NATIVE | ISSUE 67 | NASHVILLE, TN by Native

ISSUE 67 THE YEARBOOK ISSUE

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A BARBERSHOP FOR MEN & WOMEN OF ALL AGES WA L K I N A N Y D AY O F T H E W E E K F O R A Q U A L I T Y C U T O R S T Y L E

$15 BUZZ | $27 STYLE CUT F R A N K L I N - E . N A S H V I L L E - S Y LVA N PA R K - T H E G U L C H

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RESPECT THE UNEXPECTED. VISIT PLOWBOYRECORDS.COM FOR NEW RELEASES 2

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OUR ARTISTS: BLACKFOOT GYPSIES • BOBBY BARE • PAUL BURCH • BUZZ CASON • CHEETAH CHROME • CHUCK MEAD • DEAD BOYS • DRIVIN ‘N’ CRYIN • THE FAUNTLEROYS • THE GHOST WOLVES • JD WILKES & THE DIRTDAUBERS • JIM ED BROWN • THE KENTUCKY HEADHUNTERS

LOCAL EYECARE. INDEPENDENT EYEWEAR.

Kelsie Haskins, Optometric Technician - Joe Brasfield, Practice Manager Dr. Kathleen Brasfield, Optometrist - Alaina Regelsberger, Optician - Jennifer Lawson, Optician

Jennifer Lawson, Optician

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FA R E W E L L

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Are you new year ready ? 6

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MEN. WOMEN. HOME. GIFT.

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CONTENTS JANUARY 2018 64 50

38 72

THE GOODS 17 Beer from Here 19 Cocktail of the Month

22 Master Platers 81 You Oughta Know 85 It’s Only Natural

FEATURES 26 Republican Hair 38 Sad Baxter 50 NATIVE Class of 2018 Superlatives 64 Artist Spotlight: Nathan Brown 72 The Old School Farm to Table NATIVE NASHVILLE ////////////////////

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NATIVE STAFF OF

2018

Jon

Angelique

Joe

Charlie

Hannah

Courtney

Darcie

Gusti

Kelsey

Shelby

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PRESIDENT, FOUNDER: ANGELIQUE PITTMAN PRESIDENT, FOUNDER: JON PITTMAN OPERATIONS MANAGER: JOE CLEMONS EDITOR IN CHIEF: COPY EDITOR:

CHARLIE HICKERSON DARCIE CLEMEN

CREATIVE DIRECTOR: ART DIRECTOR:

HANNAH LOVELL COURTNEY SPENCER

SENIOR ACCOUNT REPRESENTATIVE: ACCOUNT REPRESENTATIVE:

KELSEY FERGUSON SHELBY GRAHAM

PRODUCTION:

GUSTI ESCALANTE

WRITERS:

CHARLIE HICKERSON CHRIS PARTON NATHAN DILLER COOPER BREEDEN

PHOTOGRAPHERS:

NICK BUMGARDNER CHRISTEN CLEMINS CHRIS DANIELS DYLAN REYES JONATHON KINGSBURY SARAH B. GILLIAM DANIEL CHANEY

FOUNDING TEAM:

MACKENZIE MOORE JOSHUA SIRCHIO TAYLOR RABOIN

FOUNDER, BRAND DIRECTOR:

DAVE PITTMAN

FOUNDER:

CAYLA MACKEY

FOR ALL INQUIRIES:

HELLO@NATIVE.IS

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where the west meets the south EDGEHILL VILLAGE castillejanashville.com NATIVE NASHVILLE â&#x20AC;&#x192; ////////////////////

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WITH ADAM SPEYER Cicerone and General Manager of Tennessee Brew Works Beer Name: Winter Recluse Brewery: Southern Grist Style: Blonde Ale ABV: 5.0% Food Pairing: Kuchnia & Keller’s Obatzda Appearance: Light to medium gold Aroma: Bread dough, honey, cranberry, ginger, cinnamon Where to find It: Local grocery stores Overall Takeaways: This month we’re showcasing a pairing between Chef Aaron Clemins’ Obatzda and Southern Grist’s Winter Recluse. Obatzda is a Bavarian cheese delicacy that pairs well with a variety of beers, but Southern Grist’s Winter Recluse makes an especially wonderful contrast pairing with the dish. The blonde ale’s sweet character (courtesy of raspberry and honey notes) contrasts perfectly with the salt and garlic flavors of the obatzda. And because obatzda is often served with rye bread or pretzels, the Winter Recluse’s bready flavor profile makes for a nice harmony pairing too. If you’re looking for a delicious break from that New Year’s Resolution diet, look no further! Cheers!

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HEAD IN THE SAND BY BEN CLEMONS OF NO. 308 PHOTO BY NICK BUMGARDNER It’s the New Year. The holidays are behind us, and now it’s just . . . cold. As we drag our feet back to work, our heads can’t help but be filled with thoughts of warm, tropical vacations. For those of you who simply can’t get away physically, here’s a little something to help you get away mentally.

THE GOODS 1 1/2 oz Stoli Crushed Pineapple Vodka 1/2 oz Salers Aperitif 1 oz cranberry sage syrup* 1/2 oz fresh lime juice

DIRECTIONS Combine all ingredients and shake. Pour into freshly iced glass of choice and garnish with sage leaves and cranberries. Tip: Crushed or nugget ice (think Sonic ice) really adds a nice touch of authenticity here!

CRANBERRY SAGE SYRUP 2 cups sugar 2 cups cranberry juice cocktail 6–10 sprigs fresh sage Combine and cook over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Allow to steep for 30 minutes. Remove sage leaves and chill.

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LUNCH SPECIALS HAPPY HOUR MONDAY - FRIDAY 3PM - 6PM 2 FOR 1 SANGRIA ON THURSDAYS

Have your event catered with Nashville's best Puerto Rican food. Call the number below for details!

