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Last Saturday saw another outing of my new trio when we played to another standing room only, sold-out show at the Fillin’ Station in Kingston Springs, TN and boy was it fun! Okay, maybe it wasn’t standing room only, but I always wanted to say that, and besides, we played like it was a full house. It was another cold, wintry Saturday night in middle Tennessee and we had just received our seventh snow storm of the season a few days prior (it’s already snowed more times this winter than it had in the previous seven since I’ve been here). So we were feeling a little housebound and it was good to get out and play.
“It’s like eating ice cream.” That’s how Mike Chapman, my good friend and bassist in this project, described our band and the gig after the show – it’s as fun as fun can ever be, and it comes without any real purpose or pretense other than to simply be fun. At this point of my career, and life for that matter, outings with this trio are perhaps the most enjoyable experiences I ever have when it comes to playing music. Not that my other musical activities and work aren’t fun, I have found a way to enjoy just about every musical situation at this point, but many of them are on somebody else’s dime, and that almost always creates a whole other mindset and set of expectations.
Take my job with Rhett Akins for example. It’s a great job, we go on the road couple of times a month, I get to hang out with my friends, play some great shows, and get driven around the country on fancy tour buses. Of course I also have to advance shows, deal with event coordinators, production companies, etc. – there’s a lot of responsibility with my job and that can often be accompanied by stress.
The same applies to working on songwriter demos, another one of the hats I wear. Building songs in my home studio, recording drums, guitar tracks, vocals – while these are still dynamic and challenging musical activities, they are on someone else’s dime, therefore, I must work quickly and efficiently and put aside my creative differences in the name of pleasing my clients – the customer is always right. But it’s still all music related work, and that’s great, it’s what I set out to do a long time ago. Not to mention, I’m making my living doing something I love.
There is one thing that I have noticed after what is now more than two decades of working in the music business full-time, it’s called desensitization. After a lifetime of musical activity I have logged many thousands of hours on my instrument, played over 3000 live shows, and worked on countless studio recordings. I’ve also listened to thousands of recordings, as so many of us have. This oversaturation (for lack of a better word) of musical activity can take away some of that special spark that we had in our younger years. I can never again hear the music of Jimi Hendrix or the Allman Brothers for the first time again. Not to mention the power of youth, as a friend of mine once said “There’s nothing like a teenager playing music, they always play with reckless abandon.”
So now I’m all grown up and playing for a living and, while I am thrilled about how it all worked out, I still long for that kind of fix that I used to get daily from music in my younger years. That’s where my trio comes into play. My good friend Mike Chapman is a legend in Nashville, one of the finest bass players you’ll ever meet, and my experiences in the music business to date are only a small fraction of what he has experienced. The same is true of my other compadre in this project, friend and drummer extraordinaire Fran Breen. At one point Fran was so busy in the music world that he turned down an opportunity to tour with Van Morrison.
After nine years of playing and working in Nashville I have come to know these fine players as friends, in addition to working with them on different gigs over the years, and this is perhaps one of the biggest perks of living in Nashville. I wasn’t going to meet Mike and Fran in my native New England. And it turns out we share some common ground. Sometimes they need a musical “fix” too, and perhaps that is why they are enjoying this trio project as much as I am. Literally every time we finish playing one of these gigs I find myself excitedly awaiting the arrival of the next one.
Touring the country, playing on big stages, working on recording projects, that’s all good and well. I’ve worked hard to accomplish everything I have and am thankful that it has all worked out. But for me and the guys, sometimes we just want a little ice cream.
Are you ever in complete silence? During the quietest moments of your life, lying in bed about to fall asleep or sitting alone in a quiet room, can you hear the sound of nothing? I wish I could say I can but I can’t. My ears ring constantly, every second of every day, and it’s been that way for over 10 years now. I have permanent nerve damage in my ears from the result of playing music too loudly for extended periods of time without ear protection. I have tinnitus.
“Tinnitus” is derived from the Latin word tinnire, which means to ring. As stated in Wikipedia, it can be caused by a variety of situations; ranging from exposure to excessive sound pressure levels for extended periods of time, ear infections, foreign objects in the ear, nose allergies that prevent or reduce fluid drain, or wax buildup. But sounds at excessive volume seem to be the most common cause. It is an extremely common condition, affecting as many as 50 million Americans (of which about 12 million have it severe enough to seek medical attention). And sadly, it is a condition for which there is no cure.
“You´re head is humming and it won´t go in case you don´t know…” – Robert Plant – Stairway to Heaven
That’s right, once you have it you will always have it, and it can progress if preventative measures (they’re called earplugs) aren’t taken.
“I have severe hearing damage. It’s manifested itself as tinnitus, ringing in the ears at frequencies that I play guitar. It hurts, it’s painful, and it’s frustrating.” says Pete Townshend. The excessive volume of The Who’s live performances combined with the deafening volume in which he (and John Entwhistle) listened to playbacks through studio headphones has resulted in tinnitus so severe that some reports have said he can’t even hear his phone ring. His affliction with tinnitus has caused him to abandon electric music performance more than once in recent years, rendering it only practical to play acoustic music live, as has also been the case with artists like Neil Young and Bob Dylan.
It’s not just caused by loud music either. It can be caused by any regular prolonged exposure to excessive volume. For instance, many members of our armed forces are exposed to everything from explosions to jet engines and gunfire to loud machinery, one recent article in the New Yorker estimating it affects nearly half the soldiers exposed to blasts in Iraq and Afghanistan.
How much volume can your ears handle?
