Native | October 2014 | Nashville, TN

OCTOBER 2014

DOG TESTED. DOG APPROVED. 速

T E D D Y ' S W A G O N N A S H V I L L E H U M A N E A S S O C I AT I O N

PET ADOPTION EVENT | OCT. 11 | 10AM-4PM

Downtown Subaru is a proud partner & supporter of the Nashville Humane Association. Downtown Subaru will donate $1 from every oil change performed during the month of October to the Nashville Humane Association! Pets are part of Subaru's DNA -- our cars are really a dog's best friend! # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E ///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 1 BROADWAY AT 65 | 1512 BROADWAY, NASHVILLE, TN 37203 | 615.329.2929 | DOWNTOWNSUBARUNASHVILLE.COM

2 / // / / / / / / / / / / / / /////

# N AT IVE N AS H VIL LE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 3

BBB! ! c i s u M FFd! ing!

Shoo

BROUGHT TO YOU BY

PRE-BUY VIP WRISTBANDS AT

THENASHVILLEOKTOBERFEST.COM

4 / // / / / / / / / / / / / / /////

# N AT IVE N AS H VIL LE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 5

$15 Buzz

6 / // / / / / / / / / / / / / /////

# N AT IVE N AS H VIL LE

$24 St y l e

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 7

8 / // / / / / / / / / / / / / /////

# N AT IVE N AS H VIL LE

TABLE OF CONTENTS OCTOBER 2014

46

21 76

58

24

THE GOODS 17 18 21 86 89 92 94

Beer from Here Cocktail Master Platers Hey Good Lookin’ You Oughta Know Observatory Animal of the Month

FEATURES

34

24 34 46 58 68 76

Under Their Spell True Grits It’s a Tennessee Thang Under Wraps To Each His Own Role Model Against the Grain

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 9

10 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

Tickets are ON SALE at the venue box office, MarathonMusicWorks.com, and by phone at 877-4FLY-TIX # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 1 1

The first floor at Acme honors Nashville’s vast music scene with a “funkytonk” that hosts live music reflective of Nashville’s diverse musical landscape. Its menu offers gourmet, street-food style cuisine and its two bars feature 28 regional craft beers on tap. The first floor also houses a small boutique with Nashville-based artisan goods and Acme-branded merchandise.

The second floor of the Acme is a bar & social lounge on Broadway where Nashville locals and upscale travelers can socialize comfortably. It features handcrafted cocktails with seasonally-inspired ingredients, lounge seating, intimate group spaces, vintage games, and flat screen TVs for sporting and special events. The second floor is also the new home to Nashville legend, Sam’s Sushi.

The third floor is home to The Hatchery at Acme, the largest one-level event and music venue on lower Broadway. The Hatchery provides unparalleled character, historic charm and an open floor plan with endless opportunity to transform the space. The Hatchery is available year-round for event rentals, and will also host pre-programmed music series, events and concerts.

The rooftop at Acme allows guests to enjoy an open-air bar with 360 degree views overlooking Broadway, LP Field, SoBro, the Cumberland River and the Pedestrian Bridge. The rooftop terrace also plays home to a variety Acme events, from DJ dance parties to weekday yoga.

12 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

DEAR NATIVES,

T

hough it was formally established as a city in 1806, Nashville didn’t become the capital of Tennessee until October 7, 1843 (it only beat the runner-up, Charlotte, Tennessee, by one vote). But sixty-four Octobers before that—before there was even a Fort Nashborough—explorers/adventurers James Robertson and John Donelson weren’t worried about establishing state capitals or one-upping Charlotte. They just wanted to see what was out there.

So in 1777, the duo left Watauga, the first US settlement west of the Appalachian Mountains, to explore the mysterious, uncharted West. They didn’t know what they would find. Hell, they didn’t know if they’d survive. They only knew that a cruel winter or an attack could prematurely end their trip—and their lives.

Alongside two hundred of the frontier’s finest, Robertson and Donelson set out on what would become a five-hundred-mile journey through southern Kentucky and northern Tennessee (which was southwestern North Carolina at the time). They trekked through the mountains at Cumberland Gap, waded through Maple Swamp in Kentucky, and rode across current-day Robertson County, the home of the Bell Witch. Finally, they arrived at the icy banks of the Cumberland River sometime around Christmas Day 1779.

The only problem? They wanted to cross the river, but the Cumberland was only partially frozen over.

Robertson wasn’t one to be deterred, so they went ahead and crossed—all two hundred men, cattle and all—despite reservations. While walking over the ice, they heard a cracking sound throughout the river banks (somewhere around the site of present-day LP Field).

The ice was settling. Understandably frightened, they rushed to the other side of the river, barely making it to what is now 1st Avenue. Fort Nashborough was founded.

What’s the point of telling you about Robertson and Donelson’s expedition? Well, we thought hearing about their travels—which happened on this same land, around this same month, 237 years ago—might inspire you to venture into some uncharted territory of your own. Sure, you won’t be able to start a new city or get a Tennessee county named after you, but maybe you can do something weird, something innovative, even something dangerous.

As corny as it might sound, sometimes you find the best things when you don’t even know what you’re looking for. So keep on looking—you might be surprised at what you find.

president, founder:

ANGELIQUE PITTMAN JON PITTMAN associate publisher: KATRINA HARTWIG publisher, founder:

founder, brand director:

DAVE PITTMAN

founder:

CAYLA MACKEY

creative director:

MACKENZIE MOORE

managing editor:

CHARLIE HICKERSON DARCIE CLEMEN

art director:

COURTNEY SPENCER

community relations manager:

JOE CLEMONS

community representative:

LINDSAY ALDERSON

account manager:

AYLA SITZES

web editor:

TAYLOR RABOIN

film supervisor:

CASEY FULLER

editor:

writers:

photographers:

p.r. interns:

DANIELLE ATKINS KRISTIN SWEETING EMILY B. HALL BRETT WARREN REBECCA ADLER JESS WILLIAMS WILL VASTINE

founding team:

MATTHEW LEFF JONAH ELLER-ISAACS ANDREW LEAHEY CHARLIE HICKERSON SCOTT MARQUART MATT COLANGELO MICHAEL ACKLEY MELANIE SHELLEY

DALY CANTRELL CHLOE BROOKSHIRE

MACKENZIE MOORE JOSHUA SIRCHIO TAYLOR RABOIN

want to work at native? contact:

WORK@NATIVE.IS SALES@NATIVE.IS for all other inquiries: HELLO@NATIVE.IS to advertise, contact:

Cheers,

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 1 3

14 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 1 5

16 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED THAT CRAFT BREWERIES ARE RAPIDLY STARTING TO PUT THEIR BEER IN CANS. Colorado-based Oskar Blues was one of the first craft breweries to can their beer, and ever since, canning has become a trend in the craft scene. Why cans, you ask? Well, they’re cheaper, lighter, less fragile, and let in zero light—all good things for us beer drinkers.

Just a few months ago, Fat Bottom Brewery installed their very own canning line and started putting out 16-ounce tall boys of Ruby (an American red ale) and Knockout IPA. Founder Ben Bredesen decided to go with cans instead of bottles for several reasons: better quality of beer, more environmentally friendly packaging, and a great way to stand out amongst other Nashville breweries. Stay tuned, as you can expect more of their beers to hit cans soon. Currently Fat Bottom is filling more than 30,000 cans per month!

You can expect Java Jane to come back in early December as their winter seasonal, on draft only. Fat Bottom is also excited to welcome a new brewer whose resume includes Dogfish Head Brewery and Foothills Brewing. This should allow the brewery to focus on future growth and continuing to make great craft beer!

Cheers and Drink Craft Beer!

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E ///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 1 7 # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E /// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 1 7

Donner

Party of

One

THE GOODS 1 shot Four Roses Bourbon (or your favorite bourbon) 1 slice chicken skin Hot chicken seasoning to taste

F Pull skin off of chicken, or buy chicken skin from your local butcher. Fry chicken skin. Toss fried skin in hot chicken seasoning (personal seasoning recipe preferred, but store-bought seasoning also works). Top bourbon shot with fried chicken skin. —Ben Clemons, No. 308

18 ////////////////////////////////// 18 //////

ATIVE IVENNASH ASHVI VILLE LLE ##NNAT

photo by danielle atkins

burgers

20 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

craft beer

shakes

BROUGHT TO YOU BY VASISHT RAMASUBRAMANIAN, CHEF DE CUISINE AT CHAUHAN ALE AND MASALA HOUSE

AUTUMN BEETS WITH MUSTARD YOGURT PACHADI

THE GOODS: SET 1 Water (enough to cover beets) Assorted beets 2 lbs Red wine vinegar ½ cup Salt 2 tbsp SET 2 Coconut oil 2 tbsp

Mustard seeds 1 tbsp Curry leaves 10 leaves Asafoetida 2 tsp Coconut, freshly grated ¼ cup Yogurt 2 cups SET 3 EVOO 2 tbsp Sea salt as per taste Black pepper as per taste Toasted cumin pinch Sliced Serrano chilis 5 to 7 slices (as per the heat level) Balsamic vinegar 1 tbsp

METHOD: F In a large pot, combine beets, red wine vinegar, salt, and enough water to cover the beets.

Cook the beets over

medium heat till they are cooked through. Cook different colors separately, as the deep red color of the red beets will stain the other beets.

F Drain the water and immediately transfer the beets to a mixing bowl and cover it with plastic wrap. Let sit for a few minutes. While the beets are still warm, use paper towels to remove the skin from the beets.

F Cut the beets in small oblique slices.

Keep the colored beets separate.

F In a small sauté pan, heat the coconut oil. Add the mustard seeds and curry leaves and sauté till they sputter.

Sprinkle in the asafoetida and toast till aromatic.

F Add coconut to the mixture and toast it. Mix into the yogurt and chill in the refrigerator. Remove the curry leaves before serving.

F In a separate bowl, toss the beets with balsamic vinegar, EVOO, sea salt, and black pepper.

