The State of Music

Tennessee is an elusive state for me. The first time I lived in North Carolina (for 12 years), I never so much as crossed the border into it. Not once. Not for 12 years. Then, my life took a detour through Utah and The West for 7 years (some people say “that was needed so that you can fix your heart”; I say it to myself “in more ways than one”), and I have been back for 8 years now and I have been to Tennessee twice. The call of the mountains, or of the music is strong this time. 

Crossing the border from NC and TN would only break your heart nowadays - the beautiful Smokies are still so very much damaged by Hurricane Helene which hit almost 2 years ago in September. The storms practically washed away the mighty Interstate 40 (that connects the West to the East Coast) into a huge ravine. And outside of one lane of traffic in each direction, most of the highway is still broken. It broke my heart. We seem to have no money to fix our own roads but find money for more destruction elsewhere ... Boggles my head! 

We went through The Volunteer State on our trip back from The West, in the fall of 2017. The magic of riding the Music Highway (the stretch of interstate 40 that connects Memphis to Nashville) has whispered to me ever since. In parts visibly poor, Tennessee is like an old country song - winding, mellow and going on forever ... 

Since dad passed in 2022, I have felt even a stronger connection to the music he loved and which he imparted with us all of his life. That music included a wide range of styles and performers, from Wilson Picket to Bob Dylan, from Elvis to The Beatles, The Rolling Stones to Willie Nelson, CCR and The Eagles. Going to Tennessee and listening to the music tales talks to you about all of it. And more. 

The Highwaymen: Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and Kris Kristofferson

I found Nashville and Tennessee to be a place of many things and not one thing in particular ... We toured The Hatch Print Shop where many music legends have printed their concert posters since 1879 and we learned that Tennessee was, at the time, known for printing.

Entering The Hatch Show Print Shop, outside The Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum

Then, we toured the Belle Meade Mansion and we learned how it was the premier 19th-century thoroughbred horse farm - if you were anyone who was into racing horses and wanted English-bread racing horses in America, you came to Belle Meade Plantation in Tennessee. Even Kentucky people would come to Belle Meade for their horses. 

The Belle Meade Plantation House

Visiting the “fake Parthenon” construction (or to say it nicely, the “Parthenon replica” in Centennial Park), you learn that the reason they built it there was that Nashville was at one point considered “The Athens of the South” given that since the early 1800s, the city established many schools like Davidson Academy, Fisk University, Meharry Medical College, and Vanderbilt University. 

The Parthenon replica in Centennial Park, Nashville, TN

Athena's statue inside the "Parthenon"

As I said - a place of many things and not one thing in particular. Except, that is, for music. 

Music is what called our names to it this time, and music is what pops in my head when I say “Tennessee”. Elvis and Grand Ole Opry, in particular. But this is one trip that widened that limited spectrum. We found a place vibrating with anything from country to swing to rock’n’roll and pop. 

Looking back to this short trip (only 3 days), it is hard to pick a favorite adventure. 

The Country Music Museum and Hall of Fame was a bucket-list pick. I remember my first country vinyl record. Dad brought it to us back in Communist Romania when I was in highschool. Where he smuggled it from during a time when Western music was all but banned and the acquisition of which was punishable with jail, I will never know. I also can’t remember whether the original artists were playing it or if they were some bands doing covers on it. But I remember playing that thing till it was good and scratched after which it gave it that old-record scratchy sound ... I remember playing Yellow Rose of Texas and Oh, Susanna about 10,000 times a day. I believe those were some of the first songs I learned all the lyrics to in English. 

The Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum

And from then on, I have been irreparably in love with the country stories. There was no turning back ... There is no escape for a writer to not be trapped in the beauty of telling a whole-life story in just a few lyrics that might not even take a page. And that is what country music is for me ... It’s the stories that lodge this music securely into every corner of my heart. The strong, crystal-clear voices (and every single country singer has one, without exception) are second to the perfect stringing of the words. 

That old, scratched up vinyl record held the mystery of what America meant for me at the time, and to some degree this music still does. A country of people always cross with the world, who feel more than anyone can express, and live to tell the tale, despite all odds. And always, always come on top. So, I went to Nashville to try to find some of that mystery, some of that fairytale land that cooked up in my head since I was in ninth grade. 