How many times have you walked into a venue in which a band was playing and thought it was too loud? The human ear was simply not meant to withstand the sound pressure levels produced by megawatt PA systems, electric guitar amps, and even the acoustic, unamplified drum kit in close proximity (especially when played with some conviction). The following chart from the OSHA website shows what is considered permissible noise exposures:
|
Duration per day, in hours |
Sound level in dB* – Decibel level |
|
8 |
90 |
|
6 |
92 |
|
4 |
95 |
|
3 |
97 |
|
2 |
100 |
|
1.5 |
102 |
|
1 |
105 |
|
0.5 |
110 |
|
0.25 or less |
115 |
Your ears can be exposed to sound pressure levels of 90 dB for eight hours, after which point hearing damage can occur. This ratio is a sliding scale, so when the decibels are increased to 110 decibels (the volume of an average rock band), hearing damage can begin to occur in 30 minutes. The louder the SPLs become (sound pressure levels) the less duration your ears can handle.
Decibel Levels of Environmental Sounds (also from the OSHA website)
|
Source–Dangerous Level |
dBA SPL |
|
Produces Pain |
120-140 |
|
Jet Aircraft During Takeoff (at 20 meters) |
130 |
|
Snowmobile |
120 |
|
Rock Concert |
110 |
|
Die Forging Hammer |
100-105 |
|
Home Lawn Mowers |
95 to 100 dB |
|
Semi-trailers (at 20 meters) |
90 |
|
Source– |
dBA SPL |
|
Discomfort Level |
Above 80 |
|
Heavy Traffic |
80 |
|
Automobile (at 20 meters) |
70 |
|
Vacuum Cleaner |
65 |
|
Conversational Speech (at 1 meter) |
60 |
|
Quiet Business Office |
50 |
|
Residential Area at Night |
40 |
|
Whisper, Rustle of Leaves |
20 |
|
Rustle of Leaves |
10 |
|
Threshold of Audibility |
0 |
Mitigation and Prevention 
A friend of mine who lives in New England, one of my former guitar students, recently told me his ears have been ringing for about two years now. He plays in a popular regional jam band on the rise, Superfrog, a spirited group of young players making their mark across the Northeast. As did I in my earlier New England gigging days, they play with an energetic reckless abandon, and they, along with their loyal followers, are living in the magical moments of some of those roaring nightclub dance parties. When he first told me of the recent development of his tinnitus I don’t think he realized the true nature of this beast, how it can slowly progress over many years until it reaches the near unmanageable level of the Pete Townshend’s of the world. Upon discussing it with me he has now decided to invest in some custom musicians ear plugs, with his fellow bandmates also following suit. Some of the other guys in his band don’t have tinnitus yet, and adopting earplugs into their world may ensure they never do.
Living with Tinnitus
“Yes, it’s in my left ear. It’s excruciating…I mean, it’s the worst thing ’cause it’s not…It never…It does go away – it’s not true to say that it doesn’t but, uhh…It doesn’t…The doctors say it won’t…It isn’t actually going away – you’ve just gotta suppress…They try to come to terms with what it actually… Why some people fear it – that’s the psychology behind it. They know it’s there but why is it such a horrible sound? Well, you can say why is a guy scratching at a window with his nails such a horrible sound – I couldn’t put up with that! This is worse!” – Jeff Beck from an MTV interview in June 1993
The thing about tinnitus, and perhaps one of the reasons it’s hard to detect in its earliest stages, is that you don’t notice the ringing all the time, even though it’s always there. It depends on the threshold of the sound around you. If you are on the go from the moment you wake up till the moment you lay down to go to sleep at night, you likely won’t hear the ringing throughout your day, as many of the sounds of everyday life will mask it. It’s the quietest moments when it chooses to show itself. The concept of “masking” is quite useful, if not essential, for many tinnitus sufferers. I have a noise generator beside my bed that plays sounds of the ocean while I sleep. I set it on a volume that is just above the volume of my ringing, and this masks the ring enough for me to fall asleep. Some severely afflicted tinnitus sufferers use portable noise generators or play MP3s of soft music or different types of noise for most of their day, all in an effort to mask the relentless sounds in their head.
Some findings might suggest that avoiding or cutting back on alcohol, caffeine, and salt, among other substances, can help reduce the ringing. As tinnitus is considered partly a subjective condition, it becomes difficult to gauge how different variables affect the level of the ringing. I can’t say that I have personally had any success by adding or omitting any parts of my diet.
Stopping It Cold In Its Tracks
“Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed, with the echo from the amplifiers ringing in your head.”
– Bob Seger – Turn the Page
You can’t get rid of it but you can stop its progression. The one thing that has become completely obvious to me is that earplugs during exposure to loud sounds are ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL to prevent the ringing from escalating. I have been wearing custom molded musician’s earplugs, which can be acquired for about $150 with a visit to your local audiologist, for about 12 years now. I wear them not only when performing live with a band, but when mowing the lawn, vacuuming, operating a power saw, anything that causes excessive SPLs. When I’m sleeping on a tour bus, I sleep with foam earplugs to cut down on the rumble of the road. If I fly, I wear earplugs the whole time on the plane.
I’ve also learned how to turn down my music a bit. I’ve experimented with using less powerful guitar amps, speaker attenuators, and drummers that don’t “bash” quite so much. I’m cautious when recording with headphones as well, watching the volume and taking breaks often.
I urge everyone to heed this message. If you play loud music regularly, either live or in the studio, consider the earplugs option, it will be the best $150 you’ll ever spend on gear. And think about your audience too. Are you blowing them out of the room with your guitar amp, lead vocal, or snare drum? Is your band louder than it needs to be to get its point across? Are your ears ringing regularly from your construction job or your job at the airport? Are your kids listening to iPods on 11 all day long? If you think the answer might be yes to any of these, don’t wait until it’s too late to become proactive. Act now or you might wind up hearing the sound of a continual dog whistle for the rest of your life.