F Arrange the beets on a plate and add dollops of yogurt and sliced Serranos.

Sprinkle with toasted cumin powder and micro herbs.

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 2 1

22 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 2 3

24 / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////// //////

AS H VI LLE # N AT IVE N ASH

Under Their Spell NASHVILLE’S ALL THEM WITCHES CONCOCT A POTENT BREW OF DARK, SHRIEKING DELTA BLUES THAT CRACKLE WITH MYSTICAL PSYCHEDELIC ENERGY. THEY CAN PROBABLY CONTROL THE WEATHER

BY JONAH ELLER-ISAACS | PHOTOS BY KRISTIN SWEETING

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 2 5

26 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

THREE TONS OF UNEXPECTED DIRT. Enormous piles of earth are stacked, one

after the other, like a BMX course haphazardly planned and abandoned before completion. Behind the berms, a cracked driveway is spattered with motorcycles, parts of motorcycles, ghosts of motorcycles. My eyes are drawn up along the pavement to a ramshackle old house. I’m starting to feel like I’m in a scene from True Detective. I’ve entered Carcosa and the realm of the Yellow King.

“Strange is the night where black stars rise And strange moons circle through the skies, But stranger still is Lost Carcosa.”

—Robert W. Chambers, The King in Yellow

Things are stranger still as I approach the house. A wrinkled, tanned old man in overalls and a trucker hat straddles a dirt pile, gums his underbite, and ponders the view. A ferocious-sounding dog barks.

A heavily bearded, dreadlocked man with a wild gleam in his eye stands in the front yard. He’s ready to rise to the heavens; his hips are loaded down with climbing gear, and the tall tree looming above him holds a multitude of cables. I’ve stumbled into some fantastical occult corner of East Nashville, and his ascension is sure to mark the beginning of some dark ritual.

But then the climber detaches his cables and reaches out to greet me. This is no green-eared maniacal villain. This is Robby Staebler, drummer for Nashville’s own All Them Witches, and he welcomes me to what one band member describes as their “hillbilly palace.” A few minutes later, we’re in their sprawling backyard, the southern jungle rising around us, abundant in the midsummer humidity. We’re chasing chickens. The band corrals their naughty birds for a photo. Four hard-looking dudes dressed almost entirely in black are smiling and cradling their avian friends. There is lightness in their darkness.

And so it is with the music of All Them Witches.

I was right to feel the electric buzz of sorcery thick in the air at my arrival. “Unexplained phenomena of all kinds can be attributed to magic. Music is among those marvels,” begins the band’s online bio. The cover of their 2013 self-released LP Lightning at the Door features a chalk rendition of a skeletal warlock on a gauzy, torn-apart background.

Our tree-climbing friend Robby created the cover using a “mysterious secret method.” There is something supernatural about the group, and it goes far beyond their Rosemary’s Baby–inspired name. A fiery power emanates from this four-piece.

Robby’s drums meld exquisitely with the thunderous bass lines and lead vocals provided by Michael Parks Jr., also known as Parks. Above their rocksolid foundation soar dusty, feedback-laden licks from guitarist Ben McLeod, and through it all a Fender Rhodes bobs and weaves under the nimble fingers of Allan van Cleave.

We gather on a covered section of driveway for a few more pictures. I sit next to a bottle filled with a foul yellow liquid with “POISON XXX” scrawled across its face. The Witches start in on a breakfast of coffee, warm beer, and cigarettes as they tune up for a quiet acoustic version of the old folk song “Freight Train.” At first listen, All Them Witches brings to mind early Black Sabbath and their hard, fuzzed-out, dark blues—it seems a world away from Elizabeth Cotten. But the band’s lyrics read like Appalachian murder ballads, updated and thrown into a cauldron of mystical mythology, psychedelic visions, weary spiritual wanderings, and blood-stained beasts.

In “Swallowed by the Sea,” one of the many standout tracks on Lightning at the Door, Parks’ vocals shift and sway through a rambling microtonal pentatonic melody that brings to mind an Indian raga. “What do you leave your sweetheart / The rope and high gallows tree / Let her swing there forever / For the poisonin’ of me.” The song’s bitter verses are accompanied by Parks’ acoustic guitar and Allan’s fluttering keyboards. When the lyrics wind down, the song explodes into distortion, hurtling through Ben’s blasting electric solos and an undulating, reverberating sonic landscape.

This is the band at their freest. Though the tone is shadowy and the lyrical content bleak, the four instruments blissfully surge forward in oneness.

Robby likes to call that unity the Witches’ “deeper groove.” When he first uses the phrase, Allan repeats it, slowly, mysteriously: “the deeeeeper groooove.” The band’s sound grooves its way deep into the muddy, swampy tangle of Delta blues, gets lost in the wide, haunting emptiness of West African desert blues, and picks up a handful of effects pedals and a dose of psychedelia along the road.

All Them Witches are sometimes described as

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 2 7

“I ASKED HIM TO JAM, AND HE ACTUALLY SHOWED UP ON TIME. AND THAT WAS IT.”

“stoner doom metal,” and Allan wonders, “I don’t know years, and Parks and Ben are some why we get put with doom and metal. I think it’s just of my best friends. They’re so easy to get along with.” cause we’re loud.”

Among this group of close friends, When I ask the band to tell me what they’re listening to these days, their answers lean toward the less loud, none are originally from Nashville. and they come from across the globe: Pakistan’s Nusrat Parks is from Shreveport, a self-deFateh Ali Khan, Ethio-jazz icon Mulatu Astatke, Nige- scribed “ramblin’ man, a goddamn rian legend Fela Kuti, and early American folk music. hobo” who found his way to All They’re big fans of obscure, battered records from the Them Witches when he and Robby dollar bin. “That’s like the coolest shit you’ll ever listen met working in a “corporate hippie to,” Parks states matter-of-factly between drags of a cig- store” on Broadway. Parks astonarette. He mentions Tuvan throat singing and Guitars of ished himself when he took Robby the Golden Triangle, a compilation of 1970s garage rock, up on his invite to play some tunes pop, and folk music from Burma, which Ben describes together: “It’s weird, it’s way out of as “really messed-up-sounding cassette recordings . . . my character to go and jam with you at your house, and The recording quality is awesome. It’s really cool. It’s I don’t know you, and I’ve never done this before. But it ended up working out. Probably been one of the best terrible.”

Apart from their worldly influences, All Them Witch- things I’ve ever done. And I don’t regret it.”

Ben arrived when his post-college life of surfing in his es’ seamless sound is a by-product of a deeper groove between the group’s members. The band tours relentlessly, hometown of St. Augustine, Florida, got boring; now he in part because they’re a loud, dark band in a countrified takes care of all the mailing duties for the band, and it’s city lit by rhinestones. When the band first started play- not a small job, given the fervent international fan base ing together, they found themselves on Americana bills, for All Them Witches (a European tour is scheduled for which, Parks explains, “is fine. I think a variation on the next spring). When he’s not lifeguarding part time at bill is great, but after a while, you kinda wanna play with the YMCA or focused on the Witches, Ben does mercenary work as a pop-country guitarist. I’m surprised to people at least close to your own sound.”

Local bands have brought hard rock before, acts hear it.

“A lot of people are pretty surprised by that,” he exlike Across Tundras and Hellbender, but Hellbender, a Cookeville-based outfit, is now defunct. Parks tells me plains. “And it’s fine. I mean, if you get hired on to the he misses Hellbender, and that “it’s been hard for a lot right gig, it’s like your second family. It’s really cool.” of heavier bands.” Robby admits, “It has been slightly Robby remembers when he first saw Ben play at The lonely in Nashville.” When I ask the band how they deal Five Spot, when “he was doin’ just some bare minimum with that isolation, Parks jokes, “We hold each other slide guitar, and I was like, ‘I can tell this dude is super tight,” adding more seriously, “we go out of town.” Rob- gnarly.’ So I asked him to jam, and he actually showed up on time. And that was it.” by chimes in: “We drink a lot.”

Allan seems to marvel at his luck that he’s managed The band is gearing up to spend a lot of time holding each other tight (and drinking a lot, most likely), as “to combine my work and play.” He’s spent the last five they’re about to embark on a month-long tour of the years working for conservation groups, and this past Midwest, the Northeast, and Canada, starting out with summer, he camped out in a remote canyon deep in the sonically similar Richmond, Virginia–based band Dinosaur National Monument and helped build a hikWindhand before meeting up with Across Tundras. Fol- ing trail. He finds the work deeply satisfying: “Way out lowing closely is a longer sojourn west before return- there, feeling really insignificant, but also doing stoneing to play 3rd and Lindsley on November 30. Post-tour, work that’s gonna be around for ages.”

Allan and Robby met in their home state of Ohio. they’ll dive into writing and recording their new album.

When I ask if they’ll be recording in town, Robby scoffs. Robby moved back last year when he grew “tired of the “We’re definitely goin’ somewhere isolated, away from fucking jungle,” saying Nashville was “too hot and shiteverything like bars and all that bullshit. Spend some ty.” Now he works as a climbing arborist, which explains the spooky tangle of chains and wires in the tree out time with each other and just get deep.”

Peeking out from his long, curly black hair, Allan front. He’s glad to say that his move hasn’t disturbed turns to the band and tells them, “I’m not really intimi- the continued growth of the band. “Our shows count dated by going on tour with you guys for a really long more, and our time together definitely goes a little furtime either, ‘cause I don’t think there’s any chemistry ther than it did before,” he asserts. “It’s nice being away issues.” He adds, “I’ve lived with Robby on and off for from each other, ‘cause when we do see each other, it’s

28 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 2 9

ALL THEM WITCHES: allthemwitches.org Follow on Facebook or Twitter @AllThemWitches native.is/witches

30 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

been a while. All this energy comes back and we get even more amped . . .

It’s better, I think.”

