REGIE'S BLOG
This Is My Town
Posted: 5/10/2010 11:01:31 AM
My dad used to say, "It's a poor frog that won't croak for his own pond." Well, my pond has recently overflowed. In fact, my pond, Nashville Tennessee, was almost completely washed away a week ago. The worst flood in the recorded history of this region, and the worst non-hurricane related flood disaster in U.S history, coursed through the hollows and dells and rushed over the hills and ridge tops of my hometown, while I could do nothing but watch from my kitchen window. As I write this, I am watching the local news and feeling a certain pride in the people of this genteel, southern city. The cleanup operation is neighborly, generous, warm and downright inspiring. There are no reports of widespread looting or panic or hysterical vitriol being volleyed at the government. In fact, on a national level, there are almost no reports of anything at all.
I suppose in the swirling drama of yet another attempted terrorist attack in New York, an out-of-control oil slick in the Gulf and a raging immigration debate in Arizona, the flooding and destruction of one of America's great cities is an afterthought. I guess on some level I understand the disaster pecking order. Still, I can't help thinking if this were Chicago or Detroit or someplace just a little sexier, how many more cameras would be lined up to get the devastation footage while there was still enough human suffering to make it worthy of leading the evening news. Many more I think. I ask myself why? But in a way I think I kind of know why.
I don't believe in the inherent goodness of geography but I do believe cities take on a certain soul and exhibit certain personalities. Vegas is what happens when you build something completely on vices. LA is what happens when you build something completely on image. New York is built on the dreams of the immigrants and I feel their ghosts on the subway. Memphis is built on the blues and I shuffle a little further behind the beat when I'm there. Nashville was built on the heart. All hearts that are broken, soaring, thankful or heavy are all written about and sung about here. Doctor Vivien Thomas performed one of the first open heart surgeries in the U.S and was THE first African American ever to perform open heart surgery on a white person. His attention to detail and his seamless work was once referred to as looking like "something the Lord made." He definitely knew his way around the heart ...and he was from Nashville. That's more than a little ironic.
I am the rarest of breeds, a fourth generation native Nashvillian. In fact, I'm not even sure how far back I have to go to find people in my genealogy who weren't from middle Tennessee. My grandmother used to sing at gospel night at thy Ryman auditorium in the '50's. She's gone on stage after Patsy Cline before. My dad was a session guitarist in the '60's and was working at RCA studio B with a couple of legends the week I was born. My connection to this town is deep and I think I know what makes it a special place. The music of Nashville has always been about the heart. On one side of the street are the country songs of heartbreak and love lost. On the other side of the street are the gospel songs of redemption and rejoicing. I was raised at that crossroads and the music of this town runs through my veins. Nashville's music and its people are all heart ...this is my town.
Some see Nashville as a layover on the way to someplace further east or further west. Many of my dear friends have moved to the Big Apple or the City of Angels over the years. When I myself was climbing the pop charts as an artist, several music insiders asked me at parties when I was "making the move" to LA. My response was always the same ..."never." Why someone would stay in Nashville while trying to have a career in any musical style other than country was unthinkable to them. In fact, there are factions in this town that hate the very fact that I have pop songs on my resume and any sort of pop sound in my music. I haven't always been embraced by the music business in Nashville, but I've always believed that it is mecca for songwriters - not just rhinestone-clad country stars. I wanted to stay in the place I considered to be the pentacle of the art of the song, without having to sift through the trappings of fame and spectacle to get there. In short, I need to live in a place with heart. Nashville was built on the heart ...and it's my town.
Through the years, I've endured the good natured ribbing, at east and west coast events, about not wearing shoes or not having indoor plumbing or marrying my cousin or any number of the obligatory "red-neck" or "Beverly Hillbilly" jokes that circulate. I've lost gigs and cuts and opportunities because someone thought they heard a "fiddle or something" on some track of mine or assumed I was a right-wing racist or a "red-state" hate monger. These days you get a lot of "tea-bagger" jokes. The truth is there are some tea parties here (I don't think that's a bad thing). The truth is when a tornado blows through a trailer park here, there will inevitably be that four-toothed stereotype guy with no shirt and a "Skynard" tattoo on his chest, who can't find his pickup truck being interviewed on the local news - I love that guy! I get it - hillbillies, south of the Mason/Dixon, simple, down-home, blah, blah, blah. I laugh along with the joke. You can't stop the ignorant from showing their prejudices and preconceptions of the south, its music and its people. I know at its core, this is a good place with good people who want everybody to do well, cheer on their neighbors and pitch in when they're needed. They don't complain or wait for somebody else to show up. They get to it and get past it. This place has heart ...and it's my town.
Shepard Smith hasn't shown up and cried like a 9-year-old girl here. Geraldo hasn't shown up and declared it the end of the world. George Clooney hasn't chastised anyone publicly while simultaneously rounding up the cast of Ocean's Eleven to hold a telethon on our behalf. Julia Roberts hasn't looked into the camera, cocked her head slightly to the side and said, "please give," while choking back those big, patented actress tears. President Obama hasn't shown up and stood at the steps of the Ryman or the Parthenon (the only exact replica in the world of the one in Athens by the way - I've seen them both - ours is cleaner), or any Nashville historical landmark and said anything about anything. To my knowledge, we haven't even gotten a fly-over and a wave yet. I suppose if it's not something as important as an Olympic bid or a peace prize or a climate change summit or a date night with his wife or a guest spot on Jay Leno, it's not all that important. Still, you'll never hear Alan Jackson or Kenny Chesney stand in front of a camera and say, "Barrack Obama hates white people." Who knows? Maybe he just hates country music ...but I digress.
Without fanfare and without the need to be seen or heard, Nashvillians are cleaning up the damage and getting on with life. The community spirit in this town is amazing and should be a beacon to the world ...if the world could only get a look. This time next year, Nashvillians will be laughing about this around the table, eating pie and drinking sweet tea. Disasters don't define Nashvillians, they only challenge us temporarily. We won't live in this moment, we'll move on from it to more pressing matters of the heart. The music that does define this town will continue on and help the world through its heartbreak - cheer it on when it's down - buy it a drink when its had a hard day - help it dance when it's bored - make it cry when it least expects it and make it laugh when things look the worst. The people of this town will work till the debris is cleared, rebuild what was lost and show up at the Titans game after church every Sunday this coming fall. That's what we do here in Nashville. Nashville was built on the heart ...and it's my town.
R
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