GRACELAND: Worth the $30 Elvis everything. Pretty sure I saw an Elvis Pez dispenser There were a lot of people who LOVED america Graceland Livin' Room Elvis loves mirrors at least as much as I do Inside Elvis' plane, the Lisa Marie Heyo! MEMPHIS: A LOT OF COOL NON-ELVIS STUFF Gus' Fried Chicken! Where Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. My attempt at Robert Frank Walker's new facebook pic
Before leaving Amory and before Tupelo Logan and I had chicken fried steak sandwiches with french fries and hush puppies. Eating a meal like that would normally be a treat. Following MeatFest 2010 the night before (which, if you remember, was following Manifest Meat: A New You in Natchez,) we felt awful. Well, what do you eat when you go to Memphis? BBQ. Memphians (Memphites? -L) have intense loyalty to their BBQ spots. Logan and I have very little willpower when it's a question of self-care vs. an Experience... Alas, we found ourselves at Central BBQ. I'm a chronic plate clearer but even I couldn't finish what I started. Pre-rub is not as good as Texas BBQ (in my humble opinion) but it's nice to get a sandwich with slaw on it.
Five-Alarm Artery-Stopper Another chicken fried steak eatin' patron
Waiting for food, I hit up the jukebox. I usually choose songs that I know but do not own and/or have with me in my current situation in life. Occasionally, I'll choose a song because I've always wanted to hear it but have never been in the right place at the right time. Central BBQ, Memphis, Tennessee was the moment that I decided to find out what "Strokin" by Clarence Carter sounded like. If you've never heard this song then you probably can't imagine the shock on the All-American family, the only people really in earshot of the jukebox, when I put this song on. You also probably can't imagine the double embarrassment I felt when I realized that Logan, Jaclyn and Sara had decided to sit outside where, you guessed it, you can't hear the jukebox.
45 year old woman: oh my gawd, did he really just choose this song?
Walker, why the hell do you know this dirty old song? When I was in 5th grade, my mom's family rented a beach house somewhere in Florida. After dinner one night, my dad--slightly drunk, definitely bored and probably a little annoyed--started rummaging through the cabinet next to the stereo. "Holy shit," he says pulling his head out of the cabinet and looking toward the stereo. "I haven't heard this in forever!" The cassette tape enters. The song begins. I forgot what the song sounded like, but I never forgot the way he danced or his Clarence Carter impression. While I didn't quite understand why eyes were rolling and relatives were leaving the living room, I did understand that I was watching something priceless....didn't realize it was a little fucked up too! love you, Dad.
Driving into Memphis is unceremonious. I've done it twice now. When you come in from Arkansas you get to cross the Mississippi. Like most big cities the river has been tailor fit--levees, parks, pollution, buildings on each side.
Check out Mississippi in Natchez vs this recording in Memphis. The recorder is literally 6 inches from the water and all you can hear is the train passing over head, cars and logan stomping around. Mississippi Memphis
Driving in from Mississippi, you get the distinct feeling that Memphis is... well, nothing special. Not the home of early rock-n-roll (Sun Records i.e. Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins, etc.) not the home home of Stax records (Otis Redding, Carla Thomas, Booker T & the MG's, Sam & Dave, Eddie Floyd, Isaac Hayes, etc.) and definitely not the kind of place you'd expect lots of tourists to end up in.
We stayed at the home of a Southwestern graduate, Jaclyn Suffel, and her roommmate, Sara Nelson. This is the second time I've stayed at their home and the first time that they've been present while I stayed there. They went completely out of their way to host us and be tour guides for us. Frankly, we were so used to roughin' it, we didn't know how to react at first. Jaclyn would tell you that she let us stay at her house because I went to Southwestern and we have mutual friends and thats what the SU commmunity does for each other. There is some degree of truth to this but it really doesn't give her or Sara credit for how accommodating and nice they really were. Thank you guys.
I'm an Elvis fan. My love for him is deep, smooth and irrational. I don't judge this love too much nor am I quite sure I understand why I'm so taken with the King. Go to Graceland. I went on my way to New York last year and am not quite sure i've ever recovered from this experience.
