The chicken I will never forget

It has certainly been a busy week this week. I have been joined for the last 7 days, out here on my journey of discovery, by my two friends Anna and Mark, and we've been on a musical marathon across the country; from the centre of American live music in Austin to the home of country music Nashville, and onto Memphis and Graceland, all while taking in the delights of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Arkansas. Fading the white line has never been more appropriate!! (that's over 2000 miles).

Nashville has for a while been somewhere where I have desperately wanted to go and explore, ever since I discovered the greatest, most heartfelt and true music that there is; Country. Now I know that most of you will scoff and look down at me as visions of Dolly Parton, rhinestones and hillbillies in trucker caps flash across your mind, but that's like thinking all Americans are fat, stupid and shallow. Ok, bad example, (while driving across the southern states one woman had never heard of England and the other asked if we were from France!!), but I guaranty your prejudices of country music would change once you arrived in Nashville. The whole place is dedicated to it's musical charms with live music porting out of every bar and enough hats and boots to stock an army of cowboys.
But the jewel of the crown is the Grand Ole Opry.
This is a live weekly concert that has been broadcast on the radio without interruption for almost 60 years and has hosted the greatest names in the business and brings the country music community together like no other.

On Friday, the day of the show, sadly one of the true great legends passed away, George Jones, and the show that evening was both a fitting memorial and celebration of his life and work. Artists of all generations paid tribute including a surprise appearance by Brad Paisley at the end (that won't mean anything to you but it's a huge deal).
For Anna and Mark, both musicians, they found the evening inspiring and motivating more than anything they had experienced. Which made a change from the squabbling, bratish brother/sister act that they seemed to enjoy falling into whenever they got bored.

The other thing I will never forget about Nashville is Prince's Hot Chicken.
This is an institution. A tiny, grimy, old joint that dishes out fried chicken second to none.
This chicken is also hot enough to let you see through time!!! Now I'm a man that enjoys spicy food, I enjoy a vindaloo and a fiery chili with the best of them, but I have never experienced unadulterated pain like I did eating that chicken. I lost my voice after one bite. I went into shock and didn't know what to do. I desperately lunged for some fries to try and numb the pain and ease my torment, but whatever spices that had been mined from the depths of hell and seared onto the chicken (and now the insides of my mouth and throat), had also been liberally doused over these fried potatoes as well, resulting in an expression that I can only imagine looked like I had just swallowed a bee while watching The Queen doing an erotic dance.  Regrettably no photographic evidence of my reaction exists.

Going to Graceland was also a highlight. I'm not a big Elvis fan but I enjoy his music and respect what he managed to achieve in his life. He was The King. And he certainly lived like one. Graceland is an homage to bad 70s designer taste. With shag pile carpets, hideous color schemes and gold everywhere, it certainly hasn't dated very well. However it stands as a testament to a great performer, one the likes of which we will never see again.

Until next time...

This week I have been listening to...

If you don't like the road you're walking down, starting paving a new one

So people have been asking me why I chose the title ‘Fading the White Line’ for this blog of mine and what in heavens name dose it mean? Is my eye sight getting worse perhaps, or have I suddenly acquired a debilitating cocaine addiction and these musings are just the result of a chemically enduesed three month binge, where in fact I’m not in America but in the toilet of some grubby club somewhere off the Kensington High Road.

It is neither of these things, so don’t panic mum.

The term as I have seen it refers back to the 50s and 60s where aspiring poker players in Texas, such as Saylor Roberts, Amarillo Slim, and ‘Texas Dolly’ Doyle Brunson would drive themselves all across the state going from one game to another, winning their pay, beating the local players, and quickly getting out of town if the losers took exception to their ‘good fortune’. These guys would crisscross the highways of the south driving for days to get to a game they had heard about full of rich guys with very little skill. These long road trips across the vast, desolate tracks of Texas country with little in the way of entertainment other than going over your hands form the night before, and with next to no sleep would be referred to between them as Fading the White Line, regarding the line down the centre of the road.

Well having been driving around Texas myself now for the past few weeks I am confident that my choice of title was extremely fitting. It is quite something to sit behind the wheel and just pound the miles away, watching the scenery streak past, going from town to town, passing farms and ranches, huge malls and little village stores (that still seem to stock everything you might need from a quart of milk to a new Corvette), vast skyscrapers and simple country churches.

The road just stretches on in front of you, like a never ending wave, inviting you to see what is over the next ridge or around the next curve, with the promise of discovery and adventure ever hanging in the air. That and exhaust fumes and dust.

I paint a very idyllic picture I know, however it is not quite so.

The sign posting over here is idiotically poor, with very little, or no notice given of junctions or directions. How people got around before the invention of sat nav I just don’t know. There are probably still people that left their home during the Great Depression that are still looking for the correct turn off for the I35 heading West.

The other hazard is the quality of the road surfaces. There is certainly no chance of falling asleep behind the wheel with a plethora of cracks, potholes, changes in surface, studs, and all other manner of objects that makes sure the White Line doesn’t fade for too long.

Until next time…

This week I’ve been listening to…

In the wilderness, no one can hear you scream...

Sitting here watching the last day of the Masters Golf Tournament currently being played at Augusta, Georgia, gives me a good excuse to talk about the great outdoors, and how Americans treat their vast and pleasant land.

