Leonard Mynx: Southbound Odyssey (Louisville to Nashville)-- Local Cut

Leonard Mynx: Southbound Odyssey (Louisville to Nashville)

June 10th, 2009 [9:11AM] Posted by: Leonard Mynx | 1 COMMENT

Louisville (pronounced Ler-Vuhl) welcomed us at dusk. We went downtown to the venue, which sat in an old brick building near the banks of the Ohio River. The town was peaceful and clouds hung low over the tint of spring settling on the town. The light was fading.

We loaded in and met the other groups—all wonderfully polite and friendly people. I drank a Founders Imperial IPA, which delighted me since it is a fine company and a fine beer not found often in the sunny Pacific Northwest. The night was looking bleak. We had a few things going against us; it was Tuesday, we had never played in Louisville, some friends we knew couldn’t make the show. Then, it happened. A few folks came in. Then more, then more. Nobody knew what to think. When it was time for our performance, all those who had been wandering about the venue or outside smoking various products, promptly came in and the room hushed. Strange. We played to one of the most generous audiences I have ever stood in front of. Then, they bought up all of our stuff. The ones without money, well, we gave them things for free…wink…Dave Allen.

We had a connection with these people. It was a satisfying experience. Probably like what musicians used to feel back before the disgrace of Wall Street settled in over the art form. Back before the musician was placed on a pedestal, some sort of god, above the audience. Out of reach of the commoner. Out of reach of the audience. Is not music a mutual experience? An experience between musician and audience? Can one exist without the other? I hope not.

Needless to say, besides being paid in the soulless new American play money, we were paid in hashish. Dear reader, have you ever been paid in hashish? I feel bonafide now. I don’t even partake all that much in such activities, but let me tell you that a big ball of hashish slipped into your hand by a man who obviously values his hashish, is one flattering moment. One would be remiss not to smoke the hell out of it, let alone, not accept it. My memory of Louisville ends there.

The next day we embarked to Nashville. Audie once ruled the streets of Nashville. Everybody there knows her in one way or another. I met some wonderful people there. I also met some absolute losers, so full of themselves and the music business. Or should I say, “bad music” business. I call the place Nashvegas, Nashangeles, Fratsville, Assville. Men in Nashville dress like any mall-apparel-clad boy that roams the Pearl on any given Saturday night. The only difference is that in Nashville, they wear cowboy boots and 10 gallon hats. Now, please correct me if I am mistaken, but were there ever cowboys in Tennessee? I though that was more of a west-of the Mississippi thing. I never knew that wranglin’ men roamed the valleys of Tennessee. Am I wrong? If not, how did cowboy apparel ever get to be associated with Nashville? Weird.

But not everybody was like that. Audie actually knows some of the most wonderful and generous people in the world, and they happen to despise the same sort of thing. They look down and say, “yeah, poor Nashville.” We did some cool stuff, like visit the Carter House with Audie’s dad. That was bloodiest battle site in the Civil War, per duration of time. That being said, we did have a performance. We didn’t go there solely to gawk and snicker.

We played a place called The Basement. It was a pretty cool place. Unfortunately, we shared a bill with two bands that sounded like a more terrible version of Lynard Skynard. But they were “studio” musicians. Every lick in place. I have said before that technically competent playing does very little to make music palatable. The lead singer of one of the bands walked around the club all night belting out scales. Their “manager” wore a pork pie hat and went to school for music business and chewed gum with a smirk on his face, mouth half open. I think I even saw him standing in the corner flipping a coin. They were pure rock and roll, depending on how you define “rock and roll.” If you define it as the worst music of the “Audie Darling/Leonard Mynx tour”, then absolutely. Hoochies abounded.

I had actually heard a lot about the venue prior to even getting to Nashville. People talked about it like it was the big time. Now, neither Audie nor I are even close to “big time.” But I have to imagine that people in the “big time” don’t have to deal with a bartender that looks like Fred Durst and is twice as annoying. That’s right, twice as annoying as Fred Durst. I proposed a question to the fellow about why another band gets free drinks and not us. He became immediately enraged and said that it was a mistake and nobody was supposed to get any free drinks. But he was still giving them free drinks. But it was a mistake. But he kept giving them free drinks. Mistake perpetuation.

I had some nerve to even bother Mr. Dusrt’s double about this. He told me that a “pussy musician like me better watch my mouth.” Then he puffed up like a cobra and got too close. Gentle readers, there is one thing to know about Leonard Mynx; I am far from a punk. I generally play acoustic music. Acoustic music is soft by its very nature. But I must say, it takes a lot more balls to stand up in front of a crowd, naked than to scream or chant behind blistering beats. No joke. Just because you play or listen to “tough” music, don’t go around misinterpreting/misjudging someone else. Your choice of music doesn’t make you tough (please note this…you know who you are). So double Durst was confused when his challenge was met. But to reiterate my point about not judging a book by its cover…enter Audie Darling. I won’t say what happened, but she owned that dude. And if you don’t like this and want to come and talk some shit at the Mynx, then bring it. Anytime Anywhere. Just let me make sure that Audie is around.