BNA
NASHVILLE, TN, October, 2005 - From a pure “head out without a plan”
point of view there are three cities that, in my opinion, you can count on to
deliver a great time: New York, Las Vegas and Nashville. This month, with nary a
plan but plenty of ideas, I headed to Nashville.
There is more to do within a 10-block radius in Nashville than in some cities
several times its size. Home of the NFL’s Titans and NHL’s Predators, Nashville
also boasts museums, performing arts, great restaurants, nightlife…and I think
that’s it. Oh yeah, music—I think it is why they call it “Music City.” There is
LOTS of music, and of a caliber you just wouldn’t think you’d hear simply by
wandering off the street and into a random bar—even in the middle of the
day.
I did a lot of random wandering while in Nashville (and yes, often into
bars). All from my home base of the Hermitage Hotel. Located within walking
distance of the honky-tonks on lower Broadway, the Hermitage Hotel is
Tennessee’s only AAA-rated Five Diamond hotel. Is it a little strange to go from
a sweaty, raucous, country music bar, where you spent an hour listening to a
girl talk about what a “hemi” is, to the absolute magnificence of the Hermitage
Hotel’s vaulted lobby with its marble columns, stained-glass ceiling and Persian
rugs? Well, it’s a little strange, but it’s pretty sweet.
The Hermitage Hotel opened in 1910 and, after enjoying a long reign at the
center of Nashville’s social scene, fell into a period of decline in the ‘70s.
But with a new owner, and $17 million in renovations, the hotel reopened in 2003
and is now Nashville’s sole remaining grand hotel. It’s also a member of the
National Register of Historic Places with architecture famous for its Beaux Arts
Classicism.
Where did I learn all that? From the bartender, of course. Don’t bartenders
know everything? I’ve learned more from bartenders than I have from television.
Useful stuff, too, like: “Your cigarette is backward, buddy” and “Stop, she’s a
guy.” I love bartenders.
Ryan, who pulls double-duty on the hotel’s Archivist Committee, pours drinks
downstairs in the Oak Bar, a dark, comfortable room with big leather chairs and
an ambiance that reminded me of (and I’m sure they won’t appreciate the
affiliation, but my cultural points of reference fail me here) the Overlook
Hotel’s bar in “The Shining.” But if you’ve seen the movie you know what I mean.
That was a cool bar.
Ryan gave me lots of interesting background on the hotel, but more than
anything, he taught me to love dirty martinis with bleu cheese-stuffed olives.
Have you ever had one? Oh, they’re the best. “It’s booze!” “It’s an after-school
snack!!” “Stop it, you two—it’s both!”
Round about my third martini, Ryan asked me to take a look at the men’s room.
Now, normally when I’m getting pie-eyed in a bar and a fellow asks me to check
out the men’s room my Spidey-senses start to tingle. But they’re proud of their
men’s room at the Hermitage Hotel, and Ryan made me promise to go see it before
I left.
Soon Janet Hoeft, Sales Director at the Hermitage, joined me for a drink. I
think she was looking for me because I was a no-show for my spa treatment and
something called a “bath concierge,” which I came to find out is where a member
of the staff prepares a bath with rose petals, therapeutic bath salts and
foaming bath oils. That all sounded very nice, but I just wasn’t in the mood for
being treated like a high-born lady. (Note: If that’s your cup o’ tea you’ll
love it. The Hermitage Hotel will spoil you rotten.)
I did finally get a tour of the men’s room, and, as far as public bathrooms
go, it is resplendent. Its big draw is its history (ask about the secret
tunnel), art deco design with original green and black glass walls and the
shoeshine stand right there in the bathroom. There’s a picture at the top of
this article that shows what I’m talking about. (Those aren’t my shoes.)
After a couple more martinis I headed down for some fun on lower Broadway.
Everyone has fun in “Nash Vegas.” There are a slew of bars and clubs—each
showcasing a country/bluegrass/rock band that’s on the verge of breaking into
the bigtime. I found myself in a bar called Second Fiddle—and see, I’m really
not much of a country music fan, and I hate going to bars by myself, but I had a
great time. I noticed a lovely brunette number simultaneously smoking Marlboros
and drinking Coronas—not particularly unusual except that she was on stage
singing and playing the keyboard whilst smoking and drinking. Talk about
multi-tasking. The tight little t-shirt that simply read “Sturgis” completed the
picture. She had the most incredible voice and sang Waylon, Willie, Fleetwood
Mac and her own stuff. I was in love. She was Lurleen Lumpkin to my Homer
Simpson. I had another beer to make myself even better looking, and approached
her during a break. The best way to go into situations like this is to just tell
the truth, so I told her that my name was Dave and that I was there on
assignment. For the CIA.
