I have a new favorite venue in Nashville. The Mercy Lounge has this air of cool about it that you don’t get in your average seedy music joint. There are couches for lounging and lamps that cast a warm glow over the whole place. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the Exit/In, but you must admit it lacks any sort of ambiance.
I’ve come up with a title for the book that I have wanted to write for so long: I Only Drink on Mondays: Tales of a Dancing Baptist in Nashville. I’m thinking the title might need some trimming. The basic concept of this book a satire of the Nashville music scene…and wouldn’t you know it, I’ve already started collecting archtypes to add to my growing list of characters. I found a prime suspect last night at The Thrills and Spy Mob show at Mercy Lounge.
You’ve seen him. He’s the guy who’s wearing a concert T-shirt at least one size too big, preferably Metallica, REM or U2 (I’m still trying to analyze why this is often true, but it is.) He’s the guy who actually knows who the opening band is, yet instead of cheering along with everyone else, tends toward the overly enthusiastic. Everyone behind him smirking with pity, because they themselves have never been enthusiastic about anything in their whole life. The horror of showing emotion over a band you actually like! Hey, I thought the band was great too (Spy Mob rules!), but I probably could have fared just as well without the knowledge that they hail from your hometown in Minnesota, and you think they are the greatest thing since the guys from Metallica cut their hair.
So the search continues. I’ll take any and all suggestions for characters that go into this book. No one is safe from lampooning, even myself, whom I have labeled a cynical music snob with a penchant for lambasting anyone who has the audacity to go on stage for an acoustic set and proceed to use the same two chords for five songs straight.