I did not have high hopes for the childhood home but was nonetheless let down. War profiteering, I tell you. Here is everything you need to know about this place so that you can avoid it.
After playing at the country fair way back when, Elvis drove by his former house only to find that the house and surrounding land were for sale. Elvis donated the money to the city so that they would make the land into a park. Some years after Elvis died, someone bought some cheap imitation period furniture, moved a small pentacostal church onto the property (that Elvis maybe went), pilfered what artifacts weren't good enough for Graceland and created this museum.
The only thing worthwhile was the tour guide in the house. Her entire spiel last about four minutes. I'm going to paraphase it for you. She sounded like a female version of the Tom Anderson character from Beavis and Butthead.
"Elvis came and played at the Tupelo county fair. I was there and screaming like all the other girls. I couldn't tell you one song that he played but I do remember that he had a black silk shirt with big sleeves. If I saw him today I'd scream just the same."
"did you ever get to meet Elvis?"
"I'm not sure I'd be capable of that."
Adorable.
W
Update from Logan:
I can't keep up with my bloggin' compatriot Elvis at 13 The church they moved from somewhere...
On arrival at the Manor, I was pulled from the passenger's seat into a gregarious embrace by the man of the Manor, Robert "Bruh" Stockon. The Manor, a sprawling southern home originally built in the 20s sits on land which has been in the Stockton family for twice as long– the street bordering the house actually bears the name Stockton Road. There had been several additions to the house over the years, each with its own period-feel, unchanged since construction.
Bruh quickly pulled us into the house, handed us a beer and threw some pork steaks, hot dogs, hamburgers, and squash on the grill. He spoke in a drawl unlike anything I've ever heard– a drawl whose charm only intensified after several hours of drinking. By the end of the night, his voice had taken on a contagious humor which one couldn't help but attempt to emulate.
What a feast! The potato salad from Bruh's Ma, the only other occupant of the Manor, was absolutely, hands-down the best I've ever tasted. (I had some for dinner and more for breakfast.)
In the morning, I woke up at dawn to explore the 25 acres of Stockton land which backed up into the swamp. I slipped out into the predawn haze and explored the abandoned stables, barns, metal shop and other ancient structures dotting the land. Maya, Bruh's loyal dog, kept close on my heels for the whole trek. After two hours of exploring and photographing, I returned, soaked in dew, to take the first shower I'd had in several days. After sleeping another few hours, I awoke to the sound of electric slide guitar from the room across the hall. Walker and Bruh were hard at work on the track he already posted. It was rather magical.
Bruh Stockon is a fine man from Amory, Mississippi. He used to live in Austin, Texas. Now, he lives in his childhood home that he refers to as The Manor. There is nothing ironic or sarcastic about this name. On Wednesday night, we drunkenly played the blues. We considered recording or writing something then but the mood wasn't right. I woke up the next morning, the most well-rested that i'd been in days, and recorded the banjo part. I don't really play the banjo but came up with this part on fooling around on Eric's banjo a few years ago. Bruh's beat up, old banjo inside his majestic old house sounded beautiful. We built the song from there. It would be fun to amp up the tempo and make this into a dance tune.
I'll send the raw files to any takers.
More will come from our time in Amory soon. For now, enjoy this slow burner. Sounds like it could be the music played in a film after the protagonist did something of questionable moral value.
Pulling into Natchez we didn't know where to stay or what to see. We chose Natchez purely because it is well known for having many beautiful antebellum-period plantation homes. The city didn't really have a direct tie to Huckleberry Finn as far as we knew, outside of providing examples of period architecture. But we were soon pleasantly surprised.
After finding the cheapest motel in town we struck out in search for a place for a beer and some locals, Walker hoping to meet a musician, Logan hoping to find his Egglestonian moment. (W insists I write that he's rolling his eyes.)