They all seem rightly proud of the fantastic scenery that is encompassed in this huge and diverse country. In Texas alone, which I give you isn’t small by any means, there is an ever changing countryside that moves past you as you traverse the state. You have the flat open planes of the Pan Handle in the north, the lush forested regions to the east, the dry, arid tundra of the south, and the rolling hillsides and valleys in the west. All distinct, all unique, but all quintessentially American.

This is surely one of the major reasons why people, like myself, come here to visit. We have all seen those fantastic images and film of the jagged, snow top peaks set against a searing blue sky, the sweeping, scorched desserts or the humid, sultry swamps of the bayou, and when you get here there is no way you can leave feeling disappointed.

Having spent this weekend camping in the hill country to the west of Austin, and watching the sun set over a beautiful lake, and waking up in the woods over looked by vine covered slopes, it felt great to get out of the cities and away from the hustle and bustle of all the people and experience what the country had to offer. For Graham it offered a burnt thumb on a piece of firewood and a racoon trying to steal our food and trying to scare it off with a large beef steak on a long stick! It also gave us an epic drive 90 mins out of Austin along some twisty, curving hillside road, and it turns out the country also has some very nice wines and plenty of vineyards that you can try them at. I have to admit I did not expect to be sat in between rows of grapes, in Texas, sampling home made wines, and looking up at a hill top castle copied from a 16^th century Bavarian stronghold (that you can rent out for your fairytale wedding or your hunting party).

And this is a big part of how the Yanks look at their country; ‘What can I take from this’. Whether it’s hunting, fishing, camping, off-roading or just escaping from the towns and cities, these beautiful wildernesses are now seen as playgrounds and theme parks (or the perfect places to set up your headquarters for your religious cult, and ‘bible camps’ to send your kids to).

And this is a great shame. There are some great small communities in these places that are slowly dying and being taken over by people from the cities buying property as weekend retreats. Being still a relatively young country that only a few generations ago was still being explored and colonised by pioneering families, a land of such huge expanse that space has never been at a premium, and an economy based on vast natural resources that bloomed settlements overnight where there had previously only been dust and sand, Americans have never seemed to have much of a problem picking up and moving on.

In England I think we pay much more attention to our green and pleasant land, mainly because there is so little left of it, where as here people seem a little bit more dismissive and blasé about their natural surroundings. Being treated to such scenic pleasures for your entire life I guess it would be hard not to I suppose.  

Until next time...


This week I've been listening to...

Simon Cowell should be locked up on Bourbon St.

Britain has been at the cutting edge of music since the 60s. This is a fact. A bold statement you might think, but and accurate one as I will now prove to you.
Musicians that have come from this Scepted Isle have been at the forefront of almost every new musical genre you can think of. Pop, Rock, Punk, Electro, Dance... Think of some the groundbreaking bands and artists that have truly shaped the world of music and have pushed boundaries or opened up styles to a global audience; The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd etc.

The proof of this is that since I've been over here, traveling across various cities and States, I have heard far more British bands on the radio, I've heard far more bands cover British songs, and I've heard far more enthusiasm from fans about British bands and music.

Some examples I hear you cry. Well, almost every 'store' I've been in over hear seems to have a fascination in playing 90s British Pop, from Blur to Jamiroquai to All Saints, it's like being back at home listening to Heart FM (only without the moronic DJs and the thoughts of suicide you get after listening for more than five minuets). And if it's not Brit Pop blasting out of the speakers the only other thing it will be over here is Mumford & Sons. They are obsessed with them. It must be that whimsical, folksy charm and the accents.

However since the dawning of this new millennium a dark cloud has past over British music snuffing out almost all creativity and uniqueness within... Simon Cowell. But even under this tyrannical ruler who discharges bland one hit wonder acts with ruthless German efficiency, the Americans are still entranced by what we have. Whilst I was in San Antonio one evening, having a quiet meal in the beautiful, Mediterranean like surroundings of the riverside, my thoughts were tastelessly interrupted by a hoard of screaming banshee like teenage girls all desperate to see the latest pop act to be excreted from our shores; Little Mix.

Having spent the last week though in New Orleans it has restored my faith in music. This is a city that truly doesn't sleep, and if you do, you are lulled off to the sounds of some of the greatest jazz, blues, funk and soul that has ever been set forth. There is a real pulse in this city. Music is ingrained into every stone wall, wooden shutter and iron balconey. Here is where you come to forget, let go and not think about tomorrow. The original Sin City. Temptations of everykind wherever you go. A heady mix of cocktails, gambling, women and dance all to the incessant beat of drums, guitar and brass, and the wail of truely soulfull voices. This is a city that is literally over flowing with talented musicians that create some truly amazing sounds and an atmosphere that is as infectious as it is pleasurable. When you come here, and I urge all of you to do so, you will be ushered into a world where creativity reigns supreme, uniqueness and diversity are encouraged, and the more love and fun that you have, the more your audience will appreciate it.

So Britannia may have ruled the music waves for the last half century, but our ship is taking on water and we need to dock somewhere like the Big Easy to find our way again.

Until next time...

This week I have been mostly listening to...