The Oxford American Book of Great Music Writing

Lucinda Williams: TOUGH-LOVE SONGWRITER (as told to) Marc Woodworth

1SMIRNOFF_pages.qxd 8/27/08 10:43 AM Page 358 Notes From the Underground (Twang Tour) WHEN IT’S JULY IN MEMPHIS, HOODOO HAPPENS by Marty Stuart July 4, 1997, P.M. Somewhere in Virginia. Thebulletinboardinthefrontloungeofthetourbusreads:UNDERGROUND TWANG TOUR.TONIGHT:DUBLIN,VA.SHOWTIME:8:15.Judgingbytheintensityoftherainthat’s pouring out of the black sky and the lightning that’s flashing and occasionally smacking down, God has other plans. His big light show is going to lay waste to thefireworksspectacularthat’splannedtoexplodeattheendofourDublinshow (if there is a show). My band—the Rock and Roll Cowboys—and I are glued to the television in the bus as CNN shares live pictures from Mars. “Where are we going after we leave here?” I ask the band. About seven years ago,IlostallsenseofwhereImightbeatanygivenmoment.I’mtoldtomorrow’s show is in Lula, Mississippi. We’ll be performing at some cottonfield casino in a town off Highway 61, a few miles south of Memphis. As we start discussing the joys of Memphis, the lightning stops, the rain ceases, and the clouds roll back. “Maybe it’s a sign,” I say. “Why don’t we spend the day in Memphis?” It’s time for some fun. For the past ten weeks, we’ve been knocking off onenighters like a golfer hitting buckets full of balls. The workload has severely outweighed the fun factor. Memphis can’t fix us, but it can help. Memphis is one of my favorite towns. I’ve been lifted to the foot of the cross there,andI’vestoodcloseenoughtothedeviltosmellhisrottenbreath.Youhave to enter Memphis with caution—or else it will slide right out from under you. 359 1SMIRNOFF_pages.qxd 8/27/08 10:43 AM Page 359 360 THE OXFORD AMERICAN AswordcomesdownthattheDublinshowison,weheadforstageonlyafter unanimouslyagreeingtovisitMemphis.Justtalkingaboutitprovidesuswiththe spark we need for giving our rain-soaked Dublin fans a star-spangled show. Aftertheshow,wevanishontoInterstate81SouthandIwishmyselfahappy Fourth of July. I also reflect on a show we played in Minnesota on a previous Fourth—we were the closing act for a wrestling match. I thank God for not havingtodothatagain ,andgotobed.ThelastthingIthinkaboutbeforefallingasleep is how good it is going to be to wake up in Memphisto. July 5, 1997, A.M. Downtown Memphis. My bass player Steve Arnold—a Memphis native—and I try to come to life as we watch the new day unfold. Steve says, “It’s good to be home.” Home in Memphis formeis706UnionAvenue.That’sSunStudio.AnytimeI’mintown,that’swhere Igo.Goingtheregivesmethesamefeelingasgoingtochurch.Aswepullintothe parking lot to set up camp, I am unaware until somebody inside tells me that it was forty-three years ago to the day that Elvis dropped by here and recorded “That’s All Right.” ThelasttimeIwasherewasinearlyfall.TheCowboysandIhadcometorecord somedemosofsongsI’dwritten.Wewerehavingfunandmakingmusicwhenacall came from Bill Monroe’s manager. He’d called to tell me that Bill had just passed awayandtoaskifIwouldsingandplayatthefuneral.Oneminutewewereplaying in the same studio where Elvis had recorded Monroe’s “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” andaminutelaterIwasleveledbysadnewsofthatsong’screator. I called time-out and took a walk. Bill Monroe was my friend and one of the firstmusicalinspirationsofmylife.WhenIwastwelve,Isawhimforthefirsttime atoneofhisconcerts,andaftertheshowIaskedhimforhisautograph.Hehanded me his mandolin pick and told me to use it. Every day I carried that pick with me to school. Later, I got a mandolin and listened to his records over and over and learnedhowtoplayusingthatverypick.Sincethen,he’dbeenabigpartofmylife, andnothavinghimaroundwasgoingtotakesomegettingusedto.Whenyoulose somebody like Bill Monroe, your world shifts. As I walked the back streets of Memphis looking for some peace, the only thing that came to me were some words for a song for him: I am a lonesome pilgrim far from home And what a journey I have known I might be tired and weary, but I am strong ’Cause pilgrims walk, but not alone. Ifinishedthesonginaboutanhour,thentookitbacktoSunandplayeditfor the band. We recorded it right there. I listened to the playback, then packed my 1SMIRNOFF_pages.qxd 8/27/08 10:43 AM Page 360 BOOK OF GREAT MUSIC WRITING 361 mandolin and headed home to Nashville. As I was leaving Memphis that time, I thought, This town doesn’t mind taking it away from you, but in the long run, it always gives you back a little more than it takes. This rumination drifted away when I heard Roger Miller come across the car radio. He sang “The Last Word in Lonesome Is Me” and then he too disappeared. The fluorescent lights on a billboardadvertisingGracelandwereeitherblinkingorwinkingatme .Imademyself a promise: The next time I’m in Memphis, I’m going to Graceland to visit Elvis’s gold lamé suit. Any self-respecting son of the South...