I spent Halloween weekend in New Orleans, and it was great, thanks for asking. I got food poisoning from Mother's and had to spend two solid hours listening to a bunch of dirty Panic fans talk about how messed up they were--yes, both flights--but it was the Fall, so the stench of swampland and corruption was tolerable.
It got me thinking about Southern cities and how often you find the best things in the worst places. Naturally, my thoughts took me to Memphis, home of the the 3-7 Grizzlies, Justin Timberlake, and of course, Beale Street.
The next time you find yourself stumbling in and out of the bars and blues clubs, make sure you keep heading down the street until you find the New Daisy Theatre. If it's a good night, you'll hear it before you see it. And if it's a really good night, you'll be witness to a man playing a drum kit with his feet, and a cigar box guitar with his hands. Meet Richard Johnston, the Hill Country Troubadour, and my favorite thing about Memphis:
No comments:
Post a Comment