To this day, I like the old timey, bluegrass, Americana songs. No disrespect to today’s million-dollar stars (and no disrespect to pop, either), but they poppified it too much for me. I wanna be able to pick out the banjo, and the fiddle, and the big-old bass, and the harmonica, and the accordion in the band, one droplet of sound at a time ... “It’s the dialogue between the instruments that makes the magic” dad used to say, “just listen how one talks to another and how the other one replies.” 

I have been to museums where they display statues, and cars, and trains, and paintings, and natural landscapes, and food, and drinks, even. I have never been nor would I have imagined that you can display music in-between 4 walls. But that is the Country Music Museum and the Johnny Cash Museum too ... Every physical display is only secondary to a central music-playing device (a TV, a radio, a computer) ... You walk the history lane of country music, from the early 19th century musicians who passed away in anonymity, playing on barn thresholds and deep, wide, wrap-around Southern porches and you end up with today’s younger artists.

We found out that the  “newly-inducted” artists in the Country Music Hall of Fame does not necessarily mean contemporary ones: I could not quite believe that June Carter Cash was inducted in the Hall of Fame only last year (2025), while her famous husband, Johnny, has been there since 1980, and she played music publicly a lot longer (by almost 20 years) than he did! The Country Music Hall of Fame is a little behind, I thought. 

Listening to this music reminded me why I wanted to be an American so bad. It’s the juice of what’s good in America - the grit, the strong feelings, the passions, the unrequited love and trouble with the law, and its survival despite the odds, the journeys coast to coast, the fearlessness against every challenge...

One thing that will stay with me both from the Country Music Museum and the Johnny Cash one (within walking distance from one another) is, in addition to the music playing constantly at every step, you could read so many of their hand-written letters. Like I said - country music is nothing if not stories first. And you can read those letters and you can see where it all started from. With Johnny, for instance, giving his daughters advice and them journaling about how hard and painful it was to be in the shadow of famous parents. 

If you are ever wondering what town you're in wandering the streets of Nashville, murals like this will remind you ...

After about a half day taking in and paying respect to the many artists in Country music (walking into the round room of the country music hall of fame members has a church-like, reverence quietness about it; it exudes awe and quiet respect) , we headed towards the Honky Tonk District, which I didn’t even know existed until shortly before we arrived to Nashville. It’s a funky mix of live music, “cheese”, Southern kitsch and an opportunity to gawk at drinking people having fun, having left all inhibitions at home, till your eyeballs hurt. 

The circular room of the Hall of Fame Museum

Taking in a new (to me) city, savoring its food and just strolling seemingly focusless, through its streets is my favorite kind of sightseeing ... Spending half of a day on the Honky Tonk highway, where every single establishment is an open bar with a live band, you realize you have indeed arrived in the capital of music. It reminded me of when I visited New Orleans for the first time in 2004: every bar, every pub, every restaurant and every street corner had a live performer. That was gone later, after Katrina and in the winter ... But on this trip, it felt like all that moved to Nashville ... 

The start of the Honk Tonk Highway, outside the Johnny Cash Museum

We had lunch at Lainey Wilson’s Bell Bottoms Up Restaurant & Bar, listening to new local talent playing on the stage, where the light fixtures above your head at the table are real cowboy hats. I had to stop there - I wore nothing but my dad’s old bell-bottom jeans from the 60s all through my college years, and I am sure those pants are still at my mom’s house in the attic somewhere... It had to be done. 

After walking around for a while and listening to live music thrown out from every window, passing by places like the Jon Bon Jovi’s Bar, Nudie’s Honky Tonk (highly recommend seeing the Nudie mobile exhibit at the Country Music Museum; talk about something truly American - wow!), Friends in Low Places Honky Tonk, we stopped for a drink at The Honky Tonk Central, with its three stories all with a different-style band (from country to hard rock). If you wanted to line dance with a pickin’ band, you stopped on the first floor. We climbed all the way to third to listen to rock cover songs and take in the entire district from the balcony. 

