AmericanaFest prides itself on “raw, intimate showcases” in addition to the myriad of panels and seminars that take place each year as apart of the festival. That spirit shines through with each artist that takes the stage. It’s what I love most about this festival – the heart and the soul that are on display no matter where you take in a show. I didn’t make it out to nearly as much as I would’ve liked to this year due to previous engagements. But, I did want to share who I was able to catch, and who stood out the most, with you guys. So, here we are – a music feature by the sports writer.
First of all, I know a lot of folks will roll their eyes at this one. Admittedly, I’d probably be one of you if I didn’t actually attend in person. But, the AmericanaFest team handled things the right way with their covid protocols. All shows required proof of vaccination…some going as far as requiring proof of vaccination -and- an ID. I felt a whole lot safer at these shows than I thought I would have (definitely a whole hell of a lot safer than I did at Nissan Stadium back in July).
My time at AmericanaFest started on Wednesday at the BMI AmericanaFest pre-party at the Ole Smoky Distillery and Yee Haw Brewery on 6th and Peabody. That was my first time at that place, and it felt like a fun spot to hang out a few blocks out of all the madness that is Broadway. I immediately got touristy vibes upon walking into Ole Smoky – it reminded me of a weekend getaway to Gatlinburg. But, when we ventured outside and saw the patio, that went away. We parked ourselves at an available table and settled in for the show – I had my fair share of orange creamsicle IPAs, amber ales, and a moonshine margarita that my fiancé didn’t want to finish because it was too strong. I was feeling pretty good just vibing out to some live music, but the Daddy’s Dogs really hammered the good vibes home.
After several hours at the pre-party, we hopped in the car and ventured across town to see Arlan Feiles at Bongo Java. I had seen a pro wrestling-themed improv comedy show (yes, you read that right) at that venue before, so I was looking forward to the intimate environment. It was fantastic – Arlan’s voice hung in the air, warming our spirits like a hot toddy on a crisp fall night. He played with such soul and heart, and his songs were so personal, that it made it feel like that little room at Bongo Java was the only place in the world. Whatever was happening outside those four walls could wait. That’s a beautiful thing – when, as an artist, you can take people completely out of what’s going on in their lives and make them feel what you’re feeling in a song. It was my first time seeing Arlan, and I was completely blown away. As it turned out, what was happening outside those four walls was a total deluge. I ended up kicking my flip flops off and wading through ankle deep water to get to the car. So, if some bacterial infection takes my life, just know it’s been real, y’all.
I took Thursday off, and ventured back downtown on Friday to see Paris Jackson play in Centennial Park. It was a fine evening for it, and a spectacular way to spend a #GinFriday, I might add. It was a refreshing September evening – the kind that felt more like a relief from summer than a brisk preview of the winter to come. Parking wasn’t exactly a breeze, but you couldn’t have asked for a better setup in the park. Vendors and food trucks aligned the sidewalks, and folks brought their own chairs to settle in for a long evening of live tunes. Jackson apologized for all of her songs being sad, then quickly took the apology back, and rightfully so. Moving music is not something that warrants an apology, much less music delivered in such a sultry tone. Jackson was terrific onstage – just her and her guitar as golden hour set in on Centennial Park.
From there, we ventured over to Cannery Row where we wandered around the facility, venue to venue, seeing roughly eight artists in a span of just a couple of hours. I loved it – I stumbled into the Cannery Ballroom to catch Jack Broadbent wailing on a guitar in a foggy room, and I somehow felt as though I had stepped into a portal through time and was spat out in 90s-era Nashville – Broadbent was playing with the passion and raw power that used to be the hallmark of this city before party barges and bachelorettes took it over. We moseyed on up to the High Watt – to be frank, my fiancé’s father had ventured off on his own, and we were trying to track him down. He wasn’t there, but we had walked in on The Minks firing up their set. I was impressed right away with the pure energy they were playing with. You couldn’t help but tap your toe, stomp your feet, and/or make that stink face like “UGH – this nasty.” It was good and gritty.
Turns out, the future father-in-law had ventured up to One Cannery Row on the third floor of the complex. We met him up there and then stuck around for a bit of Boston’s Kaiti Jones, whose complex voice somehow relaxed me and blew me away. It was soft -and- powerful. Playing her story-rich music, she really commanded the room. Then, we went for our nightcap (hey, it was day three of nights that stretched into the wee hours of the morning for the crew (minus me), so who can blame ’em for wanting to call it quits a little early on Friday night?). We gave those elevators a workout that night – this time, we rode back down to the High Watt to catch Ryan Culwell. Ryan’s style had a bit of an outlaw tint to it, which if you ask me, is the best kind of tint to have. I found his voice to be gravelly, smoky, and powerful – it sounded like pain and triumph…the full range of human emotion. He bent his guitar to his will, and with the help of his knockout band behind him, he took us far, far away from the High Watt. Was it the bright lights of the Music City? Or was it a hole in the wall a hundred miles from civilization? That’s where Culwell’s set took me – somewhere where they can actually see the stars in the sky at night. But, to be a little less poetic, I didn’t throw a fist in the air until Culwell broke into a cover of “Head like a Hole,” and that’s when I completely lost my shit.
To me, Arlan’s set at Bongo Java, and our night crawling Cannery Row exemplified what is best about this festival – the heart, soul, and the fact that you can stumble drunk into a talented artist at any venue. That’s what makes this one of the premiere festivals in Nashville. Everyone mentioned in this piece is absolutely worth checking out:
For more on AmericanaFest, check out their website here. Also, I didn’t make it down to see The Mavericks, but my fiancé did and shared this photo with me. So, I’m going to share it with you because The Mavericks are legends and deserve to be recognized as the kings that they are:
Stoney Keeley is the Editor in Chief of The SoBros Network, and a Dogs Playing Poker on velvet connoisseur. He is a strong supporter of Team GSD, #BeBetter, and ‘Minds right, asses tight.’ “Big Natural” covers the Tennessee Titans, Nashville, Yankee Candle, and a whole wealth of nonsense. Follow on Twitter @StoneyKeeley
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