They Came to Nashville

Gary Nicholson

188   Gary Nicholson Gary can probably tell you, better than I, of our first encounter . But I’ve heard this story so many times—told by Gary and others who were there—that I feel confident piecing it together. The year was 1981. I’d gone to hear Guy Clark at Cantrell’s, which was Nashville ’s only underground club at the time. Guy was backed by a threepiece band that included Gary Nicholson on lead guitar. Back in those days, I was known for jumping onstage with musicians whose music I loved. Especially if I’d had a little something to drink. This night would prove to be no exception. Toward the end of Guy’s set, sure enough, I bounded up on the stage, where I promptly began singing harmony on the chorus of “Texas Cookin’.” I could have deferentially stepped back down at the close of the chorus, but no-o-o-o . . . I stayed on for Gary’s guitar break, and that’s when things got crazy. I don’t know what possessed me, but next thing I know, I’m pumping Gary’s volume pedal with my foot, thinking it was a wah-wah pedal. I thought I was adding some cool, Tony Joe White funk to the proceedings , when in fact I was causing Gary’s guitar to turn off and on repeatedly . When I looked over at Guy, he was laughing. I mean, what else could he do? Mistaking his amusement for encouragement, I stepped up on my stomping. Gary, meanwhile, was scrambling around, checking his cord connections, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. But not for long. He soon realized the cause of his problems. Who is this woman, he thought, and why is she doing this to me? Later, when we were introduced, Gary was his usual outgoing, friendly self. He even suggested we get together and write a song. Sounded good to me. Gary’s song “Jukebox Argument” had recently been recorded by Mickey Gilley. I knew the song and loved the clever    Gary Nicholson   189 Billy Joe Shaver, Marshall, Gary Nicholson, and Leland Waddell backstage at the Cactus Café, Austin, Texas, 1989 lyrics—about a couple having an argument while standing at a jukebox, expressing their feelings through their song selections. Since that night, Gary and I have written a bunch of songs together , including “The ’90s Is the ’60s Turned Upside Down,” which has been recorded by Dion, Wynonna, John Jorgenson, and others. After the first George Bush was elected president, we wrote a song called “The Man Who Would Be B.B. King,” which took aim at Bush’s campaign manager, Lee Atwater. We felt like Atwater, a fellow South Carolinian who played passable R&B guitar, was using his instrument as a 190   They Came to Nashville weapon to attract black voters to the Republican Party. We had a ball writing . . . It was time to throw a party At the Inauguration Ball You never seen so many black folks In the whitest house of all Billy Preston and Bo Diddley Percy Sledge, to name a few Then the man behind it all Got up to get down with them too But does he really know the song he sings? This man who would be B.B. King Some of the lyrics were downright goofy: Now a Republican singing blues Is as far-fetched as can be Like Einstein playing football It just don’t make sense to me When he’s meeting with the President And planning what to do Does he think about his brothers And what they’re going through? Does he really know the song he sings? This man who would be B.B. King A thousand 45-rpm singles were pressed up on Bush League Records with Gary singing under the pseudonym Little Willie Horton and the Weekenders. The cover artwork—a Drew Friedman cartoon that had been published in Spy magazine—showed Atwater in Al Jolson blackface holding an electric guitar, surrounded by a group of guffawing fellow Republicans. Copies of the single were mailed to members of Congress and to the press. The response was staggering. There were write-ups in every major daily in the country, including USA Today. There was even a front-page mention in the International Herald-Tribune, which caught    Gary Nicholson   191 the attention of my uncle Bob, a conservative Republican...