Today, the band is amped to play Live on the Green, and I’m psyched that I get to see them play the evening after our morning interview. When I arrive downtown, the sky is ominous, heavy with low-slung black clouds.

I make my way to the stage as the wind picks up. There is, quite literally, lightning at the door: the show’s start is delayed because of lightning nearby. A chant begins: Witches! Witches!

Witches! “That’s fucking awesome,” someone exclaims.

The band is waiting beside the stage, where they’re accompanied by Willie Nelson’s legendary harmonica player, Mickey Raphael, who plays on Lightning at the Door and is joining their set today. “Every time he answers my phone calls, I’m blown away,” laughs Ben. Though thunder still sounds through the city, the band eventually takes the stage. Mickey’s wailing harmonica echoes off the neon WKDF sign; it’s as if the Witches are casting a powerful spell that will cause the country music station to crumble, just as Joshua’s trumpets brought down the walls of Jericho.

The first drops of rain come down as sweat begins to drip from the band’s faces. Suddenly, the summer shower turns into an epic torrent of biblical proportions. The crowd screams and many run for cover. Undeterred, the Witches drive deeper into what are obviously weather-controlling enchantments. They reward their soaking, faithful fans who remain with “Charles William” to close out their set. The air is thick with crackling electricity. “I’m gonna lift my head,” Parks howls. “God willing / I’m gonna raise the dead / For you.”

I look around, almost expecting to see the ghosts of the Confederacy creeping out from their graves. It wouldn’t surprise me; such is the supernatural power wrought by the music of All Them Witches.

Velvet Pumpkins

Find them at:

Unique Gifts & Home Decor # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 3 1

32 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 3 3

34 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / ////// 34 // / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

AT IVE N ASH VI LLE ##NNAT IVE N AS H VI LLE

From the biscuits at Loveless Cafe to the beef brisket at the Southern Steak & Oyster, Tom Morales—the man behind some of Nashville’s best restaurants, bodegas, and honky-tonks—is one of the many reasons this city tastes so good

By Andrew Leahey | Photos by Emily B. Hall

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 3 5

36 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

A Tennessee native, Tom Morales remembers the “old Nashville,” long before

places like Rolf and Daughters and Husk began serving pig’s head to locals. Maybe that’s why his own menus cater to both sides of the culinary divide, offering the sort of Bible Belt fare you’d find at your favorite meatand-three, like pork chops and grits, along with more off-the-beaten-path selections. Over at the Acme Feed & Seed, his newest restaurant, some of the most popular items include the half-rack ribs—served the traditional way, with sides of mac and cheese, collards, and slaw—and “The Hatchery,” an island-inspired vegetarian dish made with curried chickpeas, coconut rice, herbs, and an over-easy fried egg. It’s the best of both worlds.

“If you own a restaurant and you wanna be a foodie, you’re reducing your market in Nashville down to about 20 percent,” he says. “My goal has always been to acknowledge and accentuate those extremes without alienating the 80 percent of people in the center. I don’t wanna be the kind of person who says, ‘Here, eat my food, and do it my way.’ I’d never cook my own steak well done, for example, but if someone wants to come into the Southern and order it that way, we’ll cook it for them. Why not?

The 80 percent in the center are usually easy to please, anyway, because most people want fresh ingredients that taste good and aren’t processed.

That’s the direction I’ve tried to take all of my restaurants . . . unless we’re talking about the Loveless, which is basically heart attack city.”

All jokes (and heart attacks) aside, Tom has fond memories of going to the Loveless Cafe as a kid, decades before he and a group of partners saved the roadside diner from being bulldozed into a strip mall. It was a

long drive from Madison, Tennessee, where Tom grew up with his two parents and nine siblings. The entire family would pile into the car and head south, happy to put up with a seventyfive-minute car ride—this was before interstates crisscrossed the area—as long as fried chicken and biscuits awaited on the other side. Afterward, they’d burn off the calories by swimming in the Harpeth River.

Weekends in the Morales household always revolved around food. If Tom and his siblings weren’t barreling toward the Loveless Cafe in their parents’ backseat, they were standing outside the family home, grilling hamburgers and chicken breasts for dinner.

“My dad wouldn’t let my mother cook on the weekends,” he remembers. “It was such a big job keeping the entire family fed, so he wanted to give her a break when he could. On weekends, he’d get some chicken or something, and we’d go grill it. That happened every single Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Not only did we learn how to cook, but we learned how to do it for a lot of people. The running joke in the family was, ‘As much food as this family cooks, someone should be in the restaurant business.’”

It wasn’t a joke to Tom, who left town after high school and opened up a BBQ joint in South Carolina. From there, he moved to Destin, Florida, to help his friend launch a seafood restaurant called Harbor Docks. He stayed there for several years, honing his fish recipes and watching the late ’70s give way to a new decade. Meanwhile, a food revolution was taking place in nearby New Orleans, where certain chefs had started blackening their seafood and experimenting with new spices. Tom spent many weekends there, becoming buddies with now-famous cooks like Paul

Prudhomme and Tony Moran. They’d hang out, drink wine, and trade cooking tips. By the time he returned to Tennessee in the mid-80s, Tom had grown into the sort of adventurous cook that Nashville had never seen.

And the city wasn’t ready for him.

“I came back to Nashville, and hell, there wasn’t nothing happening,” he remembers. “Only a few people were doing anything creative here. There were a lot of chain restaurants. The palate of Nashville was pretty plain.

To put seasoning on anything, beyond salt and pepper, was sacrilegious.”

Maybe that’s why he landed a gig at the Starwood Amphitheater, a now-demolished venue in Antioch.

Morales worked as the backstage caterer, meaning he cooked for the musicians and crew members who passed through. Bands from all over the world would fly into town, play the Starwood, and wolf down his food before loading out. The gig gave Tom the chance to experiment, to learn about trends and tastes that hadn’t made their way to Tennessee yet.

He was still working at Starwood when he interviewed for a bigger, better job: head caterer for Tennessee Twist, a movie that was being filmed nearby. Movie shoots were rare in Tennessee, and Tom didn’t know much of the lingo. Even so, the interview was going smoothly until Tom’s potential employers asked if he owned a mobile kitchen. This was 1986, long before food trucks became a staple of virtually every outdoor event in Nashville.

Tom had actually never even heard of a mobile kitchen before, but he didn’t want them to know that. So . . . he lied.

Yes, he did own a mobile kitchen. Of course he owned a mobile kitchen.

Why, would the movie company like him to use his own mobile kitchen?

Once Tom got the job, though, he started to worry. Things got worse

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 3 7

when the movie producers wrote who wanted to eat red meat every him a $10,000 deposit. With only a single day.” As for the actors and few weeks to spare, he phoned his actresses, they always seemed to be sister in Los Angeles, learned that on fad diets: the grapefruit diet, the a mobile kitchen was “sort of like South Beach Diet, the caveman diet, a Winnebago with a kitchen on it,” the blood type diet. Tom rolled and asked her to send him a copy of with all of it. Before long, the Tomthe LA Times. Inside the classified Kats catering company was being section, he found an advertisement hired for most of the biggest projfor a secondhand mobile kitchen ects in Hollywood.

“We did Prince of Tides, A League of in Phoenix. Tom gathered up all the money he could find and flew Their Own, City Slickers, Young Guns, to Arizona to buy it. When he got Groundhog Day, What About Bob,” there, however, the vehicle didn’t he says, rattling off a list of early ’90s staples. “We did it all. We went look quite like he’d pictured it.

“It was this big van, with a guy everywhere. I spent two weeks in wearing a sombrero on it,” he says Santiago, Chile, filling up containwith a laugh. “It said ‘Ricky Ricar- ers with food and nonperishable do’s Chili Express’ across the side. products to take with me to a movI gave them the money and got the ie shoot on Easter Island, where we keys and drove back to Nashville had a quarter mile of paved road over three days, thinking, ‘What and three volcanos to deal with. am I gonna tell my wife? I just That was for a movie called Rapablew all of our savings on a chili Nui, which Kevin Costner’s compawagon.’ Once I got back, an intern ny was doing. Years later, we went who worked at Starwood helped to New Zealand to do The Lord of me come up with this cool logo of the Rings with Peter Jackson, where a tomcat. Since I couldn’t afford to we fed six hundred people a day.”

Tom made some good friends get the van professionally painted, I went to Lowe’s and got many buck- during those years, including Richets of external white paint. It took ard Gere and Madonna, the latter seven coats of that stuff before the of whom explained her macrobiotic sombrero would go away. Finally, vegetarianism to him by sneering, we wrote ‘Mobile Kitchen #3’ on “I just don’t eat anything that takes the car, so people would think we a shit!” (“That’s easy to remember!”

Tom happily responded at the time, had two others.”

The trick worked, and Tom began unfazed by yet another rockstar’s landing movie job after movie job. rough language.) Today, TomKats The casts and crews liked him. He remains one of the industry’s most was a flexible chef, able to whip up popular catering companies. Tom healthy food for those who wanted tends to spend most of his time in to stay fit—“usually the hair and Tennessee, though. After years on makeup crowd,” he points out— the move, he’s put down some seriand happy to serve medium-rare ous roots in the form of five Nashsteaks to “the grips and electrics ville-area restaurants: the Southern

38 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

“WE WROTE ‘MOBILE KITCHEN #3’ ON THE CAR, SO PEOPLE WOULD THINK WE HAD TWO OTHERS.”

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 3 9

Steak & Oyster, Saffire Restaurant, Acme Feed & Seed, the Loveless Cafe, and the soon-to-be-open Southernaire market.

Some of the restaurants were easy to open. Others—like the Acme, which occupies a four-story, century-old building on the corner of 1st Avenue and Lower Broadway—took quite a bit of restoration. Perhaps the most unique restaurant in Tom’s portfolio is the Loveless Cafe, which joins Robert’s Western World (and, more recently, the Acme) as a rare Nashville institution that attracts tourists and locals in equal numbers. When Tom and his coowners bought the place in November 2003, they inherited a once-thriving restaurant that had sunk into mediocrity, with subpar food and service that didn’t seem to match Tom’s childhood memories.

