Exorcism in Nashville
Those who know me at all know that music is like water to me. I have a bit of a Spotify addiction. I dabbled in singing and songwriting for many years and although I haven’t written in ages, my love of melancholic melodies coupled with anthemic indie pop or rock beats has not declined at all.
Years ago, I fantasized about moving to Austin, TX. I visited several times to attend Austin City Limits and South by Southwest music festivals. Ultimately, I decided that Austin may not be for me (though I’m not sure my hometown of Philadelphia is either). I didn’t want to be a fifty-year-old still pretending I was going to make it big in the music business, though I give props to those who never gave up the dream. I’m a bit too pragmatic for all that, for better or for worse.
For some reason, I had never been to Nashville. I never stood in the Grand Ole Opry or the Johnny Cash Museum. I never witnessed some of the greatest songwriters talking through their process at the Bluebird Café. The closest I came to Nashville is through watching the TV show. By the way, if you haven’t seen Nashville, I highly recommend it. Every damn song in that show is so incredibly well written and produced. Whether country music is a favorite of yours or not, any music lover ought to be able to appreciate the quality of the soundtrack that was compiled for that show. Not to mention, who doesn’t love watching Connie Britton wave her big hair around? I could watch her for hours. I mean, yeah, she’s a talented TV actor but THAT HAIR! She was basically meant to play the role of a country music star.
During the pandemic a friend and I talked quite a bit about heading to Nashville to celebrate my 50th birthday. We committed to one another that once we were both vaccinated, we would be off to Tennessee for a weekend of country and debauchery. Neither of us are the kind to drop our commitments, so this past June we made plans to go. We departed on July 15th, worked from our Airbnb in the Five Points neighborhood on Friday, July 16th, and then prepared to enjoy our weekend of questionable sobriety. I even had a custom t-shirt made for the occasion that says, “I’m Hot & Available.” I shit you not. I fully intended to regress into my twenties and flirt with boys who carry guitars.
I was able to wrap up work early on Friday and went out for a long walk to check out the Five Points neighborhood while my bestie continued to grind away. I fell in love. There are vintage shops everywhere, awesome music playing in every single store, friendly people, including the owner of the vintage store, The Hip Zipper, who also acts as the neighborhood tour guide. She gave me a listing of places to visit in the neighborhood and suggested Sunday brunch at the most interesting hot dog stand I have ever seen. After getting these recommendations, I ventured over to the hot dog place to inquire about what to expect when I would undoubtedly return that following Sunday. I learned they offer wieners drenched in hollandaise sauce and served over hash browns. I could not wait to give it a shot and committed to being back after a drunken Saturday night for the promised hangover cure. Sadly, this is one promise I had to break.
I returned to the Airbnb to tell my friend all about my experience walking the neighborhood. I learned there was a vegan place in the area and decided we should go there for dinner to get our portion of veggies before spending the rest of the weekend indulging in everything and anything. My friend went for a run to shake off the work week (her GPS got her lost on the return trip, so her quick run ended up lasting for two hours). I did a body strength workout, sort of, (I cannot do a side plank with one leg in the air) and got myself ready to kick off the weekend.
That night, my friend and I did exactly as we planned. We loaded up on vegetable tacos, raw cake, coffee with oat milk, and a first dose of alcohol before wandering around in search of music. My choice of beverage was a matcha mojito. It was strong and delicious (as was the entire meal). I recall confessing to my friend’s teen daughter who was face timing with her mama during our dinner that I was drunk.
My friend and I asked our awesome server where we could go to find some live music and flavors of local Nashville. They made some recommendations that my friend and I had every intention of hitting up. My friend and I did not find our first destination as easily as we expected, so we made a pit stop at a bar before proceeding on to find some music and karaoke. At that bar, I ordered a frose from a machine.
