Music Capitals of the U.S.A
In New Orleans, you get jazz. It's a
sexy, silky, sultry soul rubdown. Upright basses thump and singers
croon to make you wish you owned a tube of killer red lipstick just to
fit in.
There's a woman who looks like Lisa Loeb circa '99, only she's wearing polka dots. It's 2 in the morning but she's got a TV dinner stand set up on the sidewalk cling clang clanging away at her first novel on a vintage typewriter. She strikes and resets her stream of thought on that ancient machine in rhythm with the guitar player making his living by offering chord progressions to passersby, willing you to drop a coin in his open, orange-crush-velvet lined case. The doorman at the joint you're flipping your hair in to the beats that built this very city for centuries, slinks off to the dark alley just there and beckons you with a flip of his hand to come near. You do and you feel your souls connect like two Tetris pieces, a perfect fit in a crowd of others also falling in place.
In Nashville, TN home of the Grand ol' Opry, it's all country music.
When I was 12, I was crazy about country music. I used to jam out on my walkman to Garth Brooks and Reba McIntyre while walking to the mailbox, shakin' my hips, pretending I knew what they were talking about. This journey back to the South has me falling in love with country music in the background. It's a life soundtrack that speaks of Love, values and the spirit of grace. This touches my heart, every song one from the angels and I'm in love.
Memphis, TN- The Blues. Home of BB King
Beale Street is blocked off and ten-year-old performers, like miniature body builders, do a series of fifteen back handsprings and then a back flip down the street for onlookers. The musicians here sit more than they stand. It's a four-hour plus jaunt for a lot of them. They're perched on chairs like over-sized birds with BBQ-big bellies puffed out. They play for tips all year round. You're out on Tuesday, but this means nothing. It's just another night to feel the blues and try to dance and/or drown your sorrows away. You shimmy and shake until your brain bakes.
There's a woman who looks like Lisa Loeb circa '99, only she's wearing polka dots. It's 2 in the morning but she's got a TV dinner stand set up on the sidewalk cling clang clanging away at her first novel on a vintage typewriter. She strikes and resets her stream of thought on that ancient machine in rhythm with the guitar player making his living by offering chord progressions to passersby, willing you to drop a coin in his open, orange-crush-velvet lined case. The doorman at the joint you're flipping your hair in to the beats that built this very city for centuries, slinks off to the dark alley just there and beckons you with a flip of his hand to come near. You do and you feel your souls connect like two Tetris pieces, a perfect fit in a crowd of others also falling in place.
In Nashville, TN home of the Grand ol' Opry, it's all country music.
When I was 12, I was crazy about country music. I used to jam out on my walkman to Garth Brooks and Reba McIntyre while walking to the mailbox, shakin' my hips, pretending I knew what they were talking about. This journey back to the South has me falling in love with country music in the background. It's a life soundtrack that speaks of Love, values and the spirit of grace. This touches my heart, every song one from the angels and I'm in love.
Memphis, TN- The Blues. Home of BB King
Beale Street is blocked off and ten-year-old performers, like miniature body builders, do a series of fifteen back handsprings and then a back flip down the street for onlookers. The musicians here sit more than they stand. It's a four-hour plus jaunt for a lot of them. They're perched on chairs like over-sized birds with BBQ-big bellies puffed out. They play for tips all year round. You're out on Tuesday, but this means nothing. It's just another night to feel the blues and try to dance and/or drown your sorrows away. You shimmy and shake until your brain bakes.
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