The Loveless required some heavy restoration too— although not necessarily in the architectural sense.

“They only had one working oven,” he remembers. “So they couldn’t cook the biscuits to a finish. They’d cook them three quarters of the way on a ten-inch pizza pan, then stick them in a broiler to brown the tops. Well, the yeast would rise and the biscuits would settle, so the whole thing turned into a wafer with a brown top. I got accused for several years of changing the recipe, but I didn’t. The recipe was perfect. We kept it perfect. All we did was get more ovens so we could cook the biscuits to order.”

Tom closed the Loveless Cafe for several months, revamped the menu, raised the salaries of several employees (including a woman named Carol Fay Ellison, who was still making $8.50 an hour after twenty-five years with the company), and reopened in spring 2004. In a clever marketing move, he asked Ellison to be the restaurant’s spokesperson.

From 2004 until her death in April 2010, Ellison— who became known as “The Biscuit Lady”—was a familiar face on TV, spreading Loveless’ name through appearances on The Ellen Show, Late Night with Conan O’Brien, NBC’s Today, and cooking shows with Bobby Flay and Martha Stewart.

Meanwhile, Tom received some helpful advice from country singer Vince Gill, who visited the Loveless shortly after the reopening and insisted that the grits didn’t taste the way he remembered

40 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

TOM MORALES: tomkats.com native.is/tom-morales

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 4 1

G O TH I ?

SUS

SUSHI LUNCH BUFFET

MONDAY - SATURDAY 11:30AM - 2:30PM HAPPY HOUR MONDAY - THURSDAY 4:30PM - 6:30PM 5 0 5 1 2 T H AV E S . ( 6 1 5 ) 2 5 2 - 8 7 8 7

42 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

them. He was right. When Tom looked into the problem, he learned that one of his chefs had started putting cream into the dish. It was a gourmet twist on an old Southern staple, but it wasn’t exactly authentic. The cream was quickly abandoned, and water—a more traditional ingredient for grits— was used instead.

“Vince knows his food!” Tom says, laughing. “That guy likes to eat. And when Vince Gill tells you to do something, you just do it. That’s the key to success: listening. You need to listen to the people you’re trying to serve, because if you’re doing it wrong, they’re the first to know . . . Especially if they’re Vince Gill.”

Lately, Tom Morales’ customers— even the ones who aren’t Vince Gill— seem to be pretty happy. On a recent Wednesday night in September, less than fifty yards from the packed dining room of the Southern Steak & Oyster, Alan Jackson climbed onto the Acme’s stage to play a set of country classics. Yes, the Alan Jackson, of “Chattahoochee” fame. It was surreal to see an actual country legend playing a downtown honky-tonk, and the whole performance felt like an overdue celebration of the Acme’s early success. In several months, the place has revitalized a once-blighted corner of Lower Broadway, bringing locals back to an intersection that once drove them far away. For Tom, who regularly accompanied his father on weekend trips to the Acme Feed & Seed as a kid, reopening those doors was just another way of bridging a gap between old and new Nashville.

“Nashville is changing,” he says. “It’s always been a destination tourist town, but even the tourists are changing.

They’re not just coming here for country music anymore. They’re coming for conventions, for museums, for everything else this city can offer. Places like the Acme . . . all of Nashville wants it to succeed, because it is Nashville.”

And man, Nashville tastes good.

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 4 3

OW N ES BLE! M HO AILA AV

�� ... . .. .. ..

R I C H L A N D S TAT I O N H O M E S.CO M S Y LVA N PA R K | N A S H V I L L E

44 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 4 5

It’s a Tennessee Thang LAST YEAR, ISABEL SIMPSON-KIRSCH MADE WAVES WITH HER LIL B INSPIRED FASHION LINE. NOW, SHE’S KEEPING IT BASED WITH TEN-AKEY, A COLLECTION INFLUENCED BY HIP-HOP FROM HER HOME STATE

BY CHARLIE HICKERSON | PHOTOS BY BRETT WARREN

46 // / /////////////////////////////// ////// 46

ATIVE IVENNAS ASH VILLE LLE ##NNAT H VI

In 2014, it’s difficult to argue that Southern hip-hop is a marginalized subgenre of music. After all, this is the year that Juicy J contributed a verse to Katy Perry’s “Dark Horse,” a video that received nearly 600 million views on YouTube. It’s also the year that Iggy Azalea—an Australian that raps in an affected Atlanta accent and was discovered by T.I.— tied The Beatles’ Billboard Hot 100 record.

Hell, Project Pat, Juicy’s older brother, even played the Mad Decent Block Party alongside Diplo and Big Gigantic.

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 4 7

For better or worse, Southern rap has become a fixture of mainstream consciousness (and mainstream speakers). The “Tennessee Thang” DJ Paul referred to on Three 6’s first platinumselling single, “Stay High,” is no longer a style reserved for codeine-sipping, blunt-smoking dudes in Memphis. It’s a sound that hitmakers like Dr. Luke can rip off on a Katy Perry single; it’s an aesthetic that Miley Cyrus can misappropriate; it’s a flow that a Harlem rapper like A$AP Rocky can emulate on a Rihanna remix.

But twenty years ago, DJ Paul and Juicy J—and the rest of their MasonDixon compatriots—weren’t selling platinum records or touring across the country. Instead, they were ostracized by the East/West Coast scenes that ruled hip-hop at the time. Even Outkast was infamously booed at the 1995 Source Awards, leading a visibly frustrated André 3000 to proclaim, “The South got something to say!” before storming off stage.

Throughout the ’90s, Memphis’ rap scene proved that André was right. Artists like Tommy Wright III, Princess Loko, and La Chat indeed had something to say, but you probably weren’t going to hear them say it on the radio.

They were the underdogs, the hometown heroes that valued putting on for their city over putting out hit records.

To put it in Nashville terms, they were the Waylons and Willies of ’90s hip-hop.

And they’re the inspiration for Nashville designer Isabel Simpson-Kirsch’s latest fashion line, Ten-A-Key (a reference to Young Buck’s verse on the aforementioned “Stay High”).

48 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

“ALL OF THE MUSICIANS I LIKE ARE UNDERDOGS.”

cobs track: “All of the musicians I “I’d wanted to go to Parlike are underdogs. That’s sons since pretty much the music I can relate to like the seventh grade the most . . . They’re in the . . . I had always heard underground, so they’re it was the best fashion not trying to impress anyand design school in the one. They’re just trying to do what they want to do,” Isabel says country. I heard it was prestigious—the through the fog of incense gathering in Harvard of fashion schools—so I said, ‘That’s where I need to go.’” her Edgehill home.

So Isabel started taking steps to do I look around as Aaliyah, Isabel’s lab mix, puts her paws in my lap. There are just that. From her early teens on, she posters of everyone from Dolly Parton spent her summers living with her to Tyler, The Creator to the four-headed grandparents in Pound Ridge, New York, Hindu deity Brahma in here. This is the in order to be closer to NYC’s fashion house of someone that’s “just trying to scene. By fifteen, she was networking do what they want to do,” a house from and earning college credit via summer the underground, a house belonging to fashion programs at Pratt and Parsons. a fashion designer who, much like the The programs led to an internship at ReNorth Memphis rappers she idolizes, is becca Taylor, and Isabel worked her first creating art on her own terms—and she Fashion Week with the designer before she could drive. has her whole life.

“It was crazy to be this girl from NashBorn in New York City and raised in West Nashville, Isabel spent her ville who was just like, ‘Oh, I’m leaving childhood dancing, horseback riding, school real quick to go do Fashion Week. scrounging through the bargain bins I’ll be back in a few days.’ But it was at Grimey’s, and “designing stuff since what I wanted to do—it’s what I had to like the fourth grade. I had drawings and do to get where I wanted to be,” she exsketchbooks where I drew shoes and plains nonchalantly.

After a portfolio she designed her seoutfits [with titles] like ‘my outfit to go to dance class in.’ I don’t ever remember nior year was selected as a finalist in the Council of Fashion Designers of Ameriever wanting to do anything else.”

Isabel’s dad, an NYC jazz pianist ca/Teen Vogue Scholarship Program, Isturned country songwriter, introduced abel had an inkling that—barring death her to the likes of Will Smith and Out- or a natural disaster—she’d probably get kast, and—along with Isabel’s yoga into Parsons. She was right, and the folinstructor mom—encouraged Isabel lowing fall she was on her way to New to pursue art and dance at Nashville York with $5,000 of Teen Vogue–funded School of the Arts (NSA). But Isabel had scholarship money and one hell of a realready mapped out her post-secondary sume.

I’m going to let you in on a little seeducation years before enrolling in the magnet school. We’ll call it the Marc Ja- cret. It may come as shocking news, so

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 4 9

brace yourself. On the whole, the fashion community isn’t known for its carefree, all-inclusive approach to conducting business. After all, this is the industry that spawned such valuable insights into the human psyche as “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” and “Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life, so you bought some sweatpants” (I’m writing this in sweatpants just to spite you, Karl Lagerfeld).

Perhaps, then, it’s not surprising that some of the Parsons faculty were less than accepting of a kid from Tennessee with a penchant for Project Pat and clothes that, you know, actually stray from neutral color palettes. “From freshman to senior year, I think something like almost 70 percent of Parsons students drop out . . . From semester to semester, you don’t know what’s going to happen. I had the unfortunate experience of some people trying to make my life a living hell,” Isabel recalls. “Certain teachers in creative fields have a hard time understanding work that they don’t want to or care to understand.”

That, in conjunction with cut-throat students, one too many sleepless nights in front of a sewing machine, and the general depression that often comes with living in New York, understandably took a toll on Isabel. You can only live in the fashion equivalent of The Social Network so long before you reach a breaking point.