View from the third floor of the Honky Tonk Central

Detail of the Nudie Mobile

We had dinner just outside the Honky Tonk Highway, at The Diner - a Nashville staple in the SoBro (South of Broadway) District, a 24/7, 6 story restaurant. Again, we climbed to the top floor to take in the city view, as the sun was setting and everything seemed pink and tired. 

View from the sixth floor of The Diner Restaurant in the SoBro District

People are so nice in Nashville. I guess it’s sort of expected, if you’re in The South, right? But the city has a weird, cheesy, touristy, Las Vegas-like vibe to it too ... An interesting mix. 

I was just a hundreth of an inch close to walking away with two pairs of these. The place is contagious for boots!

On our second full day there, we visited the Belle Meade Mansion and then Centennial Park with the Parthenon replica. It is indeed just a replica, but it is very impressive. On the bottom floor, there is a historic timeline of its full construction which I found fascinating. You can mock it for America being again a copy-cat (Venice-like canals or The Trevi Fountain in Vegas, anyone?!), but there was planning, and thought, and research, and lots of money, and years to accomplish what you look at today. I think, all in all, worth seeing. 

We crowned our stay with the best, most rewarding experience of all: a night at The Grand Ole Opry (the new one, almost outside of town, and not the old, historic one which is now known as the Ryman Auditorium, downtown), where we were treated to a live show from the artists that created the soundtrack for the movie Oh, Brother Where Art Thou?. Can you believe that movie is now 25 years old? 

The Ryman Auditorium (today), the original Grand Ole Opry House

Talk about a bucket-list moment. Alison Krauss, Dan Tyminski, Emmylou Harris, The Whites, The Fairfield Four, Chris Thomas King, Tim Blake Nelson, Billy Strings, T. Bone Burnett put together a show like no other that I have ever seen. I have seen many music biopics picturing acts from the 50’s and 60’s and it was much like that - the stage was never empty, and one act followed another at stupefying speed, with almost no break. An announcer would present them and on the stage they headed, guitars and other instruments around their necks and in their hands. One amazing rendition after another. I thought I died and went to heaven - I knew every lyric. 

Everyone who is is anyone was on that stage

The energy and the passion they put into every song, everyone, from the little girls from The Alaskan Sunnyside Sisters to the old men of The Fairfield Four gave us the spectacle of our lifetime. I have been to many shows, a lot of them I lived to go to all of my life, but never in my 50 years have I seen an entire auditorium smiling and truly, genuinely happy, altogether, all at the same time. Not a frown, not a hateful word, not a petty spat. Everyone sang along and clapped, and stomped their feet and left happy. Especially in today’s world, to see this, to feel it through your bones, it was magical. 

And I blame it all, of course, on this music. This old timey music with relatable stories (the only thing this music requires to relate to is just to be human, although I am pretty sure it could even move my cat) connects people. Makes you happy to be alive, and heck, it even makes you happy to be dead one day, too, when the songs tell you about this fairy land you hope to go one day where “... the little streams of alcohol come trickling down the rocks”. 

That concert cured my troubled soul which has had a hard time settling in the past few years for good and proper. It brought me home - to a stronger home than the physical one - a spiritual and heart-felt one - the only one, the soulful one, the only one that truly matters ... 

And it restored my bridges to what I still (despite all evidence to the contrary lately) love about America. It mended what has been hurting for 10 years now, and it gave me hope. 

Driving out of Nashville, the echos of the voices of Billy Strings, Alison Krauss and Dan Tyminski were still playing softly in my head ... “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are blue ...” 

Leaving The City of Music (for me) in the rearview mirror and rolling through my head the slide show of all the many artists we visited at the Country Music Hall of Fame Museum, all the recognizable names I stumbled into on the Honky Tonk Highway, made me also think of my dad and how much, oh how painfully much, I would have loved to share this with him. 

I remember him being puzzled one day because I was telling him a dress he wanted to buy for mom was “funky” looking. He said in perfect English: “Funky? What is funky? You mean honky. Honky tonk women? O-bla-di. O-bla-da.” My dad might have not known English, but he knew his music. And I am glad for this short excursion to treasure more of it myself, right from where it all started. 

