Guest Blogger: Susannah Felts
Memorial Day weekend saw the third and final
Nobody's Vault but Mine gathering in Nashville—sort of a mini-festival/gathering for aficionados of all things Third Man, with two nights of sets by bands with ties to the record label. While I don't count myself among the fierce devotees of any and all TMR releases and arcana, I'll go on the record as a staunch White Stripes fan who's had, er, something of a middling obsession with Mr. White as of late*, so I was curious to see what the four bands on the lineup—
PUJOL,
Brian Olive,
Boogaloosa Prayer, and
The Ultras S/C—might have to offer.
I should point out here, too, that I don't exactly get out to see rock shows all that much. Not anymore, anyway. Once upon a time, dank clubs, loud guitars and cheap beer were pretty much my entertainment default, but...something happened. You know the story. Accretion of age, decrease in stamina, desire for sleep and coherency trumping three hours of rock...oh, and reproduction of the species along the way, too. I've never stopped loving music, but these days I'm usually doing the vigorous head-bob thing in the car, not at the bar.
So, yes: it felt a little bit like a homecoming, a little fish-outta-water to step inside the confines of the aptly named Basement, where, to my delight,
Jeepster was playing as The Ultras S/C got ready to take the stage. (I fell in love with that album my senior year of college, a full 30 years after its release, and here it is still, setting the perfect tone; there's a great pleasure to be found in the fact that some really good shit just doesn't age at all.) The Basement's stage, mind you, is a full six inches above the rest of the small, grotto-like room, paved with an ancient, duct tape-riddled Oriental rug, a snarl of Christmas lights clumped onto a desultory candlelabra in the left corner. There are not earplugs for sale, but there should be.