“It was so much pressure and there were so many sleepless long nights sewing my ass off,” Isabel remembers with a look of dread. “I thought, ‘Oh my God, I just need

50 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

ISABEL SIMPSON-KIRSCH: isabelsk.tumblr.com Follow on Twitter @rewindthatbackk native.is/isabel-s-k

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 5 1

52 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

something. I’ll just watch some Lil B couldn’t be stopped. She brought the Isabel has returned home to Nashvideos to keep me entertained while idea to her professors, Max Wilson ville, where she’s enjoying the sucI’m working until 4 a.m., going back (former vice president of women’s cess of her Ten-A-Key line. Like the to bed, and waking back up at 6 to do design at Polo Ralph Lauren and for- Based Collection, Ten-A-Key consists three more hours of work before I get mer senior designer at Calvin Klein) of quasi-athletic streetwear like skirts on the train to go to class. Why not and Caroline Simonelli, who—after and oversized jersey dresses. The genlisten to some interesting music that learning about the peace, love, and eral cuts and loose fits remain as well, keeps me awake and keeps me enter- positivity associated with the Based but Brahma and Shiva have given way life—encouraged Isabel to incorpo- to illustrations of Project Pat and Al tained and keeps me inspired?’”

She didn’t realize it at the time, but rate elements of Hinduism into her Kapone (rendered by her friend Dylan Isabel had stumbled upon the muse designs. And just like that, Isabel had Betz, whom she fittingly met at a Lil for her Parsons senior thesis collec- a line of jerseys, dresses, gym shorts, B show).

Aside from her identification with tion. If you’re not familiar with Lil B and sneakers, all of which featured (a.k.a. The BasedGod), I am (a.) hon- images of Lil B’s face superimposed the rappers’ place as outsiders in their ored that I get to introduce you to one over the faces of Hindu gods, by the field, Isabel featured these relatively obscure members of the Memphis of the most enigmatic and polarizing end of her senior year.

Once the collection was revealed rap scene in an attempt to weed out rappers of the past decade and (b.) going to attempt to briefly explain at Parsons’ end-of-the-year senior dilettantish fans of the scene. These The BasedGod’s message, which in thesis show, Isabel was immedi- are clothes designed by and for afiand of itself warrants a whole other ately Internet famous. In a matter of cionados of all things trill—the kind weeks, she received press from The of people that paw through stacks of article(s).

Lil B is a twenty-five-year-old em- Fader, VICE, and Complex, and the forgotten mixtapes at record stores cee, author, and occasional motiva- Based Collection was made available and geek out when they see Princess tional speaker who has been called for sale via VFILES. Shortly after, Loko lyrics on the elastic hemline of everything from “the vanguard of Katy Perry donned one of the Based a skirt. (One such garment from Isahip-hop” to “a post–Lil Wayne de- dresses while attending a Miley Cyrus bel’s collection features the Loko line constructionist,” whatever the hell show, which prompted Lil B to record “Blow away your brains with this .45 in that means. Think of him like hip- a song titled—you guessed it, “Katy my pantyline.”)

“To me, as a Tennessean, it’s so imhop’s answer to The Room. He writes Perry.” It’s a bizarre overnight sensaabsurdist, stream-of-consciousness tion story, and the surreality certainly portant to know the history of this place, and this state, and the people raps (often about celebrities like Mi- isn’t lost on Isabel.

“It was so crazy and random that here. So many creative people have ley Cyrus, Charlie Sheen, and Hillary Clinton) and encourages his fans to Katy Perry wore my dress . . . I had come from this state. It’s unreal. live a pseudo-spiritual lifestyle free of been looking at a Katy Perry video What happened in Memphis in the materialism, regret, and jealousy. He that morning [the morning of the Mi- early ’90s—all of that music—is too calls this the “Based” life, and if you ley Cyrus show] and thinking, ‘I don’t incredible for me not to put a little subscribe to this ideology, you are know how I feel about her.’ And then shine on it,” Isabel says earnestly.

One of those “creative people” is later that night, a friend texted me a called a Based individual.

“What was so inspiring to me at the picture and said, ‘Hey, did you know award-winning director and Nashville beginning of my Lil B obsession was Katy Perry wore your dress to the Mi- native Harmony Korine, who Isabel works for part time as a studio art asthat he was an artist who was doing ley show?’”

Isabel continues with a smirk, “Of sistant. “Working for him is inspiring exactly what he wanted without giving a fuck about what anybody else course, Lil B’s teaching me a univer- as fuck,” Isabel explains. “He has so thought,” Isabel begins. “That’s why sal lesson—don’t talk shit about Katy many amazing ideas, and he really you hear him making sounds on songs Perry, or she’s going to wear your puts on for Nashville. He’s successful, and meowing like a cat. I think it’s so dress and make you feel bad about famous, and could live anywhere in the world, but he chooses to raise his beautiful to give that little amount of questioning her talent.”

The BasedGod works in mysterious kid and live with his wife in Nashville.” fucks . . . So I said, ‘Let me do that. Let Harmony also shares Isabel’s love of ways. me get like that.’”

Now, months after receiving a Memphis rap—she accompanied him As was the case with Isabel’s decision to attend Parsons (which Isa- small mountain of press, emailing and his wife to a Project Pat show bel tells me is “so not Based”), once with Lil B (he called the collection back in March.

So what’s next for Isabel S-K? She’d she set her mind on working the “beautiful”), and developing a newBased philosophy into her work, she found appreciation for Katy Perry, eventually like to host exhibits, fash-

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 5 3

ENHANCE YOUR EYES

54 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

ion shows, and parties at a collaborative art and events space in town.

But as far as the immediate future is concerned, she’s currently engrossed in a new line that, like her previous work, will feature illustrated caricatures. This time around, however, she’s looking to include “OG country stuff”: “It’s just something that I’ve always wanted to do—I was making paintings of Dolly Parton when I was in ninth and tenth grade. She’s always been a personal hero . . . The collection will be country-inspired casual, streetstyle type clothes, but not corny like Jeremy Scott. Not fringe on a running jacket or not, like, cowboy boot Nikes, ya know?”

She envisions the collection as a collaboration with local artist Ferrell Garramone, who will paint kitschy, nudie mag–inspired art to complement Isabel’s work. Like Ten-A-Key, the upcoming pieces are a nod to Tennessee’s—and more specifically Nashville’s—history, a subject that Isabel believes has been sorely overlooked during Nashville’s recent economic and artistic growth.

“There are so many people moving here to try and be successful . . . It’s cool that people are interested in this city, but I don’t think it’s cool how it’s changed it. There’s a lot of stores and restaurants here that are geared strictly toward the Los Angeles crowd,” she says with a sigh.

“It’s like, oh, y’all are taking these historic places—places that I’ve seen my whole life—and you’re turning them into something trendy because you think it’s cool? That’s part of the reason I moved back. I felt like, ‘Hey, there’s so many people moving to Nashville and so much attention being drawn here. I’m from here, so I need to get back and represent my town. I need to get back and put on for Nashville—the real Nashville.’”

As a fellow Tennessee native, Memphis hip-hop head, and “OG country stuff” fan, I think you’re putting on for Nashville just fine, Isabel.

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 5 5

56 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 5 7

UNDER WRAPS AN EXCLUSIVE LOOK INTO THE MYTHICAL, PERVERSE WORLD OF HERE COME THE MUMMIES

BY SCOTT MARQUART PHOTOS BY REBECCA ADLER

58 / / / / / / / / / /////////// # N AT IVE N ASHVI LLE 58 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / ////// # N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 5 9

“Sir? Sir. You can’t be here right now.”

The pudgy rent-a-cop is marking my steps into Elmington Park with a scowl on his face. “They’re shooting for Nashville soon, and I’m not allowed to let anyone in here.”

“Alright,” I say, “I’m just supposed to be meeting someone.”

“A girl?” he asks with a softened tone, like he might consider making an exception.

“No—at least, I don’t think so.”

A large black Chevy Tahoe pulls up next to us, and a man in an evergreen pinstriped suit steps out.

“Scott?” he asks rhetorically. I nod and follow him to the car. The driver—an older, serious man in a black suit and sunglasses—takes us down the road to pick up our photographer, Rebecca. The man in the green suit takes our cell phones and hands us each a black pillowcase. We put them over our heads and feel the SUV make a sharp U-turn.

The Chevy smells new, and I can feel plastic film still covering the chrome door handles. The ride is silent, except for the man in the green suit telling the driver when to turn. At one point, I hear the driver say, “I don’t know what the fuck he thinks he’s looking at,” in a gruff voice. I get a bit nervous, but we keep moving. As we approach our destination, the SUV heaves up and down over rough terrain, and I hear tree branches scrape against the door like we’re slicing through a thicket. Finally, we stop.

The door opens and a man takes me by the arm, leading me carefully through the yard and up a few steps into what they call The Crypt—the secret lair of Nashville’s most enigmatic funk band, Here Come The Mummies.

When my hood is pulled off, I find myself standing in front of a fifty-six-channel Euphonix mixing board, the backlit knobs and faders glowing like embers in the dim light of the room. Candlelight

60 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

flickers in an adjacent doorway, and Rebecca and I step through it cautiously. The room is lined with grey stone, and candelabra illuminate a set of hieroglyphic eyes carved into the wall. There in the corner, sitting proudly on a fur-lined throne, is Java Mummy (pronounced Jay-vuh), flanked by two beautiful girls in heavy makeup, dressed in gold and silk (think Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi). They fan his wrappings with long, deliberate strokes. Behind him are two faux fire torches, which dapple orange light onto his painted face. His counterpart, Mummy Cass, stands at his side, playing gentle but precise funk riffs on one of his many homemade guitars.

“You want some Remy?” he asks me, gesturing toward a bottle of Remy Martin VSOP cognac on a shrine underneath the rightmost Eye of Horus.

“Sure would.”

He hands me a snifter, then takes his position back on the throne.

“You can start anytime you want. Ain’t no rules, baby—it’s like Outback Steakhouse around here.”

