The $100 Guitar Wall, second in a series

This is a Yamaha FG-Junior (as an olde Gibfon fan, I love faying that) which belongs to my four-year-old.

We keep it in an open G tuning so that random bashing at least begins with a musical surface. The action is low and the scale is small. It is a surprisingly fun guitar to play.

I carry a travel guitar with the Hooties, an Olympia that had my Telecaster neck pickup installed by master luthier and Hootie consort, William Chapman of Columbia, SC. It's handy, especially for demo recording, and it plays fine since techs have monkeyed with it since I brought it on board.

The Yamaha has played smoothly since I found it in the window of a pawn shop near where my mom lives. Once again, I had to come back to get it, but was able to convice Smart Wife fairly easily that this guitar, at $45, was a really good buy.

It has been. The four year old pulls it out regularly. "We haven't jammed in a long, long time, Daddy." So we jam. They start as two-guitar jams, but he usually wants someone to switch instruments. So accordions and drums and slide whistles get added and dropped at whim, and we eventually start marching around the house.

And then, when he's all done, he knows to hang the guitar back up on the wall hook. Even though it has a big jagged crack running through its back, from an earlier, pre-hooked time, the four-year-old digs his time with this guitar and seems like a natural with it.

Giants 17, Patriots 14

What a game.

Yeah, I know. That's not what you might expect from Mr. Artiste here, having determined years ago that I do not have the sports chromosome in my genetic code.

But the years on the Hootie bus have given me more inadvertent sports understanding than I ever thought possible; much of it seeps through while I'm just happen to be in the lounge when a game is on. Everyone in that band, and much of their crew, really knows their shit about football (and most other sports as well). They know so much that, when I ask what I sheepishly feel is a dumb question, they patiently sit down with me and explain the answer clearly, so that I can get it, even with my limited knowledge.

And the NFL on a television serves as a nice legal narcotic for me. Smart Wife has come in on me, transfixed before a football game on a Sunday afternoon, and after her initial shock, she notices that I don't appear to hear her talking to me.

The television was otherwise in use tonight, watching I-don't-want-to-say-what except that it involved Herculean weight loss and had back-to-back episodes.

So I did the next best thing in the Digital Age, and I may have found my favorite medium for maximum football enjoyment.

I went to The Fifth Down, the New York Times' sports blog and read John Woods' entries. It's a little like waiting for semaphore signals on the opposite hill, but I just kept refreshing my browser and the last two minutes of the Super Bowl were happening there, on the laptop, in writing. That's the sum total of the game that I experienced, but I'd do it again.

The idea of reading a whole game as it happens is so appealing to me. Obviously, because it's the New York Times, it's absolutely grammatically perfect. The enthusiasm is palpable. The babble that goes on in the booth is not happening in print; it's all tightly edited as it goes down.

And, best of all, I can read it. I love to read. There are few things I prefer doing with my eyes, save closing them and going to sleep. My marginal enjoyment of the sport is augmented by this new, contemporaneous method of 'watching'.

Too bad I have to wait for football season to start again.

A night at the Bluebird Cafe

Last night, I participated in my first 'writers in the round' at the Bluebird Cafe in Nashville, TN.

I knew the reputation of the Bluebird, and I'd seen the movie The Thing Called Love a long time ago, but I guess I wasn't prepared to find the place in the midst of a small shopping center.

The first show let out, and my friend Annie Clements and I went inside and out of the cold. Annie is bassist and background vocalist for the band Sugarland, but I've known her for years. She used to babysit my eldest daughter back in New Orleans where Annie grew up the daughter of one of the city's finest guitarists, Cranston Clements. Then, after she'd shown considerable aptitude on the instrument, I had her play bass with me at my record release party for Out Of My Way at Tipitina's. (Carlo Nuccio, who was the drummer that night, asked me "Why, in this city full of great musicians, is the best bass player going a FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL??!!") Since then, Annie graduated from Berklee College of Music and had played with Theresa Andersson and the Sons of William before landing the great gig she has now. Annie offered to host me, picking me up from the airport as well; I'm so proud of my young friend and her continued and growing success, and it was a great pleasure to get to hang with her again and catch up on her family and mine.

We were informed that "Darius' guitar had just arrived" as we walked in. Minutes later, my bandmate Darius Rucker walked in, accompanied by former Hootie guitar tech Mike Costanzo who is now pursuing a career in recording engineering in Nashville.

Then Tim Krekel came in, and we greeted each other warmly after not having seen each other for probably twenty-some-odd years. Tim is a phenomenal writer, a soul man from Kentucky who had a band in the Eighties called the Sluggers. He also wrote "I Can't Help Myself" which Jason and the Scorchers recorded.