So when you have a quiet moment, ask yourself, your family, and your friends this one simple question –
Do you ever hear the sound of true silence?
The ever churning music scene of Nashville can be kind of quirky. Even though it has downsized a bit since its heyday of the booming 90s, it’s still a constant flurry of activity, with thousands of musicians of all levels and backgrounds continually searching and on the move. Searching for gigs, connections, opportunities, and quite often, searching for a pathway to a success that has yet to be defined. We’re all on the hunt for something more.
That’s how I felt when I first moved to Nashville, nearly 10 years ago. I didn’t really know exactly what I wanted to do here; I just knew I wanted to accomplish more than I had in my previous life as a nightclub performer and music teacher in New England. I can remember the sense of impatience and anxiety I felt during that first year, the endless thirst for musical activity – no gig was too big or small.
As a fresh arrival in 2002, I knew very little about how this place worked and relied on my friend and mentor “D” to fill in the blanks. “If you are looking for paying gigs, the country scene is where it’s at. It’s pretty much a freelance scene, but that’s where you’ll make the connections you’ll need to survive. Just get out there and start hitting the clubs and get to know people, sit-in whenever you can. But whatever you do, don’t join a band, bands starve.” All sound advice coming from a successful player who had already been here for 10 years.
“I’m really into blues and rock. Is there a scene here for that? I asked innocently. “There is, but you’re going to go broke if you only play that stuff here” was his reply “Plus you’ll get pigeonholed”. “Well if all this activity is basically hired guns, how do you just have a band for fun?” I asked, not wanting to accept this new fate. His solution was so simple – “After you get to know and become friends with some good players, just pick a night, book a gig, and go make some music with your buddies.”
While his advice made a lot of sense, it would take years for me to fully realize this new potential. I began digging in to the scene, networking, sitting in, and this approach worked. I played hundreds of gigs around the city during those first couple of years – Broadway gigs, Printers Alley gigs, gigs on the outskirts, showcases – you name it I played it. These gigs eventually lead to touring work and a couple of years later I began playing on songwriter demos too.
Now it’s 2011 and I’ve been here for nearly 10 years. I can’t believe how fast time flies, the last decade was a blur of endless activity. I didn’t move to Nashville to become a superstar or a songwriter, I came here to work as a player, and I’ve succeeded in that endeavor. I make my living (or the bulk of it) as a freelance musician, something I was not able to do prior to my Nashville days.
But something has still been missing and I just recently figured out what it was. I haven’t been playing music enough for the sheer joy of it. Nearly all of my music career dreams have come true. I’ve played in every state in the lower 48, Canada, parts of Europe; 
I’ve learned how to play guitar on recording sessions; I’m good friends with some of the finest musicians on the planet; I’m earning a living from my craft. But where’s the self-expression within all of this? Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of good music involved in what I do. But a lot of the music I do for pay is the result of somebody else’s expression, and at times, lacking a personal connection to me.
So last fall I finally decided it was time to follow ol’ Ds advice – “Pick a night, book a gig, and go make some music with your buddies.” I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m getting a little older and my priorities are changing, or because working as a freelance musician allows you to be a part of everything, without actually belonging to anything, but making some music for the soul on a regular basis with my friends is now a big priority for me.
While I’m making my living as a hired gun within the country side of this town, I have a new found love for my side project “Endless Boogie”, a band project that has no goal other than to simply provide me and my buddies with a night or two a month of self-expression through fun music. My good friends Fran Breen, drummer extraordinaire originally from Ireland (with the accent to prove it), and Mike Chapman, bad-ass bassist and member of Garth Brooks’ famed session band, the G-Men, were the first players I called for the gig. Even though they’ve both been here far longer than I, perhaps their love of just getting out there and playing is even more telling about working as a career freelance musician long-term.
A few months ago, when we did one of our first gigs at the Fillin’ Station in Kingston Springs, another player that new Mike walked in mid-set. He seemed surprised to see Mike on this “outside the microscope” gig and asked “What are YOU doing here?” Mike’s reply was honest and telling – “I’m playing.”
To me, this simple exchange says it all. What should have been obvious to the other fellow wasn’t. Not every gig has to be about money, prestige, or opportunity. While my buddies and I know the importance of a little music for the soul, it is easy to understand how a lifetime of working in the music industry can change that.
So what are you waiting for?
“Pick a night, book a gig, and go make some music with your buddies.”
Endless Boogie will be playing tonight, Tuesday, January 18 at the 12 South Tap Room, located next to Mafioso’s on 12th Avenue South, Nashville, TN. The show starts at 9 PM and we will be playing some of our favorites from Hendrix, Allmans, Santana, Muddy, and Miles, plus a few of our own. The tap room is one of the coolest “non-Nashville” bars in Nashville and has a great menu, friendly staff, a whole bunch of fancy beers on tap, and never a cover.
12 South Tap Room
2318 12th Ave South
Nashville, TN 37204
615-463-7552
Ask any musician or songwriter that’s been in Nashville for a while if they’ve ever heard of, or been to the Fiddle and Steel and most will 
say yes, for sure. The Fiddle and Steel Guitar Bar, aptly dubbed “The Steel”, is located in historic Printer’s Alley off of Church Street and has been a staple of the Nashville nightclub scene since 1996. This homey, rustic club, often referred to as “the cheers” bar of Music City, is a place where musicians, artists, tourists, and locals gather to enjoy great music, see old friends, and make new ones. The Steel has also been a launching pad for some of the biggest artists in country music today, including Rascal Flatts, Eric Church, and many others.