“Alright then. So Java, why is there so much secrecy surrounding the band?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s the way we work, baby. You know, you don’t want ladies beating down your doors. Now beating down your drawers is a different matter altogether, know what I’m saying?” He has the thick, gravelly voice of an old bluesman and carefully animates each word he says.

“So they say you were unearthed in Cairo in 1922.

How did you get to Nashville?”

“Oh baby, you know, it’s a long route. All we were looking for was a nice place to make some music, baby. We did Memphis for a while because it reminded us of home, know what I’m saying—see we’re from Memphis, Egypt. But you know, the recording studios here tend to help us not to decompose,” he snickers. Satisfied with his answer, he lets out a cool,

HERE COME THE MUMMIES: herecomethemummies.com Follow on Facebook @HereCometheMummies Follow on Twitter or Instagram @hctmummies native.is/mummies # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 6 1

62 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

“Yay-uh.”

“What is it that keeps you here in town?”

“Well, baby, we like our crypt. See I don’t know if you know much about this place, but it’s big. We have a whole underground lair, baby. Kind of hard to move that thing to, you know, like Kansas City—it’s pretty hard to build an underground dungeon in Kansas City.”

“Do you get out into town much, or just stay in The Crypt?”

“Nah, we like to stay in, baby. Order takeout and that kind of stuff. Order in our erotic help, know what I mean? It’s not so easy to go out to like, you know, O’Charley’s, when you’re dead. Know what I mean, baby?”

It stands to reason.

“So you have a number of die-hard fans out there.

What do you think it is about you guys that hooks people?”

“We’re sexy. I mean, it’s true, baby. People like the fact that we’re sexy, we look scary, we sing about naughty things . . . The music is infectious, know what I mean? It keeps ‘em coming.” He smiles, wrapping his arms around the ladies at his side.

“Do you guys see your music more as art or as fun?” I ask. “Or does there need to be a distinction?”

“Aw nah, we just do what makes us laugh, baby. Ain’t no statement. If we want to make a country record, we gonna make a country record. In fact, 2014’s been the year of the EP. We’ve been doing a bunch of five-song EPs—free. All year long, man. If we do more, we might even do an EDM record or a country record, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you releasing your music for free. Do you think that music should cost money in the first place?”

“Naw, baby. Well you know, you’ve been around.

We’ve been on the road for, I don’t know, thousands of years. For a while, you did shows just to sell records.

Now it’s the opposite, baby. You just put out records like promotional material. Ain’t nobody making no money making records. It’s all about T-shirts and concert tickets.” He puts a crisp finish on the words “shirts,” and “tickets,” like dollar signs are popping into a thought bubble above his head.

“How do you think the experience of recorded music and live music differs? Is one better than the other?”

“Oh totally different, baby, totally different. Live, there’s all kinds of energy, baby. You can play the same damn song you just recorded five minutes ago. You go out and put it in front of chicks pulling out their boobies, screaming, jumping up and down, the energy just

“IT’S NOT SO EASY TO GO OUT TO LIKE, YOU KNOW, O’CHARLEY’S, WHEN YOU’RE DEAD.”

goes up, know what I mean? You throw down. In a recording studio, sometimes you have to bring the boobies in, just so you can bring the energy up. Otherwise, you’re just thinking about when Scott Baio is gonna be on TV next, know what I mean?”

I’m not sure I do, but I press on.

“Your music incorporates a lot of different genres, even in the same song. How do you guys categorize it? Does it need to be categorized?”

“Aw, baby, you know for a long time we just categorized it as terrifying funk from beyond the grave. But you know these days, I don’t even know. It don’t matter. Lots of people say we’re a rock band, people say we’re a funk band—we’re a little bit of both. We just call it happy music, party music, fun music, call it a party band if you want. But it’s a rock band to me, baby.”

“Has your music evolved at all over the years? You’ve been around since, well, forever . . .”

“Forever, baby,” he echoes. “Well, I mean a little bit.

First, we was just playing smooth rock and roll—” He turns to his harem, “How y’all doing, baby? Getting a little breezy in here. Maybe hit me up with a different fan or something.” Perfectly in sync, they set their feather fans behind them and pull two matching silk fans from beneath the throne.

Satisfied with the switch, he continues, “But, uh, I don’t know if it’s changed, man. The spirit’s been the same the whole time. But you know how it works, depending on what you’re listening to. If you’ve been listening to Al Green, you’re gonna be writing one kind of song. You’ve been listening to nothing but Daft Punk, it changes up, you know what I mean? Sometimes you’re listening to everything from Cab Calloway to Slayer in a given day. It’s all good.”

“So who are you guys’ biggest influences, throughout history?”

“All of it, baby. I can’t remember who said it, was it, uh, uh, uh, uh, aw, baby . . . it was a good quote too.”

He looks at the ceiling, deliberating privately until it comes to him. “‘Two kinds of music: good music and bad music.’ I think that was Duke Ellington. We subscribe to that, baby.”

“You guys have had additions to the band over the years, people come and go—” “Let me clarify. This is a misconception, baby. People

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 6 3

64 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

think mummies come and go; it ain’t true. We’ve all been here the whole time. You go down in the basement and you ring the dinner bell, who knows who’s gonna come up. Depends what’s going on on the Xbox or whatever.

Sometimes we say, baby, you broke your finger, or you broke your mouth, you can’t play no horn. So we go back a couple hundred years and we bring out somebody new. There’s about one hundred of us down in the basement, chilling out. So that’s how it works. We don’t find nobody new; we just holler.”

“Legend has it that a number of the mummies have played with some wellknown acts in town. Is there any truth to that?”

“There’s truth to that, baby. That’s the cool thing about Nashville—bunch of recording studios. Up on the bandstand or something, it’s hard to show up dead, or you know, undead. Recording studios? You can show up and play for anybody. Shirley Bassey wants to make a new record, and you want to go down and play some bass? You can do it. She don’t ask who’s the mummy in the iso-booth, you know what I mean, baby?”

The smoky chamber fills with white light—time for the photos. The girls’ beads jingle as Java and Cass strike poses. Java jabs at our photographer, “I saw your website . . . Know what I saw?

Lots of booty. Five thousand years, and I still love booty,” he howls, flashing a Cheshire grin. “Sometimes I wish I could turn it off, but I’d probably keel over dead.”

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Like many musicians, Java is a charmer, a bastard, and a showman. His dedication to his fiction is admirable, and it’s easy to see why Here Come The Mummies have cultivated a massive cult following throughout the states.

Certainly our encounter raised more questions than it answered—save for one.

Do musicians ever grow up? No, not even after five thousand years.

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 6 5

66 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 6 7

68 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT

To Each His Own Role Model

By Matt Colangelo | Illustrations by Courtney Spencer

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 6 9 ///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 6 9

70 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

IN HIGH SCHOOL I WAS OBSESSED WITH A MISOGYNISTIC, WOMANIZING, IRREPRESSIBLY FRENCH SINGER NAMED SERGE GAINSBOURG. I mean, this guy was awesome.

Besides the fact that he was French and composed chart-topping tunes, which would have been enough to make him cool in my book, he also dated supermodel bombshells like Jane Birkin and Brigitte Bardot. For a hormonal teenager whose brain alternated between thoughts of music and sex, this guy was the shit. When he wasn’t smoking cigarettes, eating croque-monsieurs, or writing sexually explicit lyrics in Parisian cafes, he was having sex with beautiful women. When he wasn’t doing that, he was on talk shows talking about having sex with beautiful women. What a guy.

Sure, I had less in common with him than a caged baboon, but that’s why he was such a great role model. He was something to shoot for.

What made Serge Gainsbourg’s exploits so inspirational, especially to high-school-age me, was the fact that he was ugly. If you’ve seen a picture of him, you know what I mean. He was skinny, scrawny even, with a raging schnoz, dumbo ears, and exhausted eyes. His face was, by his own admission, not an attractive one. And his shirts always had one too many buttons undone, revealing a barren wasteland of chest hair.

His teeth were okay, I guess, good for France, but that’s not what worked for him. What worked for Serge, what made him so appealing to the women, was his sex appeal—understated when he wasn’t talking, and grossly overstated when he was.

I wasn’t a bad-looking kid in high school, but I was far from a physical specimen. Years of soccer had left me with an underdeveloped upper body and an overdeveloped lower one. My frame looked like the inverse of the Vitruvian Man. You might even say I was pear shaped. Either way, I was no match physically for the lacrosse bros, who seemed to be pulling girls left and right.

I was also less than dominant conversationally, on account of my newfound

self-consciousness. The best way I saw of charming girls into making out with me, which is every boy’s mission at that age, was to embrace my scrawniness and exaggerate my interest in continental European music. In other words, I had to become Serge.

As you might imagine, this strategy didn’t work for me. Apart from being generally off-putting, acting like Serge Gainsbourg was not the point of high school. The point of high school was to conform, at least if you wanted to get ass.

I would have done better blasting Dave Matthews Band out my window and popping the collars of my polo shirts— basically, what I had been doing with limited success up to that point. But like an idiot, I was now borrowing French New Wave movies from the library and growing a mullet. Because that’s what Serge would have done had he gone to boarding school in rural New Hampshire.

I remember this one time when I took a girl back to my room to “watch a movie,” which at that age meant watching a movie for twenty minutes before putting your arm around the poor girl’s shoulder and trying to make out with her. I’m not sure if this prospect excited her before the movie, but it definitely wasn’t enough to keep her awake during the movie— a black-and-white number by Jean-Luc Godard called Masculin Feminin. I was very excited to see it as I had just seen Breathless and fashioned myself a French New Wave connoisseur, but my date fell fast asleep shortly after the experimental credits. This put me in a bind. I liked the girl and wanted to make out with her, but that would mean waking her up and putting on a different movie, and I really wanted to finish this one.

