To rouse the spirit of the earth and move the rolling sky

Hello from Room 827 at the Marriott Town Center in downtown Charleston, West Virginia. The outside temperature is dropping, all while soft snowflakes cascade by the hotel window onto the cold pavement below.

There’s about a five hour or so drive ahead of me back to Haywood County, probably more so due to the winter weather rearing its head. But, no matter. There are good tunes being cranked in the trusty Tacoma, the heater working just fine amid the depths of a cold, wet January in Southern Appalachia.

Typing away at the desk, there’s a slew of receipts near my laptop. Some crumpled, others still fresh, all of which are mementos of a wild, whirlwind weekend in state capital of West-byGod-Virginia. Receipts from dive bars, sports lounges, restaurants, and gas stations. Oh, and a reminder to pay the toll fees for Interstate 64 after not knowing there were toll roads in these parts, no cash in the wallet, either.

Good ole “Wild Wonderful West Virginia.” I found myself up there covering the storied NPR radio program, “Mountain Stage,” for Rolling Stone. Celebrating its 40th year of existence in 2023, I wandered into the fold of host (and country star) Kathy Mattea & Co. as they welcomed an array of musical acts for a two-hour broadcast.

Checking into the Marriott, I immediately ran into one of the stage acts, a couple familiar faces, of which I didn’t realize were on the bill until we crossed paths in the lobby of the hotel. The Canadian rock act (based in Richmond, Virginia) was part of another band that I had seen just before the shutdown in 2020, one of the last shows, too, that was ever held at the now-defunct Mothlight music venue in West Asheville.

The two days in Charleston was a raucous setting of live music, backstage interviews, NFL playoff football in sporadic doses, wintry weather, and a dive bar drag show for good measure. A slew of new faces to interact with, a bunch of new places to inhabit. Just a scruffy journalist on the road, and in their element — the universe hums and vibrates happily with possibility, eh?

Next thing I know, the rollercoaster of life and happenstance slams to a halt, where it’s now Monday morning, a little after 9 a.m. The 5.5-hour drive ahead of me back to Waynesville from Charleston. Bleary-eyed and in need of water, definitely some of that breakfast buffet in the hotel lobby. Open the curtains to freezing rain on nearby Interstate 64. Pack up the bags. Warm up the truck. Back to Carolina, I go.

Merge onto I-64 towards I-77, en route to Southwestern Virginia, soon East Tennessee, and lastly Western North Carolina. But, not before a little side quest, all in the name of music journalism and also out of pure