Of all places we found help on Yelp! which recommended a quaint little bar called Under the Hill Saloon. Within minutes upon arriving we were found out for what we really were which was, "not from around here." That being said, this bar was clearly used to a revolving cast of strangers– the week before they played host to a group of Spaniards (whom, very much in the spirit of Huck and Tom, they baptized while one of them impersonated an ordained minister.) The week before that a well-known Scottish folk band gave an impromptu performance at the bar.
We quickly felt at home and found ourselves a lunch date at Mammy's Cupboard and a collaborator for Walker's music project. No description will do John David, the bartender, justice so I'll just let the picture of the man in the green bowler hat speak for itself. I will give you this: he insisted on being called the Godfather, it was consistently unclear whether he ever heard your order and even less clear what he was saying to you unless looking you directly in the eye.
After getting our plans in order for the next day, we fatefully headed towards Micky D's. (A mistake we will we never make again.)
MAMMY'S
Mammy's was unanimously recommended as a great restaurant to get southern food. Sixty years ago, it was called Black Mammy's Cupboard and Mammy was several shades darker. Now Mammy looks a little bit more like a Puerto Rican gay boy dressed for the pride parade. We're not trying to pick on Natchez here, the legacy of segregation exists in all American cities. It's more fascinating to us to see how Mammey has been adapted to the times– by both literally and metaphorically whitewashing her. All said, the food was excellent and the company was great. We highly recommended walking into Mammy's skirt and indulging in her sweet, sweet banana carmel pie.
FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH
Logan: While Walker was recording with Ben I took my bike through a few neighborhoods into downtown to see the church that Mark Twain used to go to when visiting the town. Ben found out from his Mom that this was in fact the church that Mark Twain used in the famous scene in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer where Tom and Huck are witness to their own funeral. AMAZING!
TALKIN'
Walker: Because I teach English to non-native speakers, I'm very fascinated by accents and pronunciation. I hear a tough accent and I think to myself, "Oh no, my students would never be able to understand you. Talk more clearly!" Much to the chagrin of ESL students all over the US, it's common in American English to substitute 'd' for 't' when it falls in the middle of a word before a vowel sound. Some examples you all know: We don't say 80s like ae-tees. We say ae-dees. 30= thir-dee. It's out of control how much this occurs in the deep south. I love it. For example, "oh my god, Betty you are so nasty" (actually heard this phrase) is going to be said like this, "oh my gaww, Beddyy yer so nasdee."
In Natchez (stress is on the first syllable not spread equally over the two.) It rhymes with matches. Logan took 'pitchers,' not 'pik-tures.'
I'm not gonna (relaxed going to when followed by a verb) bore ya (unstressed you) with more relaxed pronunciation talk, but it's been on my mind here in tha (unstressed the) south.
PEOPLE
Walker: When I'm traveling, I like the feeling of being an outsider. It was easy to feel that way in Natchez! Every introduction was prefaced with 'where ya from,' and seeing as we were from out of town, there were many introductions during the 36 hours we stayed there.
After recording all day with Ben, I went to eat at The Malt Shop by myself. After introductions, some discussion of New York and the menu, I explained to the cashier what I was doing in Natchez. "I spent most of the day recording with a guy who plays down at Under The Hill Saloon. His name is Ben Lewis."
"yeah. I know Ben Lewis. That's my sister-in-law's first cousin."
I can't remember the actual relation anymore, but you get the idea.
The people we spent the most time talking with in Natchez, Candace and Ben, were not friends in the stricter sense of the word, but were nonetheless connected in many ways. Ben's older sister is a friend of Candace from high school, Candace frequents the bar where Ben plays, among a million other little connections like those. It was very easy to feel part of the fold here. After a couple of hours out, we were wise to little bits of gossip, former relationships, old friendships, newer friendships, etc. We slept in Ben's living room the second night but there was more than one offer to choose from.
Ben's girlfriend, Brynn, told us a very heartwarming story that I've imbedded here. She felt like it said a lot about Natchez.
nellys story Mammy's Cupboard First Presbyterian Church Boo Radley's House? WOW. this is a replica but wow. why I love the south We found this intersection when we were lost. Still not sure where it was. 200 year old church and an old general store.