In the end, the movie won out. I watched the last hour and a half with the girl sleeping on my shoulder, which from her perspective was probably a better outcome than making out with

me. Either way, France was getting in the way of my love life.

My obsession with Serge got worse before it got better. Soon I was smoking cigarettes, writing overly explicit love songs that I didn’t understand, and walking around campus affecting a stereotypically French stare that said “I don’t give a fuck” and “I want to fuck” at the same time. I also went from listening to a few Serge tracks once in a while to exclusively listening to music performed and/or composed by the Gainsbourg family (he also has a musician-daughter, Charlotte, who’s great, if you’re interested). Clothing-wise, things got predictably skinnier and more effeminate. I raided my dad’s closet for his vintage deep-V cardigans and super-thin belts that he didn’t want anymore because they weren’t in style. Whether or not they ever were in style is still up for debate, but I needed them to complete my Serge look and therefore, they had to be mine.

The height of my Serge obsession came (no pun intended) on an otherwise uneventful Saturday afternoon. I was procrastinating on my algebra homework and reading about my favorite Frenchman online when I discovered something about him that would change my life forever: he wore the same pair of shoes every day, for his whole life. If there was a common thread passing through his career, an object that gave him his unexplained powers of musical and romantic excellence, this was it—the Zizi Homme, a pair of white calfskin oxfords made by a French brand that specializes in women’s ballet shoes. Apparently, they also made men’s shoes. I reacted like a husband finding out his demure wife used to be a stripper. Are you kidding me? How did you not tell me this? It’s like I don’t even know you.

I spent the rest of the day looking for stores that sold them. Not surprisingly, there was only one store in all of

I WAS NOW BORROWING FRENCH NEW WAVE MOVIES FROM THE LIBRARY AND GROWING A MULLET.

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 7 1

America that did, and it was in New York City. I didn’t have a choice. I had to make the six-hour trip from New Hampshire to buy them. Luckily, my sister lived in New York at the time, so I didn’t worry about lodging. (I also didn’t worry about telling her I was coming down until the day of my arrival, but that’s another story.) She thought I was crazy to travel so far for a pair of shoes, but she didn’t understand how significant this purchase was. I was about to begin a new chapter in my life. From here on, there would be life before the Zizi Hommes and life after them.

Even the journey down to New York felt like a new beginning. It was the first time I’d taken the train by myself, never mind two trains and a station switch in Boston. With delays and my layover, the trip took about seven hours. During that time, I reread a book of Truffaut-Hitchcock interviews that I had gotten for Christmas. It was one of two things I brought down with me from New Hampshire. The other was my wallet, since the shoes cost a cool $300. Those are some expensive shoes even for an adult; the fact that I was sixteen and intent on buying them shows how much I wanted to be Serge.

My sister, Sara, met me at Penn Station. She didn’t have to come halfway uptown to collect me. She could’ve told me to take a taxi down to her apartment in the Village, like she’s done many times since, but it was my first time alone in the city. Plus, I think she thought that I was coming down to see her, which would have been a really nice thing to do. But I wasn’t.

When I reminded her of my mission to find Serge Gainsbourg’s favorite shoes, she rolled her eyes like the older sister she is and said, “You’re ridiculous, dude.” She was just jealous that I cared less about her than a deceased French crooner with bug eyes.

Surprisingly, I didn’t go straight to the store. Helping me buy shoes wasn’t high on Sara’s priority list that weekend, and I didn’t want to wander around the Big Apple by myself. So I hung out with her for the first couple days.

Really, my stay in New York could have lasted a few hours—one taxi to the store, one taxi back to the train station with a shoebox in hand— but palling around with my sister achieved a similar objective. It made me feel older.

Meeting her friends, drinking beer at their parties,

72 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

asking them for cigarettes—it made me feel like a little adult in a teenager’s body. I couldn’t wait to tell people at school how cool I was. And I hadn’t even gotten the Hommes yet.

That moment had to wait till Sunday. We went to brunch in the Meatpacking District, which is on the west side of the city, so we were close to the store.

When I asked Sara if we could stop by the store, she looked confused. “Stop by where?” The store, so I can get my shoes. “Oh right, those fucking shoes.” She still wasn’t super enthusiastic about my sole reason for coming to the city. Nevertheless, she accompanied me down the street.

The establishment was called Earnest Sewn, and they mainly sold designer jeans. (It was 2003, so they were going gangbusters.) The front of the store was filled with $250 jeans and people flipping through them looking for their sizes; I could barely see the shoes way in the back, but they were there. I felt giddy as I walked toward them. Though I hadn’t spotted the Hommes yet, similar shoes were coming into focus. I asked a salesperson where the Serge slippers were, and they pointed upward, grinning with delight.

The Hommes were a top-shelf chaussure, even for a classy designerjean establishment like Earnest Sewn.

And top-shelf shoes are stocked at the top. I followed the salesperson’s arm up to the sky and noticed a heavenly gleam emanating from three feet above my head. This must be them. I blinked my eyes and saw them in person for the first time. I’ve never really been starstruck before—I’ve seen my fair share of B-list celebrities in public and always been able to vocalize my thoughts— but I don’t know how else to describe my speechlessness in that situation. I couldn’t talk, but I looked at the salesperson and held up all of my fingers to signal that I wanted a size ten. I sat down on their bench-couch to collect myself. The time was nigh.

When the size tens came out, I kicked off my scuffed-up blue Vans and opened the box. These were indeed them; they were white, leather, and had a little Repetto sticker on them, which my sister didn’t find the coolest. “Wait, you’re buying a pair of Repettos? Are you fucking kidding me?” I put the shoes on. They were comfortable. Of course

they were. They were French. I stood up and looked down at my toes. The shoes fit. Everything was going to plan.

Then I walked over to the fulllength wall mirror to see the whole ensemble together. I wore all of my skinny French clothes that day, so I was expecting things to meld together like a fine Bordeaux. And they did, but not in the way I imagined. When I was wearing my beat-up Vans, I looked kind of hip and at least somewhat masculine. But with the fresh white Hommes, I looked vain and put together. Not that that’s bad—it just wasn’t what I was going for. I frowned at myself in the mirror.

Apparently, my sister knew this was going to happen all along. “Matt, I told you they wouldn’t look good.” Really, Sara? Thanks for being so understanding.

I kept staring at myself in the mirror, trying to justify buying them. I craned my head to the left and right, hoping that maybe the light was throwing me off. “Is the mirror concave? I heard that sometimes they buy concave mirrors to make you look thinner.” The salesperson responded dryly, “No, the mirrors are not concave.” I could feel my heart sinking. As if I didn’t know what was going on, my sister said, “Matt, those shoes make you look ridiculous.” Thanks, Sara. I know.

I put my Vans back on, disappointed that I didn’t stack up to my own expectations for myself. I saw this all working out in my head, and it didn’t.

I wanted to be this super-cool, effortlessly macho, outrageously French version of myself, but I wasn’t. I was just a dorky sixteen-year-old trying to figure out what I liked and how I wanted people to see me. On the seven-hour train ride back to New Hampshire, I finished the book of TruffautHitchcock interviews and polished off a few cans of Coke. The obsession with Serge eventually passed, and the polo shirts returned, as did my dating life.

mon. - fri. 6am-7pm || sat. & sun. 7am-7pm

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

3431 murphy road - dosecoffeeandtea.com

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 7 3

Fall is here and at Cumberland Transit we have a great selection of Patagonia gear to keep you warm during all of your outdoor adventures.

74 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

w w w. c u m b e r l a n d t r a n s i t . c o m

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 7 5

76 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / ////// 76 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE # N AT IVE N ASH VIL LE

AGAINST THE

GRAIN HOW CORSAIR DISTILLERY CO-FOUNDER DAREK BELL WENT FROM MAKING BIODIESEL TO MAKING BOURBON

BY MICHAEL ACKLEY | PHOTOS BY JESS WILLIAMS

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 7 7

I HAVE A THOUGHT IN THE CORSAIR DISTILLERY AS OWNER DAREK BELL IS GIVING ME THE TOUR OF HIS SPACE IN MARATHON VILLAGE: I will never be Walter White. Obviously, Darek isn’t making meth, but that is where my mind goes in seeing all of the Rube Goldberg–looking contraptions that Corsair uses to make their whiskey.

There is a mad science involved in the process. Darek explains it to me, but I wouldn’t even begin to attempt explaining it to you, dear reader. This is why I will never be Walter White: Not only do I lack the skill-set involved in making meth, but I also can’t make whiskey, nor can I fix my computer when it breaks, or use a can opener. I am also not a psychopath, although I am sure my ex-girlfriends would disagree with that assessment.

To illustrate my point, Darek is walking over to a rack in the corner of the room, away from everything else. The rack has several blue glass bottles on it, lined up in rows, with little labels on them.

“This is our lab,” he says. “Put this one to your nose.” In smelling the bottle, nothing registers in my brain as to what the scent is. “That’s our quinoa whiskey.” Oh, right, I think, quinoa. He could have said, “This is our baby giraffe whiskey,” and I wouldn’t have secondguessed him. I hand the bottle back to Darek, and he sniffs it for what seems like an extraordinary amount of time.

“We do about eighty experiments a year with different ingredients. This is what these are,” Darek says, gesturing to the rack of blue bottles.

“How many of them make it to market?” I ask him.

“Not very many,” he says, and I am not kidding, he sniffs the bottle again.

It occurs to me as I watch Darek closing his eyes and smelling the bottle that I am not supposed to be getting what is going on here. I will never know what he finds in the blue bottles because I am supposed to be waiting at the end of the market chain. I am the consumer. Writ-

78 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

ing those words leaves a kind of burning sensation of relief in my throat. Lucky for me, I am in a whiskey distillery where such sensations are not uncommon.

No expertise is required of me as I stroll through the world, seeking things to buy that will satiate my endless appetite for pleasure. This seems fair. People like Darek need to exist in order for people like me to fully develop our sensibilities. Knowing how the things I use and enjoy are made is not required of me in present-day society. For instance, if I knew how my cell phone worked, I’d be synched to the Cloud, and I’d therefore have the new U2 record on my phone by now.

