High-Fiving Distance

I wake up early in the morning. Not because I’m a go-getter particularly, or someone whose life goals include power walking down trendy Brooklyn streets, buried in a smartphone, ostensibly killing it. Counterintuitively, I’ve become an early riser so I can stay out late and catch as much live music as possible.

I usually “work” from around 6am-3pm: practicing, writing songs, articles and essays, falling even further behind on correspondence - essentially anything and everything that highlights my never having had a real job. I usually write a halfway decent tune or collection of passably readable sentences before the world around me wakes up, so right out of the gate it’s a pretty solid day - I take care of myself first, thereby moving through the world more peacefully and circumnavigating the wrath of our reptilian overlords. After that, I generally bounce around doing human being stuff, replenishing creative reserves and seeking inspiration.  

In Nashville, the first round of shows kick off at 6pm, which is a beautiful thing, especially for an ear-fatigued road warrior like myself- if you're feeling delicate, you can catch two sets of legitimately world class music and be in bed by 10pm. More often than not I’m out later, usually much later, bouncing around between three or four venues. Last night began at the 5 Spot in East Nashville, exceptional spoken word and hip-hop by The Black Son, Rashad the Poet and The Realist Person. It’s beautiful, challenging art. The crowd’s collective comfort level’s clearly pushed, and the less stalwart disappear outside for unneeded smoke breaks and social media fixes. But most of us are enthralled. I come-to an hour and a half later, feeling lifted.  My neglected Jamison on the rocks's now pond water, but I down it in one gulp, years of touring and attendant poverty having conditioned me to never, under any circumstances, leave a wounded soldier.

Before the night’s through, I’ve taken in some bluegrass and, as a palate cleanser, black metal. I forgot my ear plugs, which would’ve come in handy towards the end of the night, and my ears are ringing perilously during the ride home. But I kinda need that - there’s something cathartic and nostalgic about music absolutely kicking the ever-loving shit out of me. I like that teenage Trevor’s always within high-fiving distance.  

Tonight, I’ll be back at the 5 Spot for Sunday Night Soul. Curated by my bro Jason Eskridge, it's always a special night, and the band is EXTREMELY capable. I often play, but this time around I think I’ll chill with a cheap domestic lager. Music’s at 7pm.