If your stomach is turning at listening to the description of everything I consumed, I bet you can predict where this story is going. If the idea of raw portobello tacos, vegan queso, salsa verde, raw chocolate coconut cake, a green tea mojito, two cups of coffee, and an alcoholic slushie isn’t making you queasy, I’m jealous. It was all absolutely delicious and if you have a strong stomach, there’s nothing I wouldn’t endorse. But my stomach was hurting something fierce.
Not willing to be deterred, my friend and I found a bar where we saw live music for the first time in well over a year. I was a bit panicked about being indoors during a pandemic, but my delight at being in the presence of a live punk(ish) band helped me to shake off the nerves. I even managed to dismiss the stomach pains for a bit, but I decided not to drink anything other than water and even had trouble getting that down. But again, that didn’t stop me from jumping up and down in time with the music from this band called H.A.R.D. (Have a Rad Day). That seemed apropos since up until that point, I really was having a rad day.
When the show was over, my friend and I went to a convenience store to get a few things for the morning, and I got a pack of chewable Tums and some Pepcid. I downed the two Tums on the spot but was unable to continue the partying. My friend and I agreed to head back to our temporary quarters and get in a full day and night on Saturday. I was still in pain when we got back so I downed one of the Pepcid tablets.
My friend went off to bed, and that was my intention too. But I lay wide awake in agony. Around 3am, I gave in to full-on fucking horror as my body decided to rebel against me. I spent the night in that small, moldy bathroom begging for mercy. At one point, I thought about texting my friend an SOS and getting an Uber to bring me to a hospital. But I wouldn’t have been able to make it. So I just stayed put. Weekend of debauchery, over before it began. This is the consequence of a body that likes to fight with its host. I often forget that I have a ridiculously sensitive system and cannot mess with it. It’s the boss of me. But for once, I wanted just to be normal.
The following morning I tried to get rest while my friend headed out to explore the city. I polished off a large bottle of Gatorade plus gluten free toast and scrambled eggs and planned to return to bed immediately after consuming some nourishment. But, we were in Nashville and there were noisy parties all around. I decided I was not going to let my body own me for once. I got myself cleaned up and out the door. I met up with my friend in downtown Nashville at the Country Music Hall of Fame and then we proceeded down Broadway. I had no idea that area of the city is Mardi Gras meets Vegas. In addition to being the country music capital of the world, Nashville is also apparently the Bachelor and Bachelorette party capital. There were party buses everywhere I looked, full of all girls or all guys singing along to music I did not expect to hear in Nashville. A group of girls in one bus was holding “Free Brittany” signs while singing along to Whitney Houston. As my friend and I continued walking, we passed multiple bars that were each about four floors high. One of them had open windows all around and kids were leaning out of the windows singing “Don’t Stop Believing” at the top of their lungs. Somehow, I didn’t hate it.
I navigated our way through downtown, over to the Gulch where my friend and I stopped for lunch (I ordered ginger ale and mashed potatoes), and then over to Music Row where I expected to see action but instead there was just a strip of closed recording studios, office buildings, and about six or seven bars with more kids.
At that point I was tapped out. I walked nearly five miles in sweltering heat on zero rest and after a night of hell on earth. I had expunged and sweat out every toxin and bad thought from my body. I got an Uber back to the Airbnb and was driven by perhaps the sweetest woman I have ever met. She was dedicated to getting me back to a place of rest as quickly and as safely as possible. We both wore our masks, and she told me that some people were still giving her an attitude about it. I remarked that I’m sensitive to this because I’m immunocompromised. That’s when my darling of an Uber driver told me that she has rheumatoid arthritis. She then handed me a bottle of hand sanitizer that she said had only been in her hands because she wanted me to feel safe. That simple act of kindness nearly brought me to tears.
My driver and I both lamented at the lack of responsibility of people in government and how that trickled down to citizens. She even brought up the climate and acknowledged that Al Gore made a film about the damage to the planet many years earlier, but that people chose to ignore him. When my driver dropped me off, I told her she was a blessing. I was meant to be in her Uber. I was reminded that people can come from all walks of life but can still connect about our core values and experiences. With my body and mind now emptied of all toxicity – literally – I was able to find such joy in a simple moment of humanity.
