Down The Lost Highway

I had been hoping to make a two or even three day record buying trip this last fall.  Unexpected bills, slower than expected sales, and a lack of extra cash shot down those plans but I'm still hoping to do it this coming spring or early summer.

There is a long, narrow corridor of roads that stretch from where I live all the way to Memphis, and along the way west I can make stops in several cities with rich and noted histories in music.

Florence:  The birthplace of W.C. Handy, Sam Philips, and Kelvin Holly.

Muscle Shoals:  The Muscle Shoals Sound Studio, The FAME Recording Studio.

Tupelo: Of course, Elvis.

At the end of the road, Memphis.

Back in the 1950's and 60's you could have traveled those same roads and run into any number of rock and roll, R&B and country legends.  Muscle Shoals isn't New York or Los Angeles, but in the right place at the right time you could have found yourself rubbing elbows and chatting with Duane Allman, Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin or Keith Richards.

R&B pioneers clambered into old buses and station wagons, shuttling from one city to the next while touring the Chitlin Circuit.  They drove through little towns every day, just like the town I currently live in.  Some times they stopped for food and gas and to stretch their legs when time permitted.

Hank Williams' last road trip on Earth took him through Fort Payne, Alabama; a town less than 30 miles from where I sit.  Williams and his driver stopped at a local diner so the driver could grab a bite to eat, Williams left their waiter a $50 tip.  Williams also purchased a bottle of bourbon from a local bootlegger. Off they drove toward Chattanooga and then to Knoxville, scant measured hours of life were left for Williams as they left Fort Payne. The wire stories reporting his passing would be out in less than 24 hours.

Johnny Cash had a notorious run-in with the police just north of here.  In late 1967 and with a head full of pills, Cash wound up spending a night in the Walker County jail.  He had crashed his car and scared the living hell out of a local by beating on their front door in the middle of the night, in his altered state he thought it was the home of a friend.  Just how and why Johnny Cash found himself driving around the north Georgia mountains, so very far from Nashville, high as a pine is tall, is still a mystery to me.  This area isn't just off the beaten path, it's several trails over from the beaten path, hidden by hills.

Several years after her passing I learned that even my Grandmother had one of those brushes with greatness.  At one point during the 1950's my Grandmother and Mother moved to Vila Rica, Georgia for a brief period of time.  My Grandmother was apparently working at a small roadside diner when Fats Domino stopped to get something to eat and his order was brought out to him.  I assume he and his band were making their way between Birmingham and Atlanta, most likely for Chitlin Circuit dates.  My Grandmother wasn't the person who brought his order to him but she did get the chance to see him.  Apparently she was impressed with how polite he was and that he was a stunningly sharp dressed man.

The last big band to come through here, that I can recall, was REM.  They came to town to visit Howard Finster and shot a video in Paradise Gardens.  This was long before the big time, long before they played the big sheds. 

No one comes through town anymore.  I need to get back onto the road and explore.