I was thrilled when Bill Lloyd had told me Tim was going to be a part of the proceedings tonight. I met Bill at an R.E.M. show when he gave me a demo tape of his band Sgt. Arms. Later on, he joined forces with Radney Foster as Foster and Lloyd for a three album run at RCA, making a splendid hybrid of modern country and NRBQ-flavored roots rock. Bill has co-written with everyone worth their salt in Nashville. They even had the impeccable taste to cover "White Train" (which Bill and I sang at this outing). Bill's now the Stringed Instrument Curator at the Country Music Hall of Fame; I twitted him about having to change the strings on one of Bill Monroe's old mandolins, but I'm thrilled for him to have such a cool job. He also got to play guitar with Cheap Trick when they performed Sgt. Pepper with a 50-piece orchestra at the Hollywood Bowl recently. Bill is a renaissance man and he's our host for the night.

Bill said "Well, she's not here yet, but Marshall will just slip on in here right before the show." Marshall Chapman is another fantastic rootsy writer. I used to sell her Epic albums when I worked at a Gramercy Park record store in the late 1970's. And her songs, covered by everyone from Jimmy Buffett to Joe Cocker, are direct and extraordinary, chronicling her life and the people around her. She and Tim worked together in Buffett's band, and they've written a bunch of cool songs together.

Sure enough, six-foot-one and dressed in a black sweatshirt and tan Uggs, Marshall sat down next to me, got out her blue guitar and the evening began. She plays with a thumb pick, at least, in a percussive style that reminds me of Pat McLaughlin's. Eventually, the Uggs came off, and at one point, she ate a sandwich and drank a jar of milk she brought from home.

Obviously, these affairs are an informal sort of event. Everyone was encouraged to play and sing on each other's songs, whether we knew them or not. I was serving the dual purpose of performing my own songs and also accompanying Darius on his stuff, some from his forthcoming country album. I even get to wail some high harmonies with Darius' lovely baritone.

Some songs I knew, like Bill's "Niagra Falls" from Set to Pop, his second solo album. Marshall and I joined in on the chorus which references the Three Stooges routine, which was not lost on the audience.

Some I didn't, like Tim's "Wilson Pickett". Tim lives near a cemetery in Louisville, and one day while he was out strolling around the grounds as he often does, a line of black limos and a hearse pull up. Little Richard gets out of one of them, and Tim realizes that they were burying Wilson Pickett practically in his back yard, obvious fodder for a great song.

Bill played bass (Fender Precision with flatwound strings!) for much of the evening, including "Lonely Is (As Lonely Does)". It would be an understatement to say that Bill Lloyd has been a huge champion of my songs over the years; he's been begging me to come to Nashville for just such an occasion as last night, and I am so glad I finally got there.

Marshall is given to introducing her songs with engaging stories, like her new "I-16 Blues" which celebrates the desolate stretch of road between Macon and Savannah, Georgia. Musically inspired by "I'm Stickin' With You" by the Velvet Underground, her travelogue got good laughs from the audience. She played the beautiful "Call the Lamas!" which I stupidly asked if it was a real story. ("Of course" she replied dryly. "I haven't got a lot of imagination.") Upon reading her book, Goodbye, Little Rock and Roller, I discovered it's a tribute to her late brother. Oops.

Darius' new songs got a great response. That bodes well for the reception of his country album, I think. He also did "Let Her Cry" and "Hold My Hand" which everyone loved, of course. His voice is universally loved, no matter what style he takes on.

Bill played a song called "The World is a Different Place Without You" and looked over at me at the end to find me quietly crying.

We had guests, too. The legendary Sam Bush, who toured with Hootie years ago as a Flecktone, and Beth Nielsen Chapman joined us and sang and played. Al Jazeera TV was filming the show (!) as was CMT, and I have to think they got a pretty great show for the folks back in the Middle East, as well as Middle America.

It was all over too soon. I put my guitar away, and I visited briefly with my old friend Steve Gorman, drummer for the Black Crowes, and his wife Rose Mary who I hadn't seen in years.

We had a picture taken of the performers which I hope I can get a copy of for my archives.

All in all, the night at the Bluebird inspired me greatly. I felt proud and thankful that Bill had asked me to play with these fantastic writers, and I believe I held my own among them. The crowd seemed to dig my songs as much as anyone's, and that made me feel I should return to Nashville on a regular basis and sink my talons into the healthy writing scene that's there. There might be a future in music for me yet!