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MASTER PL ATERS

BY CHEF AARON CLEMINS OF KUCHNIA & KELLER

PHOTOS BY CHRISTEN CLEMINS

OBATZDA BAVARIAN CHEESE SPREAD

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DIRECTIONS

THE GOODS For the Cheese:

For the Salad:

3 tbs canola or vegetable oil 1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced pinch of salt 1 tall boy Miller High Life 1 quart heavy whipping cream 1 quart chicken stock 2 cloves garlic 100 grams fontina cheese 350 grams Sweetwater Valley buttermilk cheddar (may substitute other good melting cheese, Gruyère, or Monterey Jack) 50 grams cream cheese 100 grams Camembert cheese (Brie works fine) 2 egg yolks

1 small head savoy or green cabbage (about 1 lb) 1 small red onion 2–3 carrots 4–5 radishes sweet sherry vinegar or apple cider vinegar extra virgin olive oil kosher salt rye bread or rye crackers

Heat the oil in a saucepan over medium high heat. Add the yellow onion and a pinch of salt. Cook the onions till they start to caramelize. Turn the heat to low and cook for 10 to 15 minutes or until the onions are completely soft. Add half the can of High Life and scrape the bottom of the pan to deglaze. Cook the onions for another 10 to 15 minutes, until the liquid is gone. Add the cream, chicken stock, and garlic to the pan and increase the heat to high. Cook until the mixture reduces by 50 percent, adjusting the heat so the bottom does not scorch. While the cream is reducing, grate the fontina and buttermilk cheddar. Cut the cream cheese and Camembert into smaller pieces if you can. Add the cream mixture to a blender while still very warm. Blend on low, then increase the speed while adding the cheeses a little at a time. Add the egg yolks after all the cheese is in. If the blender is having a hard time blending, you can add hot water a little at a time to help it come together. The cheese spread should be the consistency of thick pancake batter when finished. Pour the cheese into a plastic container and place plastic wrap on top of the cheese, so that a skin does not form on the top. Do not cover with a lid. Refrigerate overnight until completely cooled. Once cooled, the spread may be kept in the fridge in an airtight container for up to a week. For serving, thin-slice cabbage, carrots, red onion, and radishes into a large bowl. Dress with a couple tablespoons of vinegar and olive oil and a pinch of salt. Serve the cheese and salad with warm rye bread or rye crackers. Serves 10 to 15 people (depending on who your friends are).

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GOOD HAIR DAY

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and Republican Hair’s Luke Dick feels fine BY CHARLIE HICKERSON PHOTOS BY CHRIS DANIELS

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FOR BETTER OR WORSE, CERTAIN stories permeate the history of popular music. There’s George Jones riding his mower to the liquor store. Ozzy Osbourne biting the head off a live bat (and pigeon). Virtually everything Johnny Cash or Hank Williams ever did. This sort of mythology has come to define rock ‘n’ roll history, but it’s also—as exemplified by films like Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, Bill Hader and Fred Armisen’s Blue Jean Committee, and This Is Spinal Tap—rife for parody. And that makes sense: not only are these stories absurd to begin with, but they also receive a hefty dose of factfree embellishment through decades of retelling. Consequently, the discerning music nerd approaches musical folklore and too-good-to-be-true bios with a reasonable degree of skepticism. You may find yourself googling, reading ghostwritten autobiographies, and wading through the Wayback Machine in an attempt to verify if any of this ridiculous stuff—stuff that may have caused you to fall in love with an artist in the first place—actually happened (and if it did happen, did it really happen like that?). On the face of it, Luke Dick’s life seems like one of these stories. The Music Row songwriter (he’s penned hits for everyone from Miranda Lambert to Eric Church), former philosophy professor, and driving force behind new wave-y band Republican Hair spent much of his childhood in Yukon, Oklahoma (Garth Brooks’ hometown). And while that alone would be enough to give many a country songwriter an edge, Dick’s story only gets weirder from there. “I definitely don’t want to bore people with fucking philosophy,” Dick, who’s wearing a beat-up Beyoncé T-shirt (it’s the “Formation” shirt in which an illustrated Bey is flipping the bird), tells me from his East Nashville home studio. Just outside, Dick’s four-

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year-old son is running around with the family’s chickens and dogs. “But Heidegger talks about selfconsciousness, or being a human, or as he calls it, thrownness,” Dick continues. “He’s a pretentious dick, but there is something true about just being thrown into a life of self-consciousness.” If there were ever anyone thrown into this world, it’s Luke Dick. Born in Oklahoma City, Dick spent most of his early childhood at the Red Dog Saloon, a strip club where his mom had performed since the age of fifteen. The club’s cast of dancers, drug dealers, and other derelicts became Dick’s adopted family, and many of them are the subject of an upcoming documentary Dick is making about the club, aptly titled Red Dog. Though Dick has fond memories of playing arcade games after hours at the club and hanging out with people like “Nasty Cathy,” it wasn’t a terribly sustainable way of life for a single mom and a toddler. So Dick’s mom got sober, married a manager of the club, and moved out to “middle of nowhere, Oklahoma” (not to be confused with the actual town of Nowhere, Oklahoma, which was about twenty miles away). He settled into a “generally normal life” in the country, playing music, joining the baseball team, and roaming his family’s acreage. But by his teens, Dick’s mom and stepdad split up, leaving Dick to move in with his biological father in Yukon. “ It w a s a wei rd br a nd of authoritarian,” Dick says of his dad’s parenting style. “I worked at music. I worked at sports. I had two or three jobs all the time and had a girlfriend that I loved . . . Eventually, I just thought honestly I would be better off and happier if I were running my own life.” So he did just that: at seventeen, he moved out and got his own trailer. The following fall, he enrolled at Oklahoma City University, where he began studying music business (“These