One of the several garden interiors at our hotel: The Gaylord Opryland Resort & Convention Center - just 5 minutes from The Grand Ole Opry

To My Love, with All My Heart ...

He’s patient and kind.

He makes me laugh the loudest (sorry, dad!) and he dries away my tears so often …

He wraps my wounds and heals me …

He writes, he draws, he plays music, he cooks, he cleans, he makes pictures and woodworking …

He loves to drive and eat … A lot.

He loves ice-cream, squirrels, birds, kitties, and pups, and he loves me – but I am not sure where in this hierarchy I fall. It doesn’t matter – I am honored to be in the hierarchy at all …

He is as tough as nails and as soft as jell-o ... 

He can take more than anyone I know and he has the most tender heart ... 

To most people, he is the most serious man alive, and to me – he is the biggest joker there ever was …

We talk about computers, “brilliant code”, English, foreign languages, geography, politics, books, where our next adventure will be, our day-to-day boring lives, picture-taking, decorating, building homes … and the list can go on forever …

He’s my best friend, the human that I spend the most time with, the first thought I have in the morning, the last one as I slip into the night …

I am still in awe that two humans who grew up so differently, in such remote corners of the planet could finally meet and click so much. That two such humans can be so alike in the same weird ways …

I am humbled every day that he shares his life with me.

I never believed in the meaning of ‘forever’ till I met him … He fills my heart, my senses, my every day …

If there is one thing I hate about this man is that I did not meet him sooner ... 

There is no amount of words that I can string together to tell you more about him. None of them would do him justice …

I put this video together to celebrate his craziness and quirks, his sweetness and sass, and to amuse him and all who know him. I hope this worked.

I love you, babe! Today more than always before…

East Coast, West Coast and Beauty Somewhere In-Between

“Ooh Ms. Parsley sing it out as a prayer
It's floating on sensational
You make the change in the air
Let's let it be all right
Step it up to life” (Jeb Puryear - Ms. Parsley)

I can't remember as far back as when I was first introduced to Donna the Buffalo. I was single, living in North Carolina, in my early 30's, and I was 'friends' with this guy on My Space. Remember My Space?! His name was Turk (or so he said) and he was a veterinarian (so he said). I never did keep in touch with Turk, but he will always have a special place in my heart for opening it to Donna the Buffalo. He sent me an illegal link with hundreds of Donna concerts. I downloaded all I could download and I got myself my first 100% pirated 4 cd's and I was hooked! He said “if you like The Dead, you will love Donna.”

And he was right: I only like The Dead, and I do love Donna.

I am not sure what it is about what they do, but their music is hypnotic to me. I can be tired, head-achy, moody, wanting silence and a heavy bowl of mashed potatoes, and I listen to a Donna song and it's like elements align and the world makes sense again – no pain, or discomfort, just peace. Works better than Tylenol, every time.

When I lived on the East Coast, the opportunities to see them were numerous. They are a house band, almost literally, for the Shakori Festival, and they come to NC often (sometimes several times in the same month). But when I moved out West, things got pretty sketchy: I subscribe to their newsletter and they seldom, if ever, come out there. I have lived here for seven years now and I only know of two times that they have come close to Utah (I believe they made it out here more then this, but not close enough within driving distance for me): one was four years ago in Montana, at the Red Ants Pants Festival (I am not making this up, this is the real name – https://wander-world.blogspot.com/2013/08/chasing-some-dreams.html), and the second time was this month, in Park City.

This second time, I could almost not believe my eyes when I saw the announcement: Park City is practically home for me. How did I get so lucky for these folks from Upstate New York to wander all the way over here?! So, it was a no-brainer: even if I was on a stretcher, I had to figure out a way to go see them. And thank God, I was not on a stretcher.

I have seen them all in all live for about 4 times, I think. And every time I tell myself: you've got to really love them to really keep coming back. And it's not the music: the music is amazing, and it's not even much of an acquired taste: it just has one of those melodies that just appeals to just about anyone. Not many people remain motionless and don't start to dance while listening to them. They are catchy. Beyond that, they are all also really great musicians. The organ player has always been my favorite, but what Tara does with her instruments is not short of amazing, either. Jeb's guitar picking is what gives them their unique sound, I think – they are all pretty much flawless when it comes to their peerformances.

