(June 1-2) This chapter is hard to write about – for a variety of reasons.

First, the gig really wasn’t a gig.

It wasn’t promoted, and it quickly became obvious to me it was a nice gesture gone wrong from the owner, who wasn’t there, and whom I consider a friend.

But it led to emotions in her I couldn’t fix and tears I couldn’t stop.  

But those came later, out of the public eye.  

At the venue, her look was one of despair, and sadness and helplessness.

As a parent, looks like that are devastating.

To backtrack, we arrived eager. I mean, we’re in Nashville! She’s playing a gig in Nashville, a U.S. music epicenter!

She had played an open mic at this venue the last time we were in Nashville, and it was packed with amazing unknown musicians.

But when we arrived this time, a late afternoon time slot the manager decided on at the last minute as we drove into town, the patio was busy with diners, but the music venue in the back was quiet.

The manager was gracious enough, but quickly informed her she’d be playing on the deck instead, which made sense because that’s where the people were.

But then he told her she’d have to do it without a PA system, because that’s in the back and can’t be moved.

Oh, and he said the house speakers that play music throughout the venue couldn’t be turned off because then people inside couldn’t hear any music.

Oh, and live music was cranking a few doors down.

So, with the Nashville sun beating down on her, she tried to battle through. She sang one song, “Last Kiss,” an old song that got new life from Pearl Jam.

She was belting out “Oh where oh where can my baaaaaby be, the lord took her away from me” – but no one could hear.

If you’ve ever heard Kirsti sing, she uses the microphone wisely to accentuate her soft voice.

I agonized over what I was seeing.

I was only 15 feet away from her and I couldn’t really hear her or the guitar. She was singing as loud as she could and was drowned out by the speakers overhead and the band a couple doors down.  

After one more song, I told her to stop.

The manager by that point had left, but another worker was there and tried to help. He said had he known she was playing, he would have promoted it.

He said she could go inside and play from the stage in the back and hurriedly scrawled her name on a sandwich board out front.  

   Making it perhaps more difficult, and embarrassing for Kirsti, were the two friends from home who just arrived to see her play.

It couldn’t have gone any differently than she, or we, had hoped and she was pretty down. She agreed to go back and plug in and play a couple songs for her friends and a young military couple seated in the back.

She fittingly and sadly sang her original tune (click the link to see it) “Black Mood,” as I nervously sipped the beer I just bought. We clapped and she unplugged unceremoniously from the Nashville stage.

The military couple complimented her on their way out, which was solace, but she was crushed.

To salvage things, I suggested we go do dinner at another of the owner’s restaurants. I have no hard feelings toward him and the restaurant is amazing. We had a nice meal, had some laughs and went our separate ways after dinner.

It was later at the spacious just-out-of-the-city Airbnb that the tears would come and I wouldn’t know what to say to make it better.

She didn’t want to talk about it.

She dried her tears, we changed, had a beer in the Airbnb and headed back into Nashville for drinks and music – and to forget.

And there were two uplifting moments that night that helped. One came in the form of Kelsey Cook, this female drummer in an all-male band who was beating the crap out of the drums. We happened to be standing next to her parents too, and I struck up a kindred-spirit conversation with Cook’s dad, a chat by dads of musician kids.

When they finished their gig, she came down and we talked for a minute and she posed for a picture with Kirsti.

I remember Kelsey talking about how she essentially plays day gigs more these days and how she, like other Nashville musicians, plays with multiple bands each week, almost like a drummer for hire. There is so much talent in that city, a mecca if you love live music like we do.

And later that night, probably about the time we should have headed home, we were still out enjoying the music and the party when a young Canadian cowboy took a liking to Kirsti. He was pouring it on thick, and reeeeaaaaally wanted to “dance” with her. She suggested it would be awkward with her dad there, but he was undaunted. We left fairly soon after, quite inebriated, and only after Kirsti scratched her name onto the wall of the place with thousands of other names. She asked the bartender for a Sharpie or pen. She got a Bic pen and aggressively proceeded to destroy it while carving her name for the world to see. Perhaps that needed to come out after the day she had.

Oh, she never did dance with the Canadian cowboy. (Wish I had a pic of him!) She wanted me to make that clear when she looked over a draft of this.  

    While Nashville will be punctuated by that fateful gig, the two days there had lots of uplifting moments too, including the story behind our Airbnb choice. We stayed in the converted garage of a ranch home outside of the city on our last trip there for only $50, and our host was so nice. I reached out to her again this time after not being able to find the listing on Airbnb. The divorced mom told us she wasn’t renting that part any more but did have the main 4-bedroom spacious house for rent. It was out of our price range though, so I thanked her but declined. Then she offered it to us for much less, and we agreed to it. Loree was just one of the people on this trip that made me have lots of faith in humanity.  Everywhere we went, we ran into amazingly kind people, and I felt so thankful throughout the trip.

We also visited the American Pickers store, bought a t-shirt and some souvenirs. We went to the Marathon Motors museum and certainly had our fair share of drinks while listening to great music.

And it was in Nashville that I really learned what Kirsti hopes for with her music.

She doesn’t want to be a star, but she wants people to know her songs and love them.

She would love to be the artist where maybe 500 people show up to see her play songs she wrote about life and love and heartbreak. She would love for them to connect to her songs and sing along and validate her passion and talent.

But she also wants to be able to get a beer at a place a few doors down after the show and not be recognized. And when I suggested to her about maybe becoming a songwriter and selling her songs to the artists who do want the stardom, she bristles. Those are her songs to deliver, and she knows how they should be delivered is basically what she told me.

It was important for me to hear all this stuff from her. I sometimes criticize her for not promoting herself enough, not reaching to get more ears on her songs that I love so much and that I know the world will love too. But now, I just offer thoughts when asked and let her steer her musical journey wherever she wants to steer it.

And I relish every chance to sit on a stool and listen to her deliver. 

So, at least Nashville provided that revelation.

But honestly, Nashville was a low point of the trip.

Thankfully, Clarksdale, Mississippi was just a drive away.