To many musicians working within the Nashville music industry, the Steel is a special place, kind of a home away from home. The club’s owner, Alison Bradsher, takes great pride in creating a vibe that is comfortable and relevant to music industry types, while still appealing to locals and tourists. The club has a decent PA system and one of the best sounding stages in the city, making it a desirable room in which to perform. In line with the clubs friendly nature, guest musicians and singers sit in regularly with the house bands, a tradition that dates back to the clubs earliest years.
Over the years, many Nashville players and artists have established friendships and relationships at the Steel that have helped their careers, often leading to other gigs, touring and recording work, kind of a “gateway club” for some. So it’s no wonder that a couple of visits to the Steel by my wife and I during our “Nashville field trip” in 2002 helped prompt us to move here in the first place.
During my first year in Nashville we were pretty steady regulars at the Steel, hardly missing any of the Tuesday night jams hosted by Ronnie Pittman, and frequenting the club as often as we could. By September of that year I was gigging regularly with Ronnie on Mondays at the Second Fiddle on Broadway while playing in Kentucky on the weekends, and it was during this time that I first met Frank Taylor, a talented singer and songwriter who frequented the Steel quite a bit back then. A deep-rooted part of the club’s fabric, Frank was one of the very first singers to ever perform at the Steel, and whenever he was around; his presence only seemed to further enhance the charm of the place.
So when he asked me if I would be interested in playing guitar for him at his regular Saturday night gig there, of course I said yes. He’s a great singer and audiences related to him, the club was a great hang, and I was ready to take the next step in my Nashville evolution – pretty much a 
no-brainer. So I gave notice to my house gig in Kentucky and started playing every Saturday night at the Steel.
I’m not sure how this lineup came to be, but our band consisted of Frank on lead vocals and acoustic, Jack Gavin on drums, Brenda Clarke on bass and vocals, Steve Poole on keys, and me on electric guitar and vocals. It was a great lineup, we gelled well. Every Saturday night I would park in a nearby parking garage and wheel my gear down the old cobblestone street of Printers Alley, past the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar, and into the Steel. Every gig was an adventure, you never knew who might show up or what we might attempt, so I was genuinely excited to 
play.
Frank isn’t the typical country singer; he has a unique angelic quality to his voice – soothing, soulful, yet compelling and almost hypnotic. He sang songs by artists like Vince Gill, Delbert McClinton, the Eagles, Jimmy Buffett, CCR, all of course with his own spin. He could make you laugh too. At least once a night he would say something like “Kelly’s coming around with the tip jar, and this is how we make our living in Nashville. If you could just spare a few dollars, I’ll be able to pick up some Krystal burgers for my daughter on the way home. Please throw in some money so I can feed her, she hasn’t eaten all day.” This was especially funny to anyone who knew Frank, as he didn’t even have a daughter.
Frank genuinely enjoyed singing and entertaining and this feeling was infectious, usually spilling over into the other players, the crowd, and the staff. After playing a good long hour or so for our first set we would take a break, and then, during the second set, we would get up any players and singers that wanted to sit in. The guests could range from some young aspiring singer on vacation from out of town, to touring musicians on hiatus, to artists like Joe Nichols or Toby Keith. Even the occasional tourist who wanted to sing Margaritaville was welcome on our stage (although most of the tourists had no business performing anywhere other than in a karaoke setting).
So that’s how I spent my Saturday nights for quite a while. We never had a rehearsal and didn’t really hang out together outside of these 
gigs, but we were a unit. By the time a couple of months had passed, this band was tight! Sometimes one of us would have to sub out our gig for something more lucrative, and eventually a couple of the other players moved on, but for a while, this lineup held together. And while I wasn’t making a lot of money, I was having tons of fun, gaining experience, and making contacts. By the middle of the summer of 2003 I was offered a road gig that I couldn’t turn down, and had to give Frank my notice. Ironically, the road gig came about through a friendship I had made at the Steel.
Looking back, those seven or eight months I spent at the Steel with Frank and the gang were among some of the best times I’ve had in Nashville. We may have all been on our own separate paths, searching for the next big gig, publishing deal, or connection, but once a week our paths crossed and we came together to play music and forget about our life struggles. Time stood still at the Steel on those nights and it seemed like those moments would last forever. Since those days, everyone that was in that band has moved on to different gigs. Isn’t it funny how life’s circumstances bring people together for a common purpose only to eventually spread us apart again like ash strewn to the wind. Even though I haven’t seen or spoken to some of my comrades at the Steel since those days, I’ll always have great memories of those times. For me, that’s what a great night club experience, or life for that matter, is all about – sharing good music and fun times with good friends, even if only for a brief moment. Thanks Frankie!
It was sometime in the fall of 2002 and my wife, Kelly and I were attending our weekly Tuesday night outing at the Fiddle and Steel. Already having sat-in earlier in the night, we were getting ready to leave as it was getting kind of late, when Ronnie Pittman, the singer and host of this unofficial jam night, approached us at the bar. “Hey man, I need a guitar player to play some Monday nights with me at the Second Fiddle. Are you interested?” he asked. “I’d love to, thanks for asking.” I replied, further adding “One thing I should tell you upfront is that I’m not totally up on all the old country stuff yet.” “That’s no problem; we don’t do that many old country tunes. And besides, the last thing I need is another guitar player that constantly plays ‘dubadibby dabaduboo dubadibby dabaduboo’.” he explained, mimicking a cliché sounding rapid-fire guitar lick. “Great, I’m there!” I exclaimed.