But … there is this stage presence thing … My mom used to always say that a singer must know how to dance, or how to let us know they're happy to be on a stage in order for them to be memorable. For me, most people on this band have always been struggling just a bit with this part. Especially Tara: as talented and flawless as she is as a musician, as inspiring as a song writer, she does not look like she is having fun on that stage. She looks like she has a very serious, and very constraining job to do and she is trying really hard not to get in trouble. What she does does look very natural and very effortless. But she does it with … fear and concentration, for lack of better words. She is tense, and crisp. And frowning … I feel like she is forced to be there, rather than enjoys to be there. I am pretty sure I am wrong – being on the road for almost 20 years must offer some amount of pleasure to you, or else you'd stop doing it. But …

Jeb has some loose moments, although he can be very serious, too. For the most part, he is a warmer presence, softer, his voice very much drone-like just flows. He is more like a very easy-going hippie than an official business person (like Tara). From the other three musicians, only Kyle, the bass player, seems like he really loves being on stage, and he really loves his audience. He is the one making eye contact with people, smiling, winking, moving about, dancing. And there is another thing: I know that Kyle is the bass player, because the wiki told me so: they don't present their band on stage. I think it's the same thing for Tara and Jeb – I know their names because I investigated. As warm and inviting and party-like as their music is, there is always this guardrail at the edge of that stage, and for some reason, we are not fully invited in.

I have also noticed that they are so much more relaxed and well received by the audience (or maybe relaxed because they are well received by the audience) on the East Coast than here, in the West. I guess, to some extent, that's understandable: they are a household name back there, whereas here they are a rare apparition. I remember going to their shows in NC and people at work knew exactly who I am going to see. I have had their bumper sticker on my car for years here, and not a soul knows what the heck that means.

The other night, when we saw them in Park City, this couple approached us before the show, to ask us if we like them and if we have ever seen them live. They had never seen them live, but they listened to them, and “they sounded good”. We said yes, we had seen them live before, but I was nervous to talk them up. I love their music and I think that anyone in general should give them a listen, but especially anyone who likes bluegrass. But when it comes to their live performances, I am afraid people will be put off.

The show we saw in Montana a few years ago was a disaster, I thought: what very few people know (including us, at the time) about Montana is that it is wicked windy! Think hurricane winds as a matter of fact, howling and constant. The festival is in this wide open prairie, and there is no tree, nor mountain around to stop the wind and the sand whipping your face. Non. Stop. They came on stage and their guitar picks were blown away in the wind. The sound blew away with them. Tara got visibly mad. They were rushed, and wanted to get it done with, it seemed. People started leaving early. The crowd dwindled, and that was painful to watch. For the first time, everyone there was not there for Donna. It was new to me.

The Park City show was much, much better, I thought. The venue was small and intimate (an underground cocktail lounge called O.P. Rockwell). The sound was a bit hard, as they sounded very loud, but you got used to it fast. Tara had issues, again, which strained her nerves, visibly, because her mic was not loud enough, she thought. Their sound was a bit flat (all mics sounded like they were tuned equally, and I would have liked the instruments to be a bit more dimmed than their voices, perhaps), but they sounded good, overall, if you were not picky! And Tara is.

People were great sports. Most everyone danced and stayed till the end. They played for more than two hours, solidly – almost no breaks between songs, no introductions. They did have a short intermission.

The one thing that I can clearly see that could alike them to The Dead is their long jamming sessions. They get into these long instrumental rifts that go on for a good 20-30 minutes sometimes, just wailing away. They have instrument solos during it, and dialogues, and are somewhat psychedelic, very 60's-like. They did several of these the other night, too, and the crowd exploded a couple of times.

They sounded as great as usual – like I said before: these folks surely know their stuff. It was great to hear some old songs (Positive Friction, Everyday, In Another World), but also some new ones. I would tell you what they are called, but they didn't tell us. I guess they might be on their next album, if bands do albums anymore?!