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classes were utter bullshit about how to tour in Russia with Roy Clark and all the trials and tribulations of visas and shit”) before switching to philosophy. He ended up dropping out to play bass with an angsty, Tool-inspired band in Dallas. “My practical plan was that if I didn’t become a rockstar, I’d be a philosophy professor,” he jokes. “That was my fallback.” Dick didn’t become a rockstar in Dallas, but he did become a dad. He moved back to Oklahoma, where he reenrolled in school and worked an early morning job at UPS airmail. He also made a countryish record with a Dallas producer and toured behind it. Naturally, that led to Nashville. “I moved out here and had a pub deal. I was also working on a dock, running a forklift at Yellow Freight, and writing songs for myself when I could and cowriting a little bit,” Dick says. “I made that record, and we took it in to Capitol. [Current Universal CEO] Mike Dungan laughed me out of the room, in a way.” It was time, it seemed, for the fallback plan. Dick moved to New York with his now-wife (she was a resident at NYU and is now a neurologist at St. Thomas) and began adjuncting as a philosophy professor around the city. “I remember this vividly. My daughter, who was seven or eight at the time, being at the post office, putting manila envelopes together to send to all the universities so I could be an adjunct,” Dick says. “While I was surveying the grad school landscape up there, that first six months, a couple of things happened where I started making music for advertising and checks started coming in.” Though Dick admits there’s something inherently “unsexy” about writing modern muzak for brands like Hilton, the experience was akin to a graduate-level study in the art of the

hook. “It was another musical awakening in a way, because the pitch sheets were so wide and varied,” Dick explains. “It drove me into working outside of myself or outside of what I thought I should be as an artist and essentially widened my palate a hundred times over.” One style the pitch sheets didn’t necessarily encourage: country. Dick had all but abandoned the genre as he spent thousands of hours honing his ad chops. So, when Arturo Buenahora Jr., a country tastemaker who’d signed Taylor Swift to her first publishing deal, called looking for Dierks Bentley songs, Dick didn’t have much to offer. “I was like, ‘No man, I don’t write that kind of stuff anymore,’” Dick remembers. “I was in the middle of a Harry-Nilsson-spinoff-record kind of thing that I loved and I thought had potential in the ad world . . . He said, ‘All right, man, if you’re in Nashville, let me know.’” Today, Dick is settled in Nashville and going on three years working with Buenahora. And he’s got the hits to show for it: there’s Bentley’s “Roses and a Time Machine”; Eric Church’s “Kill a Word”; and Miranda Lambert’s “Pink Sunglasses” and “Highway Vagabond” (both cowritten with Music Row heavyweight and frequent collaborator Natalie Hemby). While these tunes are undeniably modern country music, they’re also a little strange, a little off-kilter—a little Luke Dick, if you will. “Roses and a Time Machine” mentions transcendental meditation and sees the narrator hunting for a DeLorean on Craigslist; “Kill a Word” has lines about strangling loneliness to death; and “Pink Sunglasses” takes the concept behind ZZ Top’s “Cheap Sunglasses” and transports it to a self-affirming, pseudo-philosophical realm.

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The songs are devoid of the thematic trappings—trucks, beer, miniskirts, etc.—that plague (or bless, depending on who you ask) contemporary country music. But that doesn’t mean Dick has a problem with any of that stuff, or that he thinks songs with those topics are any less “real” than his own stuff. “In general, country music is American value affirming,” Dick contends. “What I mean by that is that if you’re cheating, you are guilty—you feel guilty about that cheating. Whereas you get into the wild, Dionysian situation in rock ‘n’ roll, where you’re cheating and you’re loving it, and you’re telling everybody how you’re loving it. “That is the difference between rock and country. The genre differences to me are lyrical and perspective in nature and not necessarily sonic anymore. I’m not part of the camp that says that country needs to do this, or country needs to do that, or can’t have drum machines—that sounds like old fogey crap to me.” It’s this perspective that’s allowed Dick to fill an “outsider” niche within the modern country landscape. Yes, he talks about time travel and meditation in his songs, but he does it within the confines of the country perspective. “I try to stay true,” he says. “You try to stay true to your own sensibilities and your own muse to get something that you’re interested in . . . You take your own images that mean something to you, and your own mental furniture, and you build a house that you like, and hopefully other people will like it too.” But what happens when Dick’s interests don’t overlap with the value-affirming perspective he cites as the cornerstone of country? What happens when staying true means singing about dancing in the face of

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nuclear holocaust, or telling a three-minute vignette about hippie seduction? Enter Republican Hair. Founded in reaction to the business apparatus surrounding the commercial country world, Republican Hair is Luke Dick at full-on weirdness—and catchiness. “It started three or four years ago, where I wanted to write and produce a song in one day, and I didn’t want to get into the trappings of luscious production,” Dick says. “I thought if I could just craft two guitar parts that are hooky as fuck, and that I love, and then a lyric in there that I understand and have fun with—[even] if the song is two minutes, if it’s a minute and twenty seconds—try that.” Hooky guitars abound on Republican Hair’s debut, 2016’s High and Tight, which leans heavily on The Cars, Born in the U.S.A.–era Springsteen, and Bryan Adams. But much like Dick’s country writing, it’s the juxtaposition between bizarre lyrics and heartland music that makes Republican Hair so beautifully strange. “I Don’t Care,” for instance, follows a teenage narrator that knows the end is nigh but chooses to “get a bottle of this and a bottle of that” and party before it all goes up in flames. “It’s a song about the end of the world and basically just saying, ‘Fuck it, let’s have a drink,’” Dick says. “‘Fuck it, dude, let’s go bowling’—sort of light a Roman candle instead of making it a sad song.” That theme—of joy and catharsis in the face of loss—spills over to Republican Hair’s second release, The Prince & the Duke, a five-song EP that pays homage to Prince and David Bowie while continuing the philosophy of Republican Hair. Opening track “Miss Prince” sonically channels the EP’s namesake, conjuring

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everything from the slinky groove of “Controversy” to the raucous lead guitar of “Darling Nikki,” but it also hints at something deeper. “It’s a lamentation,” Dick says. “But it’s a joyous lamentation of knowing that nobody is going to come around that’s going to trip a trigger like Prince.” The Prince & the Duke’s “Whatever Blows Your Hair Back” was inspired by yard work: “My son was obsessed with my yard blower, and I just put it on turbo and he’d want to put his face in it. I slowmotion recorded him, and he just became obsessed with it.” Over what sounds like a Casio toy piano, Dick infectiously sings, “You ain’t gotta worry right noooow” and encourages you to love whatever makes you happy, whether that’s Jane Fonda, Madonna, or AC in your Honda. It doesn’t matter what—or how trivial—it is. It just matters that you love it. Dick’s upcoming “anti-war diddy,” “Fuck a Bomb” (off RH’s upcoming spring EP), argues that this idea could actually bring about world peace. It’s idealistic stuff, but even the most skeptic among us can’t argue against lines like “Fuck a bomb, drop a single . . . Fuck a bomb, drop a hot mike / Drop a beat get it real tight / You can rule the world, get yourself a girl / You ain’t gotta be evil.” And if you’re still not buying it, there are some JFK soundbites dropped in for good measure. Plus, in the video, Dick sings all of this as an animated bald eagle. It’s all pretty goofy—and that’s the point. Dick’s a firm believer that the world already has enough nihilism. “So what, you’re just discovering how meaningless everything can be. So what?” Dick says later when I bring up Father John Misty, the walking antithesis of RHstyle fun. “Can we have some music to forget all that stuff, please? “I’m not saying that the world should be dumb. I’m just saying the world could have fun and still be creative, and hopefully, a little bit interesting at the same time.” Republican Hair’s latest video and single, “Fuck a Bomb,” is out this month.