The following Monday I arrived early to the Second Fiddle on Broadway, double parked to load in my gear, and then drove around for 
about 20 minutes looking for a free parking space. After setting up my stuff and hanging for a bit with Ronnie and the band, our night of music began. Ronnie played a mix of contemporary country ranging from Travis Tritt to Little Texas, some 80s and 90s country/pop from groups like Exile, a few old school country tunes, R&B from the likes of Delbert McClinton and Van Morrison, and some classic rock from groups like the Eagles, the Allman Brothers, and Steve Miller. His wife also sang harmony and lead vocals and fronted the band on a few songs by artists like Martina McBride and the Dixie Chicks.
I knew a lot of the material and managed to feel my way through the songs I didn’t know. We played a couple of long sets with a break in the middle and, although people wandered in and out of the club all night, I don’t think the crowd ever got above 15 or 20. Nevertheless, the music was enjoyable and we all had a good time playing. At the end of the night I tore down my gear and waited for Ronnie to count the tips (I think the grand total was something like $28 apiece including the base pay of $20 each). The short pay was all right with me, as I was still trying to gain experience and make connections. Ronnie thanked me and asked me if I wanted to play the following Monday, which of course I did, and told him so.
So this became my first regular in town gig. And it was perfect. Ronnie was a real laid-back singer to work for, he always had a decent rhythm section, and his repertoire consisted of a lot of pop, rock, and R&B; styles I was already familiar with. He did play just enough contemporary and classic country for me to explore my new chops in that area as well.
Gigging with Ronnie also created some other opportunities. After a month or so of these gigs I did an out of town weekend with Ronnie and his band in Georgia. It was on that gig where I met a keyboard player Ronnie had hired named Gordon, and it was through Gordon that I landed the house gig at Libby’s in Kentucky.
Another connection I made was through one of our regular attendees, a truck driver named ‘Bud’ who worked for Charlie Daniels and took a liking to my guitar playing. He stopped in for our gig once in a while when he was in town, eventually hooking me up with a friend of his who had an indie band called “The Watercolor Project”. I wound up doing some recording sessions with this trippy rock band, a project and genre that allowed me to gain some studio experience in a far more relaxed setting than my virgin studio outing , a debacle that almost sent me packing a couple of months prior.
So I was getting my country/pop thing happening by gigging with Ronnie on Monday nights, and honing my chops on traditional country on the weekends in Kentucky. While it was a lot of activity it still didn’t add up to enough to pay the bills, so I was still working the eBay/pawn shop angle pretty hard. One of my eBay sales, that of an old Tube Screamer that I sold for $75, was bought by another Nashville guitarist who suggested meeting in town to buy the pedal rather than shipping it. I e-mailed him about meeting at my Monday night gig, and the following week he arrived to do the transaction. This led to one of the biggest eye openers I had in that first year.
I arrived downtown for my regular Monday night gig with Ronnie and set up my gear. After the first set I was still standing on the stage for a few minutes when a long-haired fellow approached me. “Are you Eric?” he asked. “Yes.” I answered “You must be Mark.” After exchanging a few brief words I presented him with one slightly beat up Ibanez Tube Screamer and he paid me $75 in cash. He then asked 
me how long I had been in town, to which I answered “I’ve been here for about six months.” He reacted with surprise, acknowledging my accomplishments with “Wow, that’s great. Six months and you’re already gigging.” He then added “I’m still working towards playing out, I’m not quite there yet, but I’m getting close. I’ve been in a couple of different bands so far, but nothing that’s made it out of the practice hall yet.” “How long have you been here?” I asked innocently. “Five years.” He answered and a deafening silence engulfed the moment.
The stark reality that there are musicians trying to find their way in Nashville that are here for years had yet to stare me in the face with such clarity. It was almost as if an atomic bomb had been dropped right outside of the club. “I’m sorry to hear that, best of luck to you with that.” I mean, what else can you really say? A minute or so later we said goodbye, and the long-haired struggling stranger sauntered out the door.
For me, that moment clarified a lot of things. It made me realize that there are far more musicians here than there are opportunities for them. It reaffirmed some of the advice I had received from my mentor, D, one piece being “Whatever you do, don’t join a band, band’s starve.” It made me further appreciate the fact that I was lucky enough to have a mentor here in the first place. It allowed me to view all of my gigs and performance opportunities with much more optimism. And it made me realize, in a town where so many struggle, just how fortunate I had been so far.
It was the fall of 2002, I’d been in Nashville for a few months, and had just landed a weekend house gig at Libby’s Steakhouse in Kentucky, a great country music venue in which I could hone my chops. I was spending most of my days selling stuff on eBay, driving around to pawn shops looking for more stuff to sell on eBay, and practicing, practicing, practicing. My recent debacles on Broadway and at a recording studio on Music Row revealed to me that I had a lot of work to do, and this prompted me to get really organized about my practice regimen. While I was still going to downtown Nashville one or two nights a week to network, making the Tuesday night jam at the Fiddle and Steel a regular stop, these weekly outings on the town mainly served to build connections, not so much to sit-in. I needed to improve my country chops quite a bit before I would be comfortable enough to put myself out there on the chopping block again.