I’m not normally a fan of striking up conversations with people out of the
blue. I’m glad that having to write these pieces forces me to do that, because
I’ve met the coolest people with the most interesting stories to tell. Turns out
Lurleen’s name is actually Christy Quick and she’s been in Nashville since
former Notre Dame coach Lou Holtz got her a gig at the famed Nashville Palace.
(Yeah, I don’t understand the connection there, either.) She was a backup singer
for Junior Walker and the All-Stars and even played at Bill Clinton’s
inauguration. She introduced me to bandmate Clinton Gregory who, as it turns
out, is a well-known country artist with more than a couple Top 20 Billboard
hits under his belt. Like I said, I’ve never been a huge fan of country music,
but maybe I never gave it a chance—because that entire night really was a hoot.
Maybe I should give rap another chance…nah.
The next day I had nothing on my schedule until dinner at 6. My mission for
the day was clear: As a country music fan for the past 10 hours I would make my
own personal Hajj to the Country Music Hall of Fame. Finally.
Located just four or five blocks from the Hermitage, the Country Music Hall
of Fame and Museum provides a self-guided, chronologically organized tour of
country music’s roots in the 19th century through today. Walking into the new
$37 million building I was in awe of the vast collection it housed. Here’s a
tribute to Uncle Dave Macon! Over here is Bill Monroe and His Blue Grass Boys!
Eddy Arnold! Ernest Tubb!
OK, I’m being an ass—I didn’t know who these people were. But, to be honest,
while there are exhibits that only true country music fans could appreciate,
there was plenty of really cool stuff that grabbed this country music newbie’s
attention, too: Patsy Cline’s cowgirl outfit, Elvis’ Cadillac, the buckskin
get-up that that one Oak Ridge Boy wore—it’s all there. In a little auditorium I
joined a large group of septuagenarians watching a video about the history of
country music. Lots of Hee-Haw clips with the corniest humor I’ve ever seen. I
couldn’t believe these people were laughing at it. I wanted to scream at them,
“Minnie Pearl is not funny!” But once I got over myself and put aside my own
prejudices I realized that this was just great entertainment. Who was I to
judge? Man, just relax, have fun, enjoy the corny humor… there’s a bar.
Armed with a new appreciation for the roots of country music and a new Johnny
Cash t-shirt, I ambled out into the sun in search of my next adventure. Back on
lower Broadway who do I bump into but Christy Quick! She immediately grabbed my
arm and dragged me along Broadway saying, “You gotta see this band.” Next thing
I know I’m sitting at the bar in Layla’s Bluegrass Inn with a Budweiser. It’s
the first time I’ve ever been kicked into a bar.
The band, Gypsi, turned out to be absolutely amazing. They’re a family act
comprising sisters Amber Dawn, Lillie Mae and Scarlett as well as their brother
Frank. Turns out they just signed a record deal with RCA and I’m sure will be
famous soon. I defy anyone to watch them play and keep his or her toe from
tapping. They did a version of Foggy Mountain Breakdown by request, which, after
confessing that they didn’t really know it that well, brought people in off the
street. At one point this tall, skinny cowboy started doing a heel-stomping jig
in front of the stage that made me want to jump up on the bar and riverdance.
And I honestly don’t think I’d have gotten my butt kicked. We were having that
good a time.
I had planned to head back to the Hermitage Hotel for a nap before dinner,
but I was having so much fun in the honky-tonks that I barely made it back in
time to shower which, if I were staying in the honky-tonks, wouldn’t be a big
deal—but you want to smell your best when you’re dining at the Hermitage’s
Capitol Grille. The AAA-rated Four Diamond Capital Grille served up one of the
by-gosh finest dining experiences I’ve ever had. The restaurant is elegant, the
service is wonderful and the food is… transcendent. My dining partner on this
night was Janet Hoeft (from paragraph eight). We had met for just a few minutes
the night before, and she seemed nice enough, but over the next few hours I
discovered that she’s absolutely hysterical and very cool.
Over the next four hours Executive Chef Sean Brock and his staff served up
crab cakes, steak tartare, watermelon gazpacho, field green salad, Niman Ranch
pork and seared rare tuna. For dessert, I had this milk chocolate number that
infused espresso flavor, hazelnut croquant and malt ice cream. Janet had the
“Breakfast Cereal” which sounds crazy, but with milk ice cream, puffed rice and
dried fruit it’s delicious and fun — like eggs for lunch or beer for breakfast.
Fun!
Nashville is all about fun. It’s closer than Vegas and less expensive than
New York, but I guarantee you’ll have every bit as good a time as you would in
either of those spots. FLYi has several flights every day to Music City, USA.
Get yourself on one of ‘em and whoop it up at a honky-tonk. And check in to the
Hermitage Hotel. You’ll thank me, I promise. Oh, and be sure to stop by the
Second Fiddle on Friday night and catch Christy Quick’s show from 6 to 10. Tell
her Dave, the CIA agent, says “hi.”
Dave
George
FLYi Guy