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W W W. N A S H V I L L E J A Z Z . O R G

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Y R A U N A J 19th & 20th - Mercy Lounge 1 5th Anniversay Party 25th - Low Cut Connie

(Mercy Lounge)

26th & 27th - Pokey LaFarge 30th - Tennis

(Mercy Lounge)

(The High Watt)

(Mercy Lounge)

FEBRUARY 1st - Destroyer

(Mercy Lounge)

2nd - Radio Moscow

(The High Watt)

3rd - The Whistles & The Bells

6th - They Might Be Giants 8th - Flint Eastwood

(Mercy Lounge)

(Cannery Ballroom)

(The High Watt)

14th - The White Buffalo with Andrea Davidson 16th - The Lil Smokies

(Mercy Lounge)

(The High Watt)

21st - Andrea Gibson with Chastity Brown

(The High Watt)

24th - Who's Bad: The Ultimate Michael Jackson Experience

MARCH 8th - Beth Ditto

13th - hot Snakes

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(Mercy Lounge) (Mercy Lounge)

(Cannery Ballroom)

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HAPPY DAYS

Sad Baxter cuts through the fog of depression with triumphant grunge pop BY CHRIS PARTON PHOTOS BY DYLAN REYES

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CAKED IN THICK MELODIC MUD, THE OPENING line of Sad Baxter’s new single “Baby” is the perfect intro to an oddball duo on the rise. “I grew up in a funeral home,” sings front woman and songwriter Deezy Violet, launching herself and drummer Alex Mojaverian into two and a half minutes of grunge-pop perfection. “It’s basically about growing up and feeling surrounded by thoughts of death and sadness,” she says, jarringly blunt but with tender eyes framed in waterfalls of aquamarine hair. “Losing my dad [seven years ago] probably came into play.” Violet considered her dad her best friend, so his death was possibly even more traumatic than is to be expected. But add that to another period of separation earlier in life, and the funeral home image becomes much more than an irreverent exaggeration. “He was also in prison the whole time I was in high school, so it was this weird feeling of loss throughout a lot of my time as a songwriter,” she explains. “Honestly, I’ll write things like that and not think much of it, and then I’ll look back later like, Whoa, I just did a weird analyzation and it’s freaking me out.” “Whoa” is right, as Violet’s songs thrive on unexpected emotional insight. Musical descendants of sludgy, self-questioning bands like Nirvana, Weezer, Hole, and Veruca Salt, Sad Baxter’s sound is fuzzed out and unpretentious, defined by fat-bottomed power chords, eerie arpeggios, and driving drums. It’s a worthy platform for impressionistic stories of depression and anxious inner turmoil. “It’s loud and it’s obnoxious—but it’s catchy,” Violet says, munching on a blueberry muffin in an Eastside cafe and trying not to think about her still-unpaid rent. But for all the slumpy rage of the music, its members are the complete opposite in person. An hour in Sad Baxter’s company is spent in near-constant laughter, punctuated by inside jokes honed to perfection over more

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than ten years as friends, bandmates, and more. The pair met while attending Boston’s Berklee College of Music, where they lived in the same apartment building and shared a group of music-loving friends—at one point four different bands were staffed by eight people, Mojaverian explains—but he and Violet hit it off right away. They actually dated for more than three years but now think of themselves more like siblings, although not in that creepy, White Stripes kind of way. “It’s funny when I think about the fact we dated,” Violet says with a laugh. “When we started dating at eighteen, we would have these conversations about how we are best friends first and the relationship comes second.” “We both ended up getting to the same spot, which with breakups obviously doesn’t normally happen,” Mojaverian adds. “We knew we wanted to keep playing music together, but we wanted to start over and do some stuff differently. It was weirdly the easiest hard breakup ever.” Mojaverian had picked up on Violet’s knack for musical truth early on, and when he moved to Nashville in 2012, she followed six months later. It was here that they recorded the 2014 full length Weirdy, which established Sad Baxter as a vehicle for Violet’s incredibly open songwriting. “It’s like sometimes you need someone else to describe how you’re feeling,” Mojaverian says. “So many people are trying to express themselves, and they go to someone else that had the same experience to get their perspective.” Sadly, Violet’s perspective is all too relatable. She admits to struggling with a sense

of darkness throughout her life . . . and to using her sense of humor as a shield. “Funny people tend to be depressed,” she says matter-of-factly. “When people tell me they can’t understand how I could be depressed, because I’m funny, I think back to my dad’s memorial service. When he passed away, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with in my life. But at his memorial service, I was cracking jokes to everyone because I didn’t know how to deal.” Growing up in New Jersey, she first found a way to deal at thirteen, when a camp counselor encouraged her to start writing songs. Now that sense of relief comes through in Sad Baxter. “Once I wrote a couple, I couldn’t stop,” she says. “I have a lot of sadness in my life, but at the same time I have so much stuff I’m thankful for. I feel like my songs are definitely like my diary, so that’s where I get most of the negativity out . . . I have definitely had bouts of struggling over the years. Then last fall was pretty terrible, so I went on antidepressants and haven’t felt terrible like that since. But even then when I would think of myself I would think of myself as a happy person . . . It’s this weird thing where my songs probably sound like I’m gonna kill myself, but then I’m like, ‘I love life’ outside of that.” Perhaps that’s why fans and critics alike are starting to pick up on the band. NPR Music recently praised the way “Baby” spoke to the conflicted, overwhelming nature of modern society, with Violet finding respite in the track’s triumphantly overdriven crescendo. “I don’t wanna think ’bout anything at all too hard,” she sings. “I just wanna lay down in my

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New name, same great people and services!