I got in the shower when I returned to my guest home, packed up my things for our departure, and then got in bed. The parties were still going strongly outside of my window, and rather than feel annoyed as I normally would I recognized that I would have been participating in the parties if I could and wished the revelers well. I took my meds and CBD gummies, turned up the volume on my white noise app, and finally got the rest I needed. I heard my friend come back shortly after midnight and found it sweet that she essentially tiptoed to her room to avoid waking me up.
The next morning, my friend regrettably confessed to me that she managed to get into The Bluebird Café where a crew of famous songwriters did indeed talk about their process. I was bummed that I didn’t get to go but was grateful that I could live vicariously through my friend. I was touched to later learn that she bought me a t-shirt from the venue.
We listened to some of the songs that had been written by one of the songwriters who performed at The Bluebird the night before and got ourselves ready for brunch. I managed to find a popular spot that offered vegan options for my friend and gluten free options for me. We put our luggage in storage and got another Uber to take us back towards downtown, but this time in another neighborhood we hadn’t yet checked out. I remember looking at the app to check our driver’s arrival time, and stopping myself from making a snarky remark about our driver’s photo. As it happens, I was pleasantly surprised at how fascinating he turned out to be. He talked about music and his collection of live concert recordings from some of the greats. Apparently, he liked to have friends over to his yard where he would broadcast these recordings in an effort to recreate the experience of being there in person, just as my friend had for me with her visit to The Bluebird. Somehow the driver and I came upon the topic of Bon Jovi and agreed we thought they would be a flash in the pan, but then found ourselves rattling off the names of Bon Jovi’s hits. I didn’t expect to find myself in Nashville, talking to an Uber driver about a musical group from New Jersey. Once again, when I shed all my predispositions, I was surprised by basic humanity and an ability to find common ground.
At brunch, I got myself a gluten free egg and cheese sandwich and took in the scene. Afterwards, my friend and I took a walk past Vanderbilt University and I picked up an iced herbal tea at a nearby Starbucks. Back in an Uber we went to collect our things and head to the airport. And yet again, our Uber driver turned out to be just downright awesome. My friend, who is a retired Navy Chief, noticed the driver’s Navy emblem hanging from her dashboard and learned that our driver’s son is in the Navy. They talked about this for a while, and then we learned that our driver is interested in a man who is also a retired Navy Chief. She told us about the man (a widow) and of her dialogue with him. She said she wanted to ask him out but her mama always told her not to be too forward. I told her that as a daughter of a Jewish mother, I understood the power of mama’s words but encouraged her to go for it, because it was clear from what she told us that her Navy man is interested in her. She replied that we were both meant to be in her car that day and said she could see why we’re such good friends. I replied that I’m lucky to have my friend in my life, and my friend said she’s lucky to have me. I still think I’m the lucky one, and it was nice to be reminded of that at a time when my bad experience could easily have been overshadowed everything else.
My friend and I arrived to the airport early, only to learn our flight was delayed. We decided to head over to the airport Tootsie’s Lounge (the Tootsie’s bar in downtown is apparently a tourist trap). My friend ordered some wine, but I stuck to my weekend routine and ordered ginger ale and potatoes. While consuming our respective airport snacks and drinks, we were able to enjoy the sounds of a live performer who belted out familiar country music covers. I didn’t get to the Bluebird, but somehow, I still got to experience a low key bar with a country singer and guitarist playing in the background. Hell, I’ll take it!
My trip to Nashville didn’t go the way I hoped, but my shedding of toxins left me open to human interactions that I might have otherwise missed. I also felt that my cleansing, even though it wasn’t intentional, was my body’s way of getting rid of bad energy and memories that I needed to let go.
I don’t want to go through an exorcism like that again, but I also returned from my trip free and clear of any baggage from my past (not to mention, from my waistline). You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might get what you need. Check out my playlist, Sounds of Nashville: The Expected & Unexpected.