So every Friday around dinnertime I would set out for Daysville, Kentucky, sometimes accompanied by my wife, sometimes not. Each weekend outing at Libby’s would introduce me to new material, and I would obtain recordings of these songs to work on over the following week. In addition to learning these songs and other standards I heard around town, I was digging in hard to my technique in general, practicing country rhythm, chicken pickin’, Western swing and, to avoid losing any ground, a little rock, blues, and jazz as well. A friend of mine had given me a CD of some old-school country tele players, Bill Kirchen and Redd Volkaert aka the Twang Bangers, and I listened to and tried to mimic their lines, style, and feel. I also did the same with recordings of Alan Jackson that featured Brent Mason.
To create a challenging way to practice all these new techniques, I burned a mix CD comprised of several country, western swing, and bluegrass tunes. The 11 song guitar workout CD covered nine different keys, a variety of tempos, and several different feels (straight eighths, swing, etc).
|
Key |
Song |
Tempo/Feel |
|
D |
Goodhearted Woman |
slow eighths |
|
E |
Folsom Prison Blues |
medium eighths |
|
F |
Truck Drivin’ Man |
fast eighths |
|
Bb |
Chase Each Other Round the Room |
medium swing |
|
G |
How Mountain Girls Can Love |
fast eighths |
|
Ab |
Workingman Blues |
medium eighths |
|
A |
Poultry in Motion |
medium eighths |
|
G |
She Loves Anything |
fast eighths |
|
Bb |
White Lightning |
medium eighths |
|
B |
I Don’t Think Hank Done It This Way |
medium eighths (Waylon Stomp) |
|
F |
Quit Feelin’ Sorry |
medium swing |
Prior to moving to Nashville, I had never used the chicken pickin’ technique, and as it was the weakest link in my chain, it was the technique I practiced the most. This technique is a hybrid way of picking the strings on a guitar. Holding the pic between your thumb and first finger,
you alternate between picking the strings with the pic, and plucking the strings with either the third finger or second and third finger. This is also commonly referred to as “the claw”. Both rhythm and lead lines can be played with this technique, and practicing along with this CD, without pausing in between songs, somewhat emulated the pace and variations that might happen while performing with a live band.
Every day I worked diligently in my basement music room, practicing country music standards and technique. I would practice until my right hand felt like it was falling off, or until I felt like throwing my guitar through the window, always managing to stop just prior to either thing happening. My improvement was slow, but steady, and gradually the other players at my weekend gig began to notice. I would practice and do the eBay thing all week long, go downtown to network for a couple of evenings, and head off to Kentucky for the weekends.
Libby’s was a family kind of place with a relaxed atmosphere and served no alcohol. But this didn’t stop some of the band members, me occasionally included, from sneaking a beer or two out back before the shows and during breaks. Hey, we were playing country music at a steakhouse in Kentucky; I don’t think Merle or Hank would disapprove. In all fairness to Libby, who was trying to run this show as professionally as he could, everyone seemed to keep the Budweiser buzz to a dull roar, always making a strong performance the priority (okay, maybe a few times the steel player got a little too loopy and hacked a little). But Budweiser or not, we had a great time. The players and the guest singers always gave it their all, and the crowd, no matter how big or small, always showed appreciation.
I worked at Libby’s for about four or five months through that fall and winter and, in hindsight, it was the best thing that could have happened to me at that point in time. By early spring I felt ready to dig in full bore to the country scene in Nashville and gave my notice. Libby understood why I had to leave, thanked me for my time, and wished me luck.
A couple of years later I was gigging at Tootsies and ran into one of the girls who had been a regular guest singer at Libby’s. Sadly, she informed me that Libby had just passed away at the age of 65. We reminisced about what a great time we always had back in the day, and how much he had cared about music and people. Libby was a sweet old guy and had treated me with the utmost respect. He gave me a chance when I needed it. I will always look back on those days with fondness, and will be forever grateful to have known Libby Knight.
D – Goodhearted Woman slow eighths
E – Folsom Prison Blues medium eighths
F – Truck Drivin’ Man fast eighths
Bb – Chase Each Other Round the Room medium swing
G – How Mountain Girls Can Love fast eighths
Ab – Workingman Blues medium eighths
A – Poultry in Motion medium eighths
G – She Loves Anything fast eighths
Bb – White Lightning medium eighths
B – I Don’t Think Hank Done It This Way medium eighths (Waylon Stomp)
F – Quit Feelin’ Sorry medium swing
During the summer of 2002 I was aggressively exploring the live music scene of Nashville. Upon the recommendation of my friend, D, I was regularly making the rounds at clubs on Broadway, Printers Alley, and other spots around the city to better understand the scene, and to begin building the relationships I would need to succeed here. For the most part I was in kind of a watch and learn mode, often finding a table with my wife at the back of these clubs and just listening to the performers, sometimes even writing down the names of unfamiliar songs on napkins to learn later. Most of my musical background is rooted in rock, blues and jazz, so the repertoire played by most of these artists and bands, being mostly country, was largely foreign to me. Not to mention the art of country guitar playing, partly based on a technique called “chicken pickin”, was something I had yet to conquer.
I had already successfully sat in on a few occasions, carefully choosing situations that would allow me to showcase on songs and styles that were familiar to me, but for the most part I had avoided sitting in with bands that played mainly country. D had conveyed to me the importance of slowly building a great reputation – “Good news travels slow, but if you fart on stage they will immediately hear about it all over town.” So I was slowly and carefully building my reputation. But this cautious approach prevented me from sitting in on many occasions, fearful that I would get in over my head. D respected the fact that I was being cautious, but he also knew that I was beginning to become pigeonholed as a rock player as I never sat in on country tunes. So maybe that was part of the reason he invited me to a 6 to 10 
shift he was playing on a Saturday night in the front room of Tootsies.