We are thrilled to announce that we are merging with our sister skincare experts at Ona Belle Meade and changing our name to Ona Skincare East Nashville. We look forward to the year ahead and continuing to serve your skincare needs!

East Nashville:

1013 Fatherland St.

Belle Meade:

6592 Highway 100 Suite 1

baby’s arms.” “Rivers Cuomo wishes he wrote that,” NPR said. The track was released as a seveninch single late last year along with its dreary B-side, “Sliver.” Both songs were part of a full recording session, but the duo decided against doing another conventional album release. Instead, they’ll likely let the songs trickle out over the course of 2018, deftly angling to sustain the buzz. They’ll also expand their touring efforts, hitting the South by Southwest festival for the first time and hopefully booking a UK/Europe run. Both Violet and Mojaverian know it’s still early, but they say this has already been the most successful period of their young band’s career—which may not be so helpful as they work on a new batch of down-in-the-dumps anthems. Luckily, there’s still plenty to be depressed about. “Lately I’ve been pay ing more attention politically than any other time in my life,” Violet says. “And it’s the most disheartening thing ever. It’s like I have known my entire life that most of this country doesn’t value women or people of color the same way they value white men, but it’s really exhausting when it’s shoved in my face—on top of being catcalled every single day of my life. It’s like I can’t look at the news without a reminder that, nope, this country still sucks and hates you and doesn’t care if you die. If you’re pregnant, that’s cool and they want the baby to live, but they don’t care about you. “I’ve never really written anything that was politically relevant, just relevant to me, but more than ever it feels very relevant to me.” Good thing she has an outlet where being brutally honest is the goal. “It will probably come up,” she says. “It’s just so much easier to put it all out there.” Sad Baxter will play Cold Lunch Recordings’ SPEWFEST on February 10.

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C U I S I N E O F T H E I B E R I A N P E N I N S U L A I N T H E H E A RT O F E AST N AS H V I LL E S PA N I S H ST Y L E G I N & TO N I C M E N U

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C O C KTA I L S

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O L D WO R L D W I N E S

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NATIVE HIGH SUPERLATIVES

For our third-annual yearbook issue, we once again asked what Nashville would be like as a high school. And once again, we came up with a mock superlative list for some of the makers, thinkers, and doers that impacted Nashville over the past year. Whether they chronicled overlooked communities, inspired others to be themselves, or simply helped Nashville dress to the nines, these folks changed— and continue to change—our city for the better. Keep doing what you do, y’all (and go to prom with us? Check YES or NO, plz).

S OF 2018 NATIVE CL TIVE CL AS ASS OF 2 018 NATIVE CL ASS OF 2018 S OF 2018 NATIVE CL S A L C E V I T ASS OF 2 018 NATIVE CL ASS OF 2018 S OF 2018 NATIVE CL TIVE CL AS ASS OF 2 018 NATIVE CL ASS OF 2018

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by NATIVE staff photos by Jonathon Kingsbury

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ABBY FR ANKLIN MOST LIKELY TO SHOP IT

When it comes to shopping for clothes, many of us are guilty of pillaging the digital recesses of ASOS and H&M for cheap fast fashion that we may not wear for multiple seasons. And while it’s tempting to order a $10 shirt from the convenience of your couch, there’s something about scouring bargain bins for one-of-a-kind items that feels more rewarding. No one understands this better than Abby Franklin. The Trunk founder has spent her life perfecting the art of shopping. During her eighteen years as a stylist and curator, she’s shopped at the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, hidden boutiques in the Omotesando Hills of Tokyo, secret designer outlets in Milan, and street

fairs in Johannesburg. She’s also worked with Prince, Michael Jackson, Madonna, Katy Perry, and many, many more. Most recently, she just got back from the Australian leg of Drake’s Boy Meets World Tour, where she styled his dressing rooms (because that’s something you can hire someone for if you’re Drake). This year, Franklin is rebranding The Trunk as STASH, a boutique that will carry impossibleto-find brands from around the world. “I feel like it’s my stash of all the good things from my trips around the world,” Franklin says. “I also like to keep things affordable—I search for labels that are not going to break the bank.” Consider this yet another reason to keep your shopping local.

DYLAN STEPHENS MOST LIKELY TO OWN IT

There’s something to be said for taking pride in who you are: Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two practically invented the modern country groove after failing to play like everyone else; and Anna Wintour went on to become the editor-in-chief of VOGUE after being fired from Harper’s BAZAAR (allegedly for shoots that were “too abstract”). Dylan Stephens can relate. The model-turned-artist makes Nine Inch Nails-y electronic music under the moniker Hookerlegs, which as Stephens explains, “is an expression based out

of reclamation—owning every part of yourself and everything that’s happened to you, and commodifying that at your discretion.” That philosophy has paid off: Stephens has appeared in Beyoncé’s “Haunted” video, multiple Marc Jacobs campaigns, and multiple NATIVE fashion spreads (one of these things is not like the other). Expect a few film, music, and fashion collaborations from them in 2018, which—if you ask us—is set to be the year of Hookerlegs.

MARCUS MADDOX MOST LIKELY TO CAPTURE IT

Every movement needs a historian—someone who works behind the scenes to capture images that are as iconic as the people making the movement. Bowie, Lou Reed, and the early ’70s glam scene had Mick Rock, and more recently, the meteoric ascent of Atlanta’s hip-hop community has been forever immortalized by Cam Kirk. Nashville has Marcus Maddox. In August, the twentythree-year-old photographer released POM POMS Vol. I: Romanticizing the DIY Music Scene & Style of Nashville, a photobook containing images from sixty-four shows at twenty Nashville venues. Shot between October 2016 and April 2017, POM POMS paints Nashville’s DIY community in a dreamy, surreal light. The images are

at once of the moment and timeless—the sort of work that can be cherished for decades to come (plus, there’s a strong likelihood you’ll see one of your friends in there somewhere). Since POM POMS’ release, Maddox’s work has appeared in NATIVE, NYLON, and Nashville Scene; and his clients have included Elizabeth Suzann, Local Honey, Wilder, and Goodwin. Maddox hopes to eventually bring the POM POMS concept to other cities, but in the meantime, keep an eye out for his upcoming Figures of Color, which will be an “exploration of the beauty of dark skin colors.”

