the Festival, we will check off another item from the list of “125 Things to Do In Nashville Before You Die”. Also, assuming that we can find any kid friendly movies at the Festival this weekend, we’ll come back Sunday and maybe string together a trip over to Bobbie’s Dairy Dip for a cheeseburger and a chocolate-dipped cone.

Portrait of the Artist as a Slobbish Old Man

The Girl and I get along really well and I know exactly how lucky I am to have a thirteen year old daughter who seems to be stable and who seems to like me. I also know that the same may not be true tomorrow and that we’ll enter into a seven year dark period. But I’m not the kind of guy to borrow trouble from tomorrow, you know?

We share many common interests, including photography. The Girl has an eye for details when it comes to photograph composition. A co-worker once commented on a picture she liked from my Flickr page, and was surprised to find it was one I had taken—she had presumed it came from the Girl. Given this shared interest in photography, it’s not unusual for us to get in the car and haul off to take pictures with not more of an excuse than “there is a pretty sunset”, “the cows are down at Sherrie Creek”, or “we have time before supper.”

Last weekend I had a new camera to try out. It’s my first SLR camera, and what I consider to be my first “real” camera. (I remember thinking the same thing when I went from a Kodak 110 camera to a point-and-shoot 35mm camera as a young married adult.) So, the Girl and I ventured out along the normal route. We had fun, but I can always tell when she believes we are in an area that has too much visibility and therefore risks the chance that someone she knows might see her out taking pictures with her dad. I was 13 once. I know what its like to be embarrassed by my parents. Plus, she tells me “I’m going to wait in the car”.

My dad loved (still does) to give people grief at restaurants and stores, in what he thought was a light hearted way. “50 cents for a biscuit!? Why I could make one at home for 20 cents…” was one of his favorite routines, which would lead to him spelling out all the ingredients that went into a biscuit, how much they cost at the store, proving out his math, etcetera etcetera etcetera. This routine was by no means limited to biscuits. I’ve seen it performed with cherry pie, and coffee. I still don’t know if he just thought he was being funny, or if he honestly thought it was relevant that he could have made the biscuit cheaper at home. I mean, what’s the point? If it’s so cheap and convenient, then go home and make it. Geez. I remember the first time he did this with me when I was a teenager—it was a the Grandy’s on Louisville Avenue in Monroe, Louisiana. Once when I was an adult and I took him to eat at one of my favorite dives, he ordered pecan pie and I could see him getting ready to crank up when he saw that the slice cost like $3. “Be quiet,” I told him. “I’m paying for it, and I think it’s a bargain at twice the price.”

Other hits from my dad’s repertoire included “The One Cent Tip” with the bonus track of explaining to the waitress why a one penny tip was actually a compliment, “Flirting with the Waitress” with the extended play versions that included flirting with any female seated at nearby tables and telling girls my age that they should meet me, and “This Didn’t Have a Price Tag, So It Must Be Free”.

I grew up with my mom, though, so I only had to deal with my dad for a few hours on Saturday every now and then. My mom’s most embarrassing habit was that she liked to walk around and pickup aluminum cans. Later, we’d stomp them flat and take them to the recycling place. We were certainly on the lower end of the income scale, but I don’t think she was picking them up because they were helping us make ends meet or anything—I think she just liked to pick them up because it was a thrifty thing to do, like figuring out where you could buy gasoline for a penny-per-gallon cheaper. It was just as natural of a thing for her to do—a collection of sorts—as the fact that I like to collect set lists from bands and artists I see perform. But man was I mortified that someone I knew would see me out on the side of the road picking up cans.

So, I try to minimize situations where I’m an embarrassment to my kids, and I don’t mind at all if they don’t want to be seen in public with me. Sometimes I’m embarrassing to myself.

(photograph of me taken by The Girl, from her seat inside the car.)

The Excitement Plan