W2B-007 Music - Restuarant-0.txt
There's no sign of our Daniel O'Donnell in Nashville, the country music capital of the world, writes Harry Ferguson
Kitsch and country

A COUPLE of days into my trip to Nashville I began to feel uncomfortable. The more I got the feel for the place and came to understand that there are only three important things to Nashville as a location - country music, country music, and country music - the more I was beset with a sense of existential angst; that something was missing. It was Daniel O'Donnell. More to the point, it was the absence of Daniel that shocked. Not a sign of him anywhere in the Country capital of the world. Some four years after the music business re-classified his records as not country, here I was having to confront headon my denial of the tragedy of what they did to Daniel.

While the Country Music Hall of Fame minus Daniel seems a contradiction in terms, it is superb; a real treasure. As well as featuring today's stars - Garth Brooks and co - it is a veritable journey into the stars of one's childhood, with original outfits, cowboy boots, instruments, original records and other trinkets that were adorned by the likes of Roy Rogers, Johnny Cash, Jim Reeves, Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris. There's even Elvis Presley's very own 'Solid Gold' 1960 Cadillac which was his favourite.

The symbiotic relationship between Nashville and country music all began when the Grand Ole Opry Theatre opened in the 1920s and established itself as the country venue. While the original theatre is still there in Downtown Nashville and worth a visit, today's Opry has been relocated to a site some 20 miles outside of the City which is disappointingly hard to reach without a car.

There were other compensations for Daniel's absence. Like meeting Willis Gupton, who informed me that when he was four years old his "daddy, who was a bluegrass picker," gave him his first guitar. Willis's promotional literature refers to his "no nonsense approach [as] refreshing, exciting, and a rare breed especially in today's spit and polish, New York/LA style of country music that has invaded Nashville. You can't help but love this guy's honesty, and sense of good ol' fashioned country humour... Get off that couch and give Willis Gupton a spin! He 'll do more for ya than 14 cups of strong black coffee." Howl me back!!

"Invade Nashville" - now why didn't Daniel think of that? Willis gave me a promo' copy of his debut single, 'Bringing Home The Bacon', and - in that typically pathetic post-colonial low self-esteem Oirish way of not being able to take something for nothing - I assured him that there could well be a spot waiting for him on Kenny Live. God knows it feels like just about everyone else from Nashville has been on it.

The naked ambition of the endless stream of wannabees is just one of the eerie pleasures of Nashville. Even the buskers have cut CDs. I bought one for $ 10 off a guy called Jeff Paz who was singing his heart out on the street accompanied by a very sophisticated canned soundtrack. He autographed it for me with such sincerity and earnestness that the likes of Willis and Jeff make Daniel seem mean.

Garth Brooks is the superstar ideal they 're all dreaming of. When you visit the "Garth Store" in Downtown Nashville, you can see why. This guy is even richer than Daniel O'Donnell, and possibly even nicer. If you don't believe me, Pat Kenny seems to think so, and he's met them both. So there.

America never fails to fascinate, and so a visit to Nashville enables one to absorb the general horrors and delights of this extraordinary country. The obsession with food - it's everywhere. The wonderful customer service. While the deference can irk - "Sir" - the guy who served me in Nashville's brilliant Hard Rock Cafe was just magic in terms of the routine care and attention he lavished on me.

And who cares anymore if they don't really give a damn whether or not you "have a nice day!" I 'd prefer it anyday to the feeling of being ignored and a nuisance that can be served up in some Irish businesses. Then there's the television - travel always gives a new perspective on our own national passions - and if Diarmuid Doyle thinks RTE is bad, jaysus he should sit through a few days of trash they call American TV. If they 'd only make those confessional talk-shows <&Irish> as Gaeilge!

Or perhaps not.

Yet, on its own terms, Nashville has to go down as one of the USA's most superficially boring cities. Not only does it lack the in-your-face dynamism and culture of a New York or a San Francisco, it looks for the most part like a dump. Give it half a chance though and - not unlike Daniel himself - it grows on you. The cowboy boot and hat shops are a delight - boots of all shapes and sizes and Stetsons as far as the eye can see. You can even buy a pair of cowboy golf boots - studs and all!

Nashville is the nerve centre of the religious publishing industry of the States. The gigantic shops make our own Veritas look, well, small. In the Baptist shop, for instance, you can buy books on every aspect of the human condition - with the exception of homosexuality, of course (see elsewhere under sexual perversions and the devil).

My own favourite was the section on masculinity and the family which included titles such as Boys: Shaping Ordinary Boys into Extraordinary Men by William Beausay II (what I want to know is just how did Mr and Mrs O'Donnell get a hold of that book in Donegal and so long ago?), Boys to Men: How Fathers Can Help Build Character in Their Sons, by Steve Lee, Ed D and Chap Clark. The authors of these books, and others in the 'Men of Integrity' series, are pictured on the dust-jackets complete with their much heralded Ed D's and looking even cleaner than Daniel - which is hard to believe I know, but understandable I suppose given the number of times they 've been baptised.

The religious revival in the States is quite something. There are over 80 Baptist Churches within that single denomination alone in the greater Nashville area (the State of Tennessee has literally hundreds). Just one of these churches holds 4,000 and has a congregation of 6,000. They have two services on a Sunday, some 20 pastors, and a nightmare organising the car-parking.

Nashville, I learned, is the kitsch capital of the States - Junk City USA. the knickknack and memorabilia shops are just packed full of the most naff range of merchandise imaginable; enough to make my Daniel O'Donnell mugs and calendar seem sophisticated, part of high culture. Inevitably perhaps, as nostalgia isn't what it used to be, Elvis memorabilia looms large - even if he is a Memphis boy.

A very well organised tour of the Music City neighbourhood, where all the big stars have their agents, record companies their administrative headquarters and the big recording deals are struck etc, culminates in a visit to RCA's Studio B. The highlight was a guide who clearly loves The King, identifying with such relish the very spot where Elvis stood to record some of his great albums.

Ultimately, Music City USA really comes into its own after dark. The competitive environment of the music business is such that the standard of fun-of-the-mill acts in bars and clubs is extraordinarily high and fabulous value as most have no cover-charge.

A visit to the Wild Horse Saloon for the Line-Dancing is a must. These cowgirls and boys (real men do line-dance, it seems) sure know how to move in majestic ways. They 'll even let you join in, although beware as those involved in the sessions for so-called beginners seemed frighteningly co-ordinated and twinkly-toed to this wrong-footed eejit. Hardly surprising, perhaps, as I never could quite master jiving.

And speaking of jiving, Daniel, you 're as well out of it... But watch out for yer man Willis Gupton, "invading Ireland" and creeping up your inside.