ROOTED MOST LIKELY TO STYLE IT

If it wasn’t true before, 2017 made it so: streetwear is now big business. Once reserved for the likes of skaters on the West Coast or football hooligans in the UK, brands like Supreme and Stone Island went global this year, with Supreme even dropping a runway collaboration with Louis Vuitton (for a cool $1,500 you can get your hands on a T-shirt from the collection). But despite streetwear’s worldwide explosion, Nashvillians with their hearts set on copping pieces from Comme des Garçons or Rick Owens were often left to scour sites like Grailed or buy in

person in New York or LA. Luckily, we now have ROOTED, a Hermitage Avenue boutique focused on filling Nashville’s streetwear and sneaker void. Aaron Morrison, Jaime Bacalan, and Alexander McMeen’s shop offers exclusive-to-Nashville sneaker drops and pieces by everyone from Y-3 to Raf Simons. But more importantly, ROOTED hosts events with streetwear legends like Jeff Staple (creator of Nike’s coveted NYC Pigeon Dunks), finally giving Nashville sneakerheads a home.

SALT CER AMICS MOST LIKELY TO SHAPE IT

Are you a vision of grace and poise? One of those people who never trips, never drops things, and never, without a hint of irony, says, “Did I do that?” If you are, please teach us your ways. If you aren’t, you may be interested in pieces by Salt Ceramics, a local company that specializes in functional, everyday ceramics (i.e. ceramics that can handle a few “oh shit” moments). Founder Jess Cheatham handmakes everything from bowls to cups to mezcal sippers, and each piece is made to order in her studio at The Elephant Gallery. And even if you haven’t picked up one of Cheatham’s pieces, there’s a good chance you’ve seen (or will see) them around town—they’re at Rolf & Daughters, Cafe Roze, and Noelle, the newly revitalized 1930s hotel next to Printer’s Alley. Klutzes of the world unite!

Morrissey once said, “I do maintain that if your hair is wrong, your entire life is wrong.” While we aren’t crazy about Moz’s recent inane ramblings, that’s a statement we can get behind. Good hair can make a good day great and a bad day better, and we honestly don’t need any more bad days in 2018 (2017 gave us enough of those). To help us in our journey toward good hair (and by extension, a good life) is goodDYEyoung, a vegan and cruelty-free hair dye company founded by Paramore’s Hayley Williams and her longtime stylist-bestiecoconspirator Brian O’Connor. The Nashville-ownedand-operated company offers a line of semi-permanent hair color, a lightening kit, color fader, and “Poser Pastes” (if only James Franco had some in the punk episode of Freaks and Geeks) to help you release your inner-whatever. Through goodDYEyoung, Williams and O’Connor hope “to create a community of misfits who support one another through acceptance and understanding.” Can we get these two in Washington already? 58

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GOOD DYE YOUNG MOST LIKELY TO DYE IT

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JERRY PENTECOST MOST LIKELY TO WORK IT

The designation of “Hardest Working Man/Woman in Nashville” gets thrown around quite a bit. And rightfully so: there are tons of Nashvillians working their asses off in their respective fields every day. But drummer, DJ, and true Nashville native Jerry Pentecost might just take the cake. He’s played with everyone from Wanda Jackson to Aaron Lee Tasjan, served as the drummer of the 2017 Americana Music Awards’ house band (where he backed Van Morrison), and can count Vince Gill and Paul

Franklin as fans. Currently, he’s the drummer for Ron Pope, Angaleena Presley, and drummer/bandleader for past NATIVE cover feature Amanda Shires. And as DJ Jerry J, he has monthly residencies at Acme, Tin Roof, and Famous Saloon (but he’s also been known to pop up at No. 308 and many, many other booze emporiums). Asked whether or not he’s the hardest working man in Nashville, Pentecost says, “Not sure if it’s true, but I do like to work it—on and off the stage.”

T H E B E N & MOR E Y S HOW MOST LIKELY TO HOST IT

From Colbert to Kimmel to Seth Meyers, 2017 was the year of the talk show revival. In Nashville, however, Carson-style entertainment has been alive and well since 2015, thanks to The Ben & Morey Show. Now sixty-one shows in, Ben & Morey has found success without the aid of cable, streaming, or even YouTube. That’s right, you’ve got to actually show up to Centennial Performing Arts on a Thursday night to catch the duo. And that shouldn’t take too much convincing: for $10, you get Yazoo beer, live music (from house band Dr.

Soul’s Wholly Funk Band), and an hour-long interview. Since 2015, the guys have interviewed more than one hundred guests, including Eddie George, Karl Dean, Ann Patchett, and Maneet Chauhan. Says Ben on their distinguished tenure: “Goats have peed on our couch, polygraph tests have been administered, and Morey once had a knife pulled on him during a karate segment.” The show won’t return until mid-March, but in the meantime, keep an eye out for an upcoming remote segment with The Preds in February.

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Artist Spotlight:

Nathan Brown Nathan Brown moved to Nashville from Los Angeles in 1989, when he was eleven years old. Missing the culture of LA, he skateboarded and did graffiti throughout junior high and high school. In the ’90s, he became a fully sponsored Amateur skateboarder, which gave him the opportunity to travel and cultivate his work abroad. He started college but dropped out, built a few companies from the ground up, and worked as a marketing director and concert promoter. Brown currently lives and works in Nashville making murals, with his trademark style being large–scale geometric shapes and organic line work and fonts.

PHOTOS BY SARAH B. GILLIAM

Follow Nathan Brown on Instagram @nathanbrown77 or visit 19ss.net

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SOMETHING OLD SOMETHING NEW BY NATHAN DILLER PHOTOS BY NICK BUMGARDNER

Chef Kirstie Bidwell is serving up a slice of history at The Old School Farm to Table

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I PULL ONTO A STRETCH OF blacktop behind The Old School in Bells Bend and come to a stop in front of a rusted basketball hoop. This parking lot used to be a court, a remnant of the Wade School, which operated here from 1936 until the end of the century. The Old School, a nine-acre farm and nonprofit started by Rowan Millar and Susan Richardson, is built on a historic foundation, but at their restaurant, The Old School Farm to Table, Executive Chef Kirstie Bidwell is always cooking up something new. “Rather than kind of just coming up with a menu that I want to make, I get a list weekly from my vendors and they’ll be like, ‘This is what we’re growing, this is what you can use,’” she tells me. We’re sitting in the rear of the former elementary school, which is now the dining room. The farm and restaurant are a deceivingly short ten-minute drive from West Nashville. “You’ll be like, ‘I need twenty pounds of turnips,’ and they’ll say, ‘Well, the bugs ate half of them, so you can have ten pounds.’” Bidwell grew up in Fort Collins, Colorado. While working at Second Home, a restaurant in the JW Marriott hotel in Denver, she met her mentor of sorts: a chef from Music City who eventually decided to move home. Bidwell followed and took a sous chef position at Pinewood in 2014 before moving over to Le Sel, and just over a

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year ago, Richardson called and told her they had an executive chef position available. She’s just twenty-seven years old, but Bidwell has been honing her skills for more than a decade. When she was in high school, she took a trip with her grandmother to New York and set her sights on moving there as soon as she could. The pair visited an upscale restaurant at the top of a skyscraper, and Bidwell got to talking with a former chef. She decided then and there that she was going to go to culinary school. She doubled up on her classes during her junior year so she could take culinary classes as a senior, and she got into Johnson & Wales University-Denver. Although she decided not to move as far away as New York, her path was set. Then, when she was twenty years old, she was diagnosed with autoimmune disease. After a couple of years, her doctors made a health recommendation that conflicted with her plans. “They told me I had to quit eating gluten and dairy, and I had a meltdown,” she says, laughing. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, I went to culinary school for four years!’ Like, ‘This is all I know how to do! This is all I’m good at—cooking’ . . . And then I figured it out, you know? You always figure it out and make it work.” Now, when making cheeses and pastries, which the kitchen staff does in-house, Bidwell and her

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sous chef, who is also dairy-free, ask for outside input. “I’m always like, ‘Someone come taste this mascarpone,’” she laughs. “‘Tell me if it’s good.’” The restaurant buys from and supports the farm, which, in partnership with Millar and Richardson’s other operation, MillarRich, provides job training and employment for adults with disabilities. The Old School Farm to Table gets eggs from their own chickens, honey and bee pollen from onsite hives, and the majority of their vegetables from their crops. They also source from other local vendors like KLD Farm and Porter Road Butcher, who supply their meat. Despite the challenge of having to improvise in the kitchen, Bidwell says it’s been one of the most rewarding work experiences she’s had. “It’s different believing in what you’re making and having that relationship with the farmer and knowing that the Drinnons [who own KLD] work so hard,” she says. “They name their cows and take care of them and when one of them is sick, [Ken Drinnon] is just so distraught. He’s like, ‘Oh, one of the cows is sick. We have to go nurse it’ . . . So being able to work with a community like that probably was the biggest draw for me.” Working with and supporting the community is integral to The Old School’s mission, and that sentiment dates back to the construction of the Wade School itself. Built with New Deal funding during the Great Depression, the construction project created jobs and the school served the area’s residents for sixty-one years. Ho w e v e r, w h e n M i l l a r a n d Richardson bought the school, it was in disrepair. They carried out a year-long renovation and restored everything that they could to its original condition, including the glossy woodwork in the front of the building. Photos of the building at its most dilapidated line the walls, revealing hallways covered in

graffiti and rotting floorboards (“This looks like a bathroom out of Silent Hill or something, doesn’t it?” Bidwell jokes, pointing to one of the pictures), making the transformation even more striking. MillarRich keeps offices up front, and across from the dining room is an elegant bar. Ornate chandeliers hang from the high ceilings above a stage for live music. They also built a barn from the ground up out back, and a pottery studio downstairs handcrafts all of their dishes. There’s a spirit of connectedness coursing through the work that Bidwell and her colleagues are doing here. They host locals’ nights at the restaurant, where Bells Bend residents are invited to come try off-menu specials, and they host numerous fundraisers throughout the year. That idea shows up on the menu as well. Most of the dishes are designed to be shared family style, a nod to Bidwell’s love of European food and training in traditional French cooking. “I guess I’ve always valued the social aspect of eating,” she says. “And my allergies aside, it’s to me the best experience when you are able to just share everything with everybody at your table and try this and taste this, and even if we order separate dishes we always end up tasting each other’s food . . . We do change our menu weekly or biweekly, and so I think that gives everybody the chance to try all of the vegetables that are available in their prime in their meal. So you’ll get to try carrots when they’re at their sweetest and the beets when they’re perfect and ready.” Some of the entrees are also just really big. “The meatloaf’s like twelve ounces,” she says, laughing. “That’s a lot of bacon-wrapped meatloaf. But we have people that come in here—I mean, depending on the day I could probably put down twelve ounces of meatloaf . . .” For the moment, other menu items include smoked trout and fennel risotto

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with pea shoots and shaved asiago from Kenny’s Farmhouse Cheese, and sweet potato pie with a cornmeal and duck fat crust, peppercorn marshmallow, and rosemary. They also have a weekend brunch menu that includes sweet dishes like castiron cinnamon buns with bourbon butter, maple pecan caramel, and brown sugar; and savory dishes like red flannel hash with potatoes, sweet potatoes, beets, caramelized onion, eggs sunny-side-up, and saba. Each time the menus change they are handwritten and offer both vegan and gluten-free options. It’s clear that Bidwell has the utmost respect and appreciation for the farmland itself, and, spearheaded by Millar, The Old School is implementing a zero-waste initiative, taking on Mayor Megan Barry’s Food Saver Challenge to local businesses to measure and reduce their food