Every single song had the same effect their music has on me: feels like every blood cell in my blood stream moves with their rhythm. It's like your whole body becomes plugged into some unseen electrical outlet which makes it move with the music. They are powerful, and entertaining, but on a more cerebral level, I suppose.

If I have one bit of advice for trying them for the first time is this: listen to their recordings first. If you like what you hear, then, listen to more and more of their music. If you really think you're hooked, then, go see them live. You can be very forgiving when you love them for their music first. And they are truly lovable because of what they do and because of the precision and energy with which they are doing it. They take their seriousness and attention to every note and “step it up to life.”

Donna is the reason why I would never sneeze at an unknown hometown band – because beauty and talent does not always need a Grammy to be legitimate.

I leave you to one of my favorite tunes, and in this video Tara looks like maybe she is having just a smidgen of fun.

Proud to be a herd member! 

An (Undramatic) Dream Came True

“Hey man, I'm alive
I'm taking each day and night at a time
I'm feeling like a Monday but someday I'll be Saturday night... “

I’ll give you one guess at who said that! One guess, because I know that no matter your age, social class, country, or amount of rocks you’ve been living under, you know that those lyrics are belched out by Jon Bon Jovi!

I can’t even remember the very first time I knew about Bon Jovi. It could have been in my middle school years (that’s around 1985’ish), but because that was the tail end of Communism and the worst years ever under that regime, I doubt I would have heard of them underneath that iron curtain.

So, it must have been high school – most likely after 1989 … But that seems too late!

Needless to say, I feel like I was born and was raised on their music, much like I was on that of The Beatles’ and Elvis’s. I can recognize Jon’s voice on the radio any time, even if it’s a song that I have never heard before – if such a thing is still possible!

They’ve been such a mainstay in my life, that I never even thought about actually wanting so badly to see them live. I felt like, in a way, they’re everywhere. How much closer to them can a live performance get me?!  

I remember I listened to them on my 10^th grade graduation retreat, on my summer breaks in the Romanian mountains, in my very hot flat, during college summer nights, at mom’s home. I remember reading about what a great big deal was when he chopped off his hair. I remember him on Ally McBeal! To me, they’re as American as Bruce Springsteen, and as lovable and popular as a white zin amongst the wines or a golden lab amongst the dogs – they just go with everything and lick everyone’s hand! There is something of the “boy next door” familiarity about these kids, I tell you this much. A timeless, ageless flair.

I finally got the chance to be under the same roof as them about 3 weeks ago, in Salt Lake City. And what do you know?! I was not truly, deeply moved! It was like seeing old friends. It was probably the only live show I have ever been to where I felt like I knew every song – there was an eerie intimacy to it. What I knew about them (except for Sambora who was missing that night, replaced by a new Canadian guitarist, apparently) was all there. Same voice, same crazy running up and down the stage, same solos, same focus on delivering plain, good, clean music. Same black leather vest.

There was nothing spectacular, out of the world shocking (like Aerosmith showing up an hour late to the show, with Steve and Joe Perry screaming at each other in a spat) or Gene Simmons stuffing his tongue down some chick’s throat at a KISS show; or Melissa Etheridge demanding a Persian rug be on stage before she could start playing, during a downpour in Deer Valley! It was just plain, good, synchronized, clean music. Same ol’ – same ol’. And flawless! There is lots to be said for exactness and non-drama in this crazy rock-n-roll business, for sure. Except, of course, for the fact, that their famous front guitarist didn’t show. I guess that’s the bit of the chance in this business.

I have many Bon Jovi favorite songs. When I plug them into my car cd player, I sing along with every tune, all the way to work. But I lived for hearing Bed of Roses live. It played at my wedding and it’s just the most peaceful rock ballad I know. And I would not be opposed to playing it at my funeral, too, if someone will remember this.

And that night , for this song alone, will stay in my memory as one where a dream came true – because he, the man from Jersey, the un-dramatic, “clean” rocker did that for me. With one song! So, I guess, I was moved, after all. Moved that not only did I hear my favorite song one more time, but that he played it live. For me. And I got a live recording of it. All mine.   

Enjoy – funny interlude and all: