Fire At The Ellis Hotel

On December 7, 1946, the deadliest hotel fire in U.S. history claimed the lives of 119 people at the Ellis Hotel, formerly The Winecoff Hotel, in Atlanta, Georgia. As I was making the reservation at the Ellis yesterday, I thought I could deal. I couldn’t. I lay awake alone in my room all night thinking about the stories I’d read about it being haunted and what it would be like to be burned alive. I slipped in and out of nightmares. At some unholy hour of the night I decided that if I weren’t going to be able to take my rest, I should just get an early start on the road back to Nashville. My gas light was on, so I stopped at the first gas station I came to – one with bars on the doors and windows with a sign that read “WE SELL PEPPER SPRAY” in bold letters. Incidentally, I think this is the same gas station we’d made some kind of drunken scene in after the Dispatch show the last time I was in Atlanta. I vaguely remember something about pizza or fried chicken, or maybe it was just because she was barefoot and maybe I was involved. Anyway, I made it to the radio station in Nashville on time this morning (okay, five minutes late), wide-eyed and delirious, but I made it and just showing up is most of what life is about.

The Great American Adventure 

I don’t know how it’s taken me this long to follow a band on tour. I have a newfound respect for musicians out on the highway. I only made it to four of the six shows The Felice Brothers played in the past week and I am exhausted, and all I had to do was just show up. Louisville to Nashville to Birmingham to Atlanta. They do this for weeks at a time, playing in a different city every night, usually six nights a week. They finish one show, pack up and drive through the night to the next city and do it all over again. They don’t have roadies or a driver for their bus – they persevere because of their own blood, sweat and tears (but mostly sweat). Some guy at the show in Atlanta who thought he could Felice harder than us speculated that they sleep on their bus, I don’t really know about all that, but I don’t doubt that they would if they had to. Having the energy to put on a solid performance night after night and having any amount of patience to deal with people cornering them and talking their head off after the show (guilty) despite all of this is mind-blowing.

Shout-out to the couple I met at the show in Lexington for sharing the spirit of reckless abandon and giving me a reason to come to Birmingham and Atlanta this weekend. I do believe this is an excellent example of my theory of “if you’re the person having the most fun in the crowd at a show, all of the other fun people in the crowd will gravitate towards you.”

Speaking of reckless abandon, I understand that the Felice Brothers got their start by playing in subways in New York City. The passion, drive and blind faith I see in them is everything music should be. It’s simultaneously mournful and rapturous – while so many other musicians coming out nowadays produce something so contrived and cliche, their music flows from them in a way so natural, like the way the moon pulls waves across the ocean. It got me through some heavy trials and troubles, so I feel the least I can do is be insanely fanatical in return.

Back On The Farm

Anyway, last night was enough excitement and heightened blood pressure for a while… like, at least a week. Feels good to be back home. I was so exhausted once I got home from the radio station, even once I woke up from my nap I didn’t have the energy to go the journey to the grocery store and had planned on being bummed out about eating pretzels all night. I’m grateful that the Ukrainian who is staying in the room the Australian was in last week was generous enough to share his dinner with me as we discussed the conflict in Ukraine. For those of you who missed the memo, I’m living in a commune. I’d been in denial about it because we’re not off-the-grid or autonomous or whatever, but if we’re going by the dictionary definition, it’s a commune. So, that’s neat.

That’s enough over-sharing for a while, you may now return to your regularly scheduled programming, like this – have you ever considered that every lighting bug at which you marvel its beauty is really just trying to get laid? Think about it.