Friends you see before you a photo of this one and the other one with Charlie Louvin and that's the best thing that happened on this last trip to the MidSouth and MidAtlantic. On the 19th of April we had to get from Atlanta to Nashville and be at Grimey's New and Preloved by one pm. So up we got and did drive with the thought in our heads that we were going to have our picture taken. But not this picture. A totally decent dood named Matt on freelance service from a magazine called The Fader was commissioned to meet us in Nashville. So God be praised, we meant to look alright, hence Jeff's brownonbrownonbrown phantasmagoria and Wallace's Mr.Rogers glory. And but so arriving timely we looked around and drank beer and had our picture taken and were accosted by a twelve year old with a printout of a photo taken at Jason Groth's wedding that said atop the picture: DAKKAR SAUNA, which he shoved us a pen and said sign it. Normally one would ask: why? On earth, and so forth. But by God there was the pressmedia present so we acted like that kind of thing was common and kept stride and posture. Then and then Doyle from Grimey's comes forth and says, "You know who just got here?" I didn't. I assumed he knew that and shook my head. "Charlie Louvin," he says. "Fuck you," I said. I didn't mean it. Normally I wouldn't cuss like that. "You guys should ask him to play with you," he says. "Fuck you," I said. Which I meant. Who exactly does he think we are? Maybe he saw us handle the little kid with the photo and the autographs and thinks we're Levon Helms back up band, but we're not. So I went and hid. And Jeff was already there hiding. "You heard," he says. Collecting ourselves we decide to meet Charlie Louvin. Which we do, and he's gracious and we're less of a couple of fuck-ups than I knew we could be. Although, an aside: it's embarrassing to meet someone that you hold in the stature we hold C. Louvin and realize you've already used every exaltation and honorific when you were drunk and met Bobcat Goldwaithe a couple of years ago. But we were polite and decent and gave Mr. Louvin a copy of our new record and could breathe easier and hope, hope that he would leave before we had to play. We had an hour and a half by my watch and what were the chances that he would wait ninety minutes in the rain to hear songs he already knew weren't as good as the versions he knew? Little. Except that my watch was wrong, somehow horribly wrong and we had ten minutes and, and (Doyle again), "Did you ask him to play with y'all? Why not? He's waiting for you to ask him..." Now, to remain stable and sane I need as part of my universe for C. Louvin to not be waiting for me to do anything. Plus: is he a girl at a dance? Waiting my foot, I say, except (other Grimey's dood now) "What the hell, guys, just ask him..." So: "Pardon me, Mr. Louvin, but would you be interested in singing a song with us?" "I would love to, but I don't know..." Did you fucking hear that? So he looks at the set list and sees that we're closing with The Family Who Prays and says he'll jump up on that one. Well, it was a weird set. Lots of people, fourteen songs and the whole time just looking to see where Charlie Louvin went (note: to the roller derby tent where the rough girls in short shorts and skates were handing out blue condoms). Second to last song we played Are You Afraid to Die? and he appeared in the front, singing along. In the second verse he came up to the microphone and finished that number with us. Then he sang The Family Who Prays and we got to sing back up to him. Heavenly. A couple notes:
1) If C. Louvin would have tripped over Jeff's guitar case which I told him was in a bad place it might have been time for the whole "tulips from Holland" thing.
2) When C. Louvin first came up at the end of the first verse of Are You Afraid to Die? he made a gesture of "three", like saying, "let's turn this into a three part harmony on the fly, fellas, what do you say?" And in my mind and chest and stomach I told C. Louvin the truth: that I was incapable of any such thing. And where once that would have felt embarrassing and rotten it just felt funny and normal and I realized I am a happier person, in general.
3) The next dood, playing blue eyed soul on a cello, got a better reaction than we got singing with C.F. Louvin.
4) The phrase "Nashville moment" is unpleasant to the ear and a falsehood even when legitimate.

Now to travel backward in time we'd like to mention the first show from this trip, which was in Memphis. Some of you might know that the men's basketball national championship had been played about a week before we left Lawrence and that in the finals Kansas beat Memphis in overtime. So we went to Memphis with the intention of talking just the mildest level of shit, but liking Memphis in general and Memphis basketball in particular (I used to have and Anfernee Hardaway poster, I've been to the Pyramid) we were going to display one national championship t-shirt and remind folks we were from Lawrence and that was it. But then the opening band, they who had made some promises of great show and much anticipation did the following:
a) added a third band on a Tuesday and then let them push the start back to 10:30.
b-1) refused us the second slot as the touring band should generally play so that friends of the local don't all leave.
b-2) refused us this because they, the band, all planned on leaving right after they played because, well, it was getting late.
b-3) named themselves The Harmony Brothers which, I apologize fellas, is just awful.
And so we started the show grumpy. And after the first song, with only nine people left to watch us Jeff said, "We're from Lawrence, Kansas, home of the National Champion Kansas Jayhawks. It's great, it's great to win." After that song with seven people left I said, "We're the Mario Chalmers from Lawrence, Kansas..." and two songs later, with five of the six people left talking on phones seemingly about us Jeff said, "How did it feel when Mario Chalmers made that last shot? Felt great to me. Feels good now." So.
Notes on this show:
1) I'm sorry. I wouldn't want people to do likewise in Lawrence and when, in 2003, Dan Barone from Syracuse did do the same thing to us I didn't like it. We were obnoxious and it never got funny.
2) Our friend Trisha drove from Austin to come to the show on her birthday and we had to fuck it up. Because not only did we drive everyone out with our rhetoric, the energy was awful and we played like goons. Trisha was one of three people who stayed for the whole show and deserved better.
3) The other girl who stayed and seemingly liked us was terribly patronizing and made me feel worse than the death threats.
4) We got three threats. By email. Here's one:

Whoever the fuck you think you are if I find out you play in memphis again I'm gonna fuck you up!!! You got some fuckin nerve saying that shit here. If you werent at the hitone with all those goddamn pussy bitches youd have been drug to orange mound and shown what this city can do. DONT EVER COME BACK HERE!!!! oh yea and your music really sucks,grow some balls

4-b) one of the threats suggests shooting us and the other promises castration. This one seemed to offer the best of both. I refer you again to note 1 of this section.
5) Mostly people in Lawrence have been congratulatory for getting a reaction like this. They make some comment like they would love to have been there and/or done something similar. This seems not right to me.

Ohkay. Happy Birthday again Trisha. Thank you Grimey's New and Preloved, thank you Moody and Jeremy and East Nashville. Everybody do your best. You're all very good and I thank you for the time.