My wife, Kelly, and I arrived downtown around seven o’clock and found a parking spot. The summer air was hot and thick and people were out in abundance. We walked into Tootsies, which was packed to the gills, and found a spot to stand near the bar a few feet from the tiny stage. D spotted us and gave me a nod. He was playing with a stripped down Broadway unit of drums, bass, and guitar, fronted by an otherwise typical looking country singer sporting a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, denim shirt, and Wrangler jeans. The band was cranking out country standards in rapid succession, the tempos were fast, the music was loud, and the crowd was partying heavily. After an hour or so D looked over at me and said “Do you want to play a couple?” Feeling that I needed to rise to this occasion, I nodded yes and walked over to the stage.
As I hopped up on to the overcrowded stage he handed me his guitar and said “Just ask the bass player if you don’t know the changes, he’ll help you through.” I had just barely strapped on the guitar when the singer shouted out “OK boys, Rocky Top in G”, a country standard I 
had heard on several occasions but had yet to play. It just so happened that the singer was playing an acoustic and, as the first verse is just acoustic and vocals, this gave me time to figure out the chord progression. So when the whole band came in after the first chorus, I was right there with them, sort of. While I did manage to improvise, or fumble, my way through the first solo without any glaring problems, apparently I was a little heavy handed on the rhythm of the next verse, probably due to years of playing in rock bands combined with almost no experience playing country. D motioned from his spot at the bar to hush my volume a little and I attempted to do so. I managed to get all the way to the end of the main part of the song, hanging on by a thread, before it began to get ugly.
For those of you unfamiliar with this Broadway classic, the main body of the song is played with a half-time feel, the song modulates up a whole step, and then the song kicks into double time for a long-winded fiddle solo outro. So, being the only soloist in this situation, it was my job to mimic the fiddle solo, and I managed to do so quite poorly. While I had been practicing my chicken pickin’ technique daily for a couple of months by this point, this was probably my first practical application. I quickly learned that practicing this style with a metronome or CD at home, and improvising a would-be fiddle solo at warp 
speed with a band in a nightclub are two different things. No matter what I heard in my head, my fingers just wouldn’t do it. I hacked, chopped, and butchered my way through two long choruses that seemed to drag on for eternity.
The song ended and the crowd of tourists cheered, completely oblivious to my train wreck. But I am certain that the other players on stage did hear every single ugly note I played. D certainly did as he quickly came to my rescue, snatching the guitar from my hands before I could do any more damage. “That one got away from you a little bit.” he kindly said as I left the stage. Feeling less than excited about hanging around after this awkward moment, we left after a couple more songs.
The next day D called me and we spoke about my debacle. “I think you should stay away from Broadway for a little while, at least until you get a little more familiar with the songs and the style. The guys I was playing with last night are cool and know you’re still learning, so there’s no harm done there. But you definitely don’t want to want to do anything like that again.”
I had already been playing guitar for over 20 years and could play rock and blues as good as most. But country music wasn’t yet in my vocabulary, and chicken pickin’ was as foreign to me as French Morocco. It was like learning how to play guitar all over again. That one train wreck made it apparent to me that I was going to have to practice for three to four hours a day for quite a while to learn this new language. So that’s just what I did. I obtained recordings of as many country standards as I could and burned mix CDs. I began dissecting the songs, writing number charts for them, learning arrangements, rhythms, solos, even bass lines. As chicken pickin’ is essential to traditional country guitar playing, I followed one piece of great advice from D “Put on a CD of old-school country and improvise solos over entire songs using the chicken pickin’ technique.” I forced myself to do this and, although I sometimes felt like throwing my guitar through the window, slowly began to see improvement. I was determined to never have another moment like my debacle on Broadway ever happen again. And while I did eventually get the hang of chicken pickin’, to this day, I still cringe every time I hear Rocky Top!
The names of some of the musicians in this story have been changed to protect the innocent guilty.
I first arrived to my new home in Gallatin, TN, some 30 miles north of Nashville on a warm summer night in June of 2002. My family and I had just spent two days driving across the country with all of our personal belongings stuffed into the back of a rented Ryder truck and, despite being exhausted, we unloaded the truck at about 8 PM before collapsing into a deep sleep. All I knew about this new world called Nashville was the vague description of a gigantic music community conveyed by my friend “D”, a world which I knew little about, but one I needed to explore quickly. While we did have some savings, employment was a priority, so after a day of unpacking, we ate dinner, took showers, and headed for the city to start getting acclimated.
At some point during the drive in we stopped and picked up a copy of “The Scene”, Nashville’s biggest arts and entertainment newspaper. The words “Open Blues Jam 9 to 1 at The French Quarter” seemed to be calling my name from a section of club listings, and that would be our first stop. We walked into the dimly lit room to see a crowd of 10 or 12 listening to a four piece band meandering through some blues standards. After a while they called me up and, not knowing a soul in the place, I played two or three songs which, to my relief, were well received. Upon returning to my table, a moderately well dressed gentleman approached me and said “Hi, my name is Freddie. I really enjoyed your playing. I’ve got my own band and we are in need of a guitar player. Are you looking for a gig?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Fresh off the boat and without a job in site, this seemed too good to be true. Now keep in mind that I still didn’t know how the Nashville music scene or community worked, so any gig being offered seemed like a good thing. “Yeah, I’m definitely interested in doing some gigs.” And with that we exchanged phone numbers. Of course I would later learn that in Nashville not all gigs are created equal (more on that later). After chatting with Freddie for a while the next day I accepted his three or four upcoming local gigs and agreed to attend a few rehearsals with his band to prepare. The next day I met him at a Mini Mart where he gave me a CD of his material. Always wanting to be prepared, I went home and anxiously dug in. This was where I would receive my first surprise.
After popping the disc into my CD player I began to listen to a marginal recording of my new “band” and was a bit disappointed. The songs weren’t all that great, the musicianship was average at best, and the vocals were downright scary. “Well, maybe they’ll sound a little better live.” my wife, Kelly, optimistically encouraged. I learned the stuff and showed up for my first rehearsal at Freddie’s home south of Nashville, guitar and amp and hand. Shortly after rehearsal began it became apparent to me that the level of musicianship in this band was unlike what I had previously heard at the Fiddle and Steel and other clubs around town when visiting the city a few months prior. And when I say “unlike” I don’t mean in a good way. Again, I chalked it up as “Maybe they’re holding back because it’s a rehearsal and will sound better live.” Of course in hindsight, I should have known better, but hey, I was new to town and just happy to have some gigs lined up.
That brings us to our first gig a couple of weeks and uninspired rehearsals later (and by the way, I did get paid something like $15 per rehearsal for gas money). The Radio City Café is a small, but friendly bar somewhere on the east side of the city, and while being inside the club itself felt fairly safe, the surrounding neighborhood streets did not. The other band guys were already there and, running a little late due to getting lost in this still unfamiliar city, I quickly set up my gear after a brief reprimand from Freddie for my tardiness. Then Freddie said “Okay everybody, let’s have our preshow band meeting backstage.” We followed Freddie to the “backstage“ area (otherwise known as the kitchen of this fine establishment) to engage in Freddie’s little pep rally. “Okay everybody, we’re going to play the first two songs back to back and then I’ll address the crowd. We’ll play the third song and then I’m going to tell a joke. At the end of the joke I want you (points at drummer) to play a little ‘ba dat boom’ you know, like they sometimes do on the late show. Keep an eye on your set lists, I’ve made notes where I’m going to pause to speak and tell jokes.” Oookaaay. “And one more thing, I want everybody to walk out onto the stage in the right order, in other words, Joe, because you’re on the furthest side of the stage you should go first.”
This all seemed a little overproduced and over-the-top for the gig at hand, but hey, you can’t fault the guy for taking this $20 dive gig in East Nashville as serious as a show at the MGM Grand. To become successful, one must project a successful image at all times, right? So we walked out onto the stage single file and barreled through the first two poorly written blues numbers, after which, the audience of my wife plus 12 went mild. Freddie introduced himself and we played the third number which was followed by his first joke. While I can’t remember the specifics of the joke, I do remember that it was long, rambling, and not the least bit funny to me or anyone else in the place. The drummer’s “ba dat boom” didn’t help much either. We dug back into a couple of more songs which, unfortunately, were also played with no more power or conviction then the weak renditions we had limped through at the rehearsals. So this was the show, we would play a couple of uninspired songs, then Freddie would tell a bad joke, a couple more songs, more bad jokes. The jokes were so bad that, after a while, you could hear groans from the crowd as soon as they realized he was going to tell one.
Still, bad jokes and all, I did manage to have some fun, after all, I was now playing in Nashville so I was pretty excited because of that fact alone. Plus, sometimes when you’re playing with a band on stage it’s hard to be objective about the overall situation. I finished out the night, loaded out my gear, got paid my $20 and hopped in the car with Kelly for the 45 minute drive home. The gig had been awkward and we began the drive with a deafening silence which I bravely interrupted by asking “So what did you think?” “Well, you were good. Freddie, not so good. He can’t sing very good, the songs are terrible, and his jokes are downright painful. The drummer was pretty bad as well.” she answered honestly. “Yeah, I was kind of afraid that’s what you’re gonna say. I guess I’ll give it one more shot.”
That one more shot turned out to be a gig back at the French Quarter a couple weeks later. It just so happened that on the night of this gig my friend “D” was playing the Opry and had invited Kelly to go along, so she didn’t arrive at my gig until near the end of the show. She didn’t miss much. While they were getting the royal treatment on the other side of town, I was living a nightmare that was literally an exact duplicate of my first gig with Freddie, only in a nicer club. I mean, it was carbon copy, the same preshow meeting, single file onto the stage, same type of milk toast performance, same bad jokes, same “ba dat boom” following the same bad jokes. Oh yes, there were a few subtle differences; this club, despite being considerably larger than the Radio City Café, had an even smaller crowd (I think six was the magic number on this night), it was in an even scarier part of town, and it had a great PA system which allowed every nuance of Freddie’s bad vocals and jokes to be heard with exceptional clarity. By this point in time Kelly and I had more thoroughly explored the Nashville club scene and had a better idea of what kinds of musical situations might lead somewhere. It was now obvious that this situation wasn’t heading in a very good direction. So by the time I was walking to my car and Freddie approached me I was basically ready to give my notice.
Then comes one last surprise. “I need $20 to pay for house sound.” He states matter-of-factly. “What? I thought you were walking out to pay me.” “No, I can’t pay you on this gig. To play here, we have to pay a house sound fee of $100, that’s 20 bucks each.” My look of confusion might have caused him to rethink his strategy and he then blurted out “I’ll tell you what, instead of paying you for the next rehearsal, I’ll just put that money towards the sound fee.” He offered. “That would be great Freddie.” and with that, we drove off, laughing all the way to the poorhouse. I called him the next day and told him that I appreciated him giving me a chance, but his band just wasn’t right for me at this point in time. I had given it my all, and while the music had been largely uninspired, it was the bad jokes that were killing me. I literally could not take one more night of those bad jokes. It was time to see what else this town had to offer.