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waste. Additionally, they compost and recycle, and their power is geothermal. Bidwell has come to care about Nashville in a similar way. Before she moved, she wasn’t sure she’d stick around for long. “When I was first getting ready to move here, my mom was like, ‘You’re going to meet a man and you’re going to get married and you’re never going to move home,”’ she recalls. “And I was like, ‘Ah, that’s never going to happen. I’m going to move back home.’ And I’ve since met my husband-to-be, so it sort of progressed. You know at first, growing up in Colorado, I was like, ‘Oh, the South, I don’t know . . . and I moved down here and Nashville’s been actually really incredible.” Before I leave, Bidwell offers to show me the grounds. We pass a fire pit where they roast s’mores for kids, and a crew is preparing the barn for

an event. There’s a greenhouse full of tomatoes—they already used a bunch for the homemade Bloody Mary mix—and the pen for the chickens, some of which escape from time to time. “They’ll just hop out,” she says, laughing. Bidwell waves and bids passersby good morning as we walk the property, and she eventually leads us back inside where people hasten through the halls in preparation to open later in the afternoon. If you squint just right, you can almost imagine students from decades past hurrying to class. The Old School Farm to Table is open Wednesday through Friday 3 p.m. to 11 p.m.; Saturday from 10 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. (brunch) and 5 p.m. to 11 p.m.; and Sunday from 10 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.

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You’ll be hearing Devon Gilfillian’s name a lot next year. The Nashville-by-way-of-St. Louis artist has been converting throngs of music lovers with his self-titled, R&B-infused debut. This year, he signed with Capitol Records, and headlined Musicians Corner to boot.

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YOU OUGHTA KNOW: BIYO PHOTO BY DANIEL CHANEY

After 2017, we can’t really describe Nashville’s pop scene as “burgeoning” or “on the rise” anymore. As artists like past NATIVE cover stories R.LUM.R, Daniella Mason, and Kiya Lacey have shown us— and continue to show us—Nashville pop music is a force to be reckoned with. But as the pop movement grows throughout the city, we may want to reexamine (or at least expand) that whole “pop” label a little bit. Can an artist’s work really be classified as pop if it challenges traditional song structures and manipulates synths and vocals into layers of warped white noise? That’s the kind of question that arises when discussing Biyo. Though the electronic duo has played on many a “pop” bill here in town, their sound—at least in

our opinion—is a little too left of center to get lumped in with the likes of Katy Perry. Their singles thus far not only show that the group has a masterful understanding of the ever-elusive hook but also a serious knack for slick production. Tracks like “Fantasies” and “Bliss” take West Coast party music to a glitchy, avant-garde plateau—think James Blake on the beach. Biyo picked Los Arcos on Nolensville Pike as their favorite local restaurant. Says vocalist Grayson Proctor: “Los Arcos has been the most consistent margarita in our lives since moving to Nashville. They’re family.” We can’t guarantee that drinking margs will help you make abstract electronic music, but it’ll probably help you have a better day.

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As I write, the Thomas Fire is roaring through Ventura County, California. This particular forest fire will probably be old news by the time you’re reading this issue, but if another one hasn’t caught by then, it’s only a matter of time—it seems there’s a new huge blaze every other month. Unfortunately, that might be on us. For the better part of the past century, the policy in our nation has been to put out forest fires. In the beginning of the 20th century, this seemed like sound resource policy, but it wasn’t very long before scientists started to realize the folly in it. By then, Smokey Bear was on the scene and it was too late. The country had taken up the call that only they could prevent forest fires. In reality, fire has been part of our landscapes for millennia, caused both by lightning and Native Americans, and many ecosystems have grown to depend on it. It’s worth noting how we can even know that fire is (or was) common in the first place. Have you ever counted the rings of a tree to figure out its age? There’s a whole branch of science called dendrochronology that takes that principle as its jumping-off point, but there’s more to glean from tree rings than age. A tree goes through a lot in its life—it could get infested by bugs, suffer a drought, and maybe even survive a few fires. Whatever the assault, some sort of signature is usually left on the tree. Forest fires often leave scars on the outermost rings of trees, and this scar remains as the tree ages and adds on new rings around it. Dendrochronologists can study tree rings and fire scars and figure out the fire history of an area. This isn’t limited to the West; working with oak trees that date back to the 1600s, dendrochronologists have found forest fires to occur as frequently as every three years in some Middle Tennessee forests. If fire was once common, then it naturally follows that to suppress fire would upset a natural balance, which would likely come with some consequences. Basically, preventing fire now will eventually result in a more intense, uncontrollable fire later. This is because the longer an area goes without burning, the more leaves, twigs, branches, and other sources of fuel will build up on

the ground. A landscape that has long been suppressed turns into a powderkeg. These megafires are serious threats to public safety. In addition, they could become so immense that they end up devastating even those ecosystems that are dependent on fire. The idea that an ecosystem can be dependent on fire is foreign to many people. The forest-fire word association that Smokey made popular gave fire a negative connotation, thereby making it easy to infer that fire must be unnatural. This likely gave birth to the myth that the eastern United States was once a giant, uninterrupted forest. In reality, it’s always been a mosaic of ecosystems, from prairies to forests and everything in between, and a corresponding group of plants and animals rely on each of those ecosystems. There is an ecological principle called succession that, simply put, is the process of change in structure over time. When left unchecked, succession will eventually result in a forest. However, the process is rarely unchecked. In the past, massive herds of bison may have acted as a moderator of succession. In other cases it might be rapid and intense flooding. These natural checks on an ecosystem are referred to as disturbances. In most cases there’s a combination of disturbances, but fire is a major one across many ecosystems. Without it, succession may go unchecked and the diversity of ecosystems may be engulfed by forest. In general, fire plays an important role in increasing biodiversity in our ecosystems. However, after a century of fire suppression, it is possible that they can get out of hand like those in California now or in East Tennessee last year. For a few decades now, land managers have begun to recognize the benefits of fire and are increasingly conducting fires in controlled settings. Many of our state agencies now prescribe fire in state-owned lands, including many areas in and around Nashville. Once spring rolls around, try visiting some of these areas to see the role fire plays in keeping these ecosystems unique. You might consider starting at Couchville Cedar Glade or Flat Rock Cedar Glades and Barrens.

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