Last night’s Square Peg show at The Radio Cafe was a delight, if not a tad claustrophobic.

The Cafe is a fairly small, nondescript gray-stone building nestled in an east Nashville neighborhood (my wife and I actually live less than a minute away tucked back in the folds of that same neighborhood). Upon entry from Woodland Street, the venue’s bar is situated on the left, and seating is squeezed in between the old mom-and-pop store shelves lining both sides. The stage is immediately towards the back of the room. Old Hatch Print concert posters adorn the walls.

I wasn’t on the bill but I wanted to go hear that night’s scheduled compatriot Pegs (Jill Phillips, Andy Gullahorn, Andrew Osenga, Andrew Peterson, Matthew Perryman Jones, Randall Goodgame) play a few songs in the round. A relatively recent acquaintance (and my new best friend…thanks for the Yazoo beer, Ben, cousin to Andy Gullahorn) treated me to a delicious cold beverage so I stood at the bar for awhile listening to these songwriters - who incidentally make me want to quit - until I unfortunately realized that I was surrounded by a mass of standing people, with little wiggle room, and I got a little claustrophobic so I had to excuse myself from the venue to get some outside fresh air. The air in question was tainted with the unmistakable scent of raw sewage bellowing up from the sewer grates at the curb. So much for fresh air…

At some point in my outdoor recuperation, someone poked their head outside and told me that I was being called up on stage to play a song. Those who know me well know that I don’t do well in crowds, so to have to make my way through a standing-room-only room is a painful exercise in self-conscious awareness. To have the eyes of one person upon me, much less a crowd, is like having holes bored in me (*Yes, I full well realize the irony of this quirk - one of my many - juxtaposed alongside the demands of a profession requiring me to be in front of people, strangers no less. Life, indeed, is full of humor and regression). Already flustered by the time I found my way to the stage (so sorry to those of you whose heads or hands I kicked or stepped on in the harried process), I fumbled my way to borrow a guitar, was lucky to find a plectrum, barely managed to plug the instrument in - activities not quite so abnormal to the everyday musician - and I managed to somehow sing my way through a song called “Little By Little Things”, to which I distinctly heard a couple of my fellow Pegs singing harmony (thanks guys). After my heroic, neolithic conquering of earth, Derek Webb & Sandra McCracken also got up to do a song, Chris Mason played one of his about Balaam (and the ass), and Billy Cerveny played a tune. Much fun…

I am very thankful to know these folks and to be a part of this songwriter’s group. They make me want to be much better of a writer, and THAT, as I see it, is a good thing. For those of you who are interested, we’re doing another show next week, same bat-time, same bat-place.

Tues. Aug. 29
The Radio Cafe
14th & Woodland St.
8pm
Free

I was recently “tagged” by some friends to answer questions re: my experiences reading the printed word. Here are my responses:

1. One book that changed your life:
Blue Like Jazz (Don Miller)
Yes, it’s a bandwagon book by now, but Miller’s ability to put my unassembled thoughts and concerns into his own well-written words was truly a breakthrough moment for me.

2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
I can’t think of a single one. I can barely read a book once let alone twice due to my inability to pay attention for long. But I do want to re-read Watership Down (Richard Adams) soon. Does that count?

3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
Some kind of survival guide. Seems like it would be wise and prudent to have one of these puppies in my possession if ever I was stranded.

4. One book that made you laugh:
Traveling Mercies (Anne Lamott)
Her conversion story is blunt and hilarious.

5. One book that made you cry:
Jayber Crow (Wendell Berry)
Berry’s fictional Port William, KY characters are rich with humanity. They greet me with nostalgia and longing for place. Berry’s writing is superb.

6. One book that you wish had been written:
So You Want To Be A Professional Independent Musician: Have A Seat And Some Pepto

7. One book you wish had never been written:
Left Behind (Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins)
(I will quote my friends, Gaines and Allison, since our experiences, and responses, were nearly identical except that I was out of college at the time I read this waste of paper.)
“Yes, I read it. I think I got to number 4 in the series before I wised up.”

8. One book you’re currently reading:
Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
I actually finished this book a couple of nights ago but it rocked my world so much that I had to willingly lie just so I could mention it here.

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
Huck Finn (Mark Twain)
I read Tom Sawyer for the first time this summer. How can I possibly call myself a red-blooded American and not have read this book before?? So enjoyable to be reminded of what it is and feels like to be a child in America….

My brother, BB, came to town this weekend. He recently picked up a gig playing drums for a band, Indigenous, who have been making waves out of South Dakota. They were in town last night at 3rd & Lindsley and BB invited us to the show. A 6-piece band out of Austin, TX, Del Castillo, opened the night with some of the most incredible, rapid-fire southwest flamenco guitar mine ears hath heard. These gents very nearly stole the show.

I picked BB up from the airport on Friday afternoon, he expressed a craving for Japanese sushi and so, that night, we partook of some of the strangest, most beautiful food I’ve eaten to date. He insisted on ordering gobs (an awful word to describe any type of edibles) of various delicacies (freshwater eel, tempura rolls, California rolls, East Coast rolls, and edamame beans) to which I thought in my mind, “No way on earth that’s going to be enough food for three people”, Danielle included. So after BB rattled off a few sushi items to our inexplicably nervous waiter (we were very nearly the only patrons in the whole joint), I additionally ordered a noodle dish which regrettably turned out to be some kind of soup in which every element (shrimp, sweet potato, broccoli, etc.), liquid aside, was deep-fried. For Pete’s sake, if I wanted deep-fried anything I’d head to Louisiana for a fix. After one taste I deemed it wanting. And in one of those Eureka! moments I realized that man can indeed live on sushi alone. Mental note: a few tempura rolls, Cali rolls, perhaps some Ebi and a cold Sapporo, et voila!, we have ourselves a meal fit for two.

Indigenous took the stage last night at 9pm sharp since this was a show being aired live on local Lightning 100FM. Personally, I’ve never been much of a fan of the Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jimi Hendrix guitar-slinging thing, but I, being a very mediocre FOLK guitarist at best, can recognize skill when I see it on stage right in front of me. I absolutely love that the world of music is so monumentally varied that not everyone has to dub themselves a “singer-songwriter” in order to effectively speak their peace. How the human mind and heart can translate itself through an amped up (my ears are still ringing this morning as I write this) Fender Stratocaster is one of the great Mysteries of music. Hearing live music is always a healthy experience… unless you happen to be attending an American Idol Tour. What the??

Smelling affluently of cigarette smoke, Danielle and I dropped BB back off at the band’s hotel later that night, wished him well and gingerly made our way home across the moonlit Cumberland River to our quiet complex. Thanks for coming to visit, BB. Your on- and off-stage energy makes me look like a walking coffin. Tanks, tanks fer nutt’n….
EP