Thanks, specialization!

Specialization is a word bandied about on NPR when labor gurus discuss whether it is good or bad to have a workforce that is limited by their skillset. People like Darek probably never think about that word because they have an obsession with what they’re doing. Think of the people Kanye West mentions in regards to what he wants to achieve: Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Michael Jordan, Kanye West, etc. They all share an obsessive quality that focused them instead of limiting them. Often, in the romantic tales of the great people of history, obsessions are found seemingly at random, or like rubber or penicillin, entirely by accident. This also happened to Darek, more than a decade ago, when he was attempting to make biodiesel fuel for a junker Mercedes he bought. This is what he tells me: “Gas prices were going through the roof, so we decided to try and make our own fuel. We had a lot of friends in the restaurant and bar industry, and we were able to get waste vegetable oil for free. We started building biodiesel reactors and creating our own fuel. It was hot, nasty work. The watste oil smelled awful, and so did the biodiesel.

“One day while sweating over a batch, Andrew [co-founder of Corsair Distillery] says, ‘I really wish we were making

“WE HAD TO CHANGE A STATE LAW TO ALLOW DISTILLATION IN DAVIDSON COUNTY.”

whiskey right now.’

We dropped everything and said, ‘Fuck yeah, let’s do this.’

We started building stills and making whiskey.”

Sometimes when I drink whiskey, I ask myself, am I actually drinking gasoline?

This is mainly due to the fact that I often drink Very Old Barton due to having a financial situation not equal to my desire for the finer things in life. I also know that moonshiners can run their cars on liquor in a pinch, but how can you simply stop making biodiesel fuel and begin making whiskey? Do you have to clean the barrels?

“You need methanol or ethanol to convert oil to diesel, so we already knew a little bit about distillation. We started building stills and experimenting. We scrapped biodiesel and put all of our efforts into distilling. Early on we entered a contest for a gin and won. We also entered a whiskey that was distilled from one of our favorite home-brewed beers, a Russian imperial stout. The hoppy beer made for a very hoppy whiskey. It ended up beating seventy-five other whiskeys to receive the top award, a platinum medal. That is when we really felt confident that we were on to something and we could do this. We called that whiskey Rasputin,” he says.

Darek and his cohorts then spent two years underground, honing their skills— or in plain speak, bootlegging—before being able to go legit in Kentucky.

“The goal was always to come to Nashville,” Darek, who is originally from Nashville, explains. “We wanted to be Nashville’s first craft distillery. And we were. But it was a long fight to get open.

We had to pass federal, state, and local regulations, so it was a long process full of red tape. We had to get our federal permit. We had to change a state law to

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 7 9

Once we are settled at a table, Darek walks allow distillation in Davidson county. Then we had to pass a metro ordinance to allow up to the bar and comes back with a few glassus to open in Nashville. It was a long process, es of whiskey.

I take a sip and cannot recognize the flavor. but certainly worth the fight.”

Darek tells me a ludicrous story about a “That’s the quinoa whiskey,” Darek says. Quistate senator who voted against allowing the noa again. Apparently my senses are not acdistillery to operate in Nashville, because Je- climated to the delights of the grain crop that sus didn’t drink whiskey or beer. Jesus drank Wikipedia calls a “pseudocereal.” I try one of wine. (Although I think if Jesus ever decides the other glasses, which tastes slightly more to end his 2,000-year space voyage and return like the whiskey I’m used to. It’s the Triple to earth, he will probably need a stiffer drink.) Smoke whiskey, which has three kinds of malt Sometimes you forget that we live in the Bible smoked with three different kinds of wood.

Darek instructs me to think about the finish, Belt.

“It wasn’t until a local farmer made an ap- or rather, the burning sensation that overpeal that having us in Nashville would help whelms your throat when you’ve just supped farmers that people began to change their a bit of whiskey.

“This may just be important for whiskey minds,” Darek says.

Darek leads me to Corsair’s tasting room, nerds,” Darek says. I’ve never given a mowhere I’m surprised to see a bunch of people ment’s thought as to whether or not such a getting an early start on getting drunk on a person exists. However, as I am jotting down Saturday morning. Being that Corsair has notes, Darek grabs my glasses and sniffs them, gotten a lot of press recently, it could be that and I know I’ve met a whiskey nerd.

I ask Darek why Corsair is attempting to all of these people are also here to interview challenge a product through experimentation Darek.

DAREK BELL: corsairdistillery.com Follow on Facebook and Twitter @CorsairArtisan native.is/corsair 80 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

with new ingredients. Whiskey, as we know it, creative, unique, and authentic.”

Alternative was a term used to describe “crehas been around since the fifteenth century and has thrived on whiskey makers adhering ative, unique, and authentic” music back in the to the traditional formula. His answer is a ’80s and ’90s of the last century. Darek uses the term to describe what he is doing to whiskey, somewhat complicated one: “Early on, one of our key concepts was that even writing a book entitled Alt Whiskey. He is ‘creativity is free.’ Meaning that we cannot not alone in the quest for reimagining tradicompete with the big boys for ad dollars or tional products. One only needs to watch a sinshelf space, but we can make all kinds of very gle episode of Portlandia to realize that a whole unusual whiskeys they would never try. They artisan movement has arisen in America.

“For us, if it has been done before, we do not are not willing to take risks that we are. We get a lot of free attention for making unusual want to do it. We are not looking to whiskey’s products. If you make something creative, past, but to whiskey’s future. We are about people will find you. Creativity is also impor- making radically different whiskeys. Anti-establishment whiskeys. tant for brand authenticity.

“When I first got into whiskey, I had a friend “We are so advertised to death that people are craving authenticity. Craft spirits are small, tell me whiskey was a scam. He said that most handmade, and independent. We have now whiskeys cannot even be picked out of a lineup built our own malting facility on our family by their own distillers. Through consolidation, farm in Bell’s Bend. This allows us to grow the 450 bourbon brands are now made by only and malt our own grains. We can experiment eleven distilleries. I was crushed. I decided I with smoking grains for our smoked whiskeys wanted to make very unusual whiskeys you and malting unusual grains like millet, quinoa, would never miss in a lineup,” Darek says.

I look around and notice Corsair’s logo, amaranth, etc. This allows us to be even more

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 8 1

RUBY GUIDARA: See her props on Nashville, returning Wednesday, September 24. native.is/ruby-guidara

82 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

which features three white dudes in suits walking forward. I sense that this is a Reservoir Dogs reference.

“That was intentional,” Darek says.

“I’m a big Tarantino fan.” However, the reason Darek wanted a look that would be relevant to Generation Xers and millennials is because he went to the whiskey store one day and noticed a “sea of brown” labels. He identifies the sameness as the conservative element in whiskey production—the heritage nuts who describe their family lineage on the bottles in order to proudly serve the status quo.

“The bottles all looked very similar. They all were screaming, ‘old, old, old.’ The labels talked about how old the product was and how it was an old family recipe, passed down generation after generation. We wanted our labels to scream ‘new, new, new.’

We wanted our products to look and taste as different as possible from the standard stuff on the shelf. We knew there was a new generation of whiskey drinkers coming, and they did not want to drink what their parents drank. So we decided to put our demographic on the bottle. We wanted a very high contrast logo [not brown] that would stand out from the rest.

It does not take much to make a different product given how self-similar and conservative whiskey is,” Darek says.

So what does the name Corsair mean? Darek says, “Corsair was a kind of gentleman pirate who was allowed to act as a pirate if he didn’t do so against his own country.” This is true.

However, corsairs were the cause of the first declared American war. In 1801, Thomas Jefferson declared war on the states of the Barbary Coast because corsairs kept seizing American merchant ships. Darek’s Corsair is similarly determined to seize the imagination of the consumer who has had it with the traditional and seemingly unchanging eternal order of whiskey as we’ve known it.

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 8 3

84 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 8 5

The Face: Caroline Richstein @ EYE Model Management | Hair + Makeup: Melanie Shelley @ TRIM Legendary Beauty for AMAXTalent.com

IN THE BUFF As makeup formulation shifts with the season, a sheer neutral palette emerges—taupe, pink champagne, and ivory. Lush and velvety powders are designed to seamlessly layer and blend with barely a twinkle. “A neutral face can’t be all beige,” says top editorial makeup artist Melanie Shelley. “Look for tones with subtle rose accents—they liven up the eyes and are especially flattering for all skin tones.”

Melanie Shelley, TRIM Legendary Beauty Photo by Brett Warren

86 / /////////////////////////////// 86 //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

Chanel Les 4 Ombres Quadra Eye Shadow in Raffinement, $61, Nordstrom | Face Stockholm Lipstick in Precious Veil, $22, Babe Beauty Bar

88 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

YOU OUGHTA KNOW: sElf

LET' S TAKE sElf A ie!

“sElf put Middle Tennessee on the rock ‘n’ roll map in the ’90s, and he’s consistently created some of my favorite music for twenty years. He’s Tennessee rock ‘n’ roll royalty!”

– Chris Cobb, Marathon Music Works

sElf Follow on Facebook @sElf / Matt Mahaffey self.is # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E # NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 8 9 ////// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 8 9

Fall is here and at Cumberland Transit we have a great selection of Patagonia gear to keep you warm during all of your outdoor adventures.

90 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

w w w. c u m b e r l a n d t r a n s i t . c o m

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 9 1

92 / / // / / / / / / / / / / / / ////

# N AT IVE N ASH VILL E

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 9 3

94 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / ////// 94 / / / / / / / / / / / / / ///////

# NN AT AT IVE N ASH VI LLE # IVE N ASH VI LLE

Now Open

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 9 5

96 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE

# NAT I V ENAS HV I L L E

///// / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / 9 7

98 / / / / / / / / / / / / / / //////

# N AT IVE N ASH VI LLE