Nashville is funny. Even though the music industry is brewing all around you there can be stretches when it seems like nothing is happening at all. It's like the whole city is in a closed door meeting and you didn't get a memo. Then just as you start to wonder if you'll ever work again the phone rings and you're right back at the party. 

It happened to me recently when I got to play with an artist named Sarah Buxton. Sarah has one of the smokiest voices in town and is well respected as a great singer/songwriter. She also has a record deal on the same Nashville label (Lyric Street) as Rascal Flatts, which puts her right in the middle of things, and for a few weeks last summer we played shows all over the country, trying to break a single called "Outside My Window".

Though Sarah isn't a household name (yet!) she's had some of the good breaks that talented people seem to attract. Like the time Keith Urban recorded a song she wrote about her ex-husband"Stupid Boy". As the story goes, Keith heard the song and wanted to record it but felt strange about a lyric lecturing a guy who had just lost a great woman. (He's right! Men don't do that to men.) And it looked like he might move on, when his famous Australian wife Nicole solved the problem with a simple question, "Why don't you sing it into the mirrah?" And so, by changing "You're just a stupid boy" to "I'm just a stupid boy" Sarah Buxton became the writer a huge hit song.

With the Urban/Buxton connection it had occurred to me that we might get a chance to open a Keith Urban show at some point, and sure enough it happened. We were heading to a one off in Memphis and got a phone call from Keith's road manager. The info trickled forth in a series of quick calls to Sarah's musical director/tour manager/guitarist, Tony Lopacinski. Apparently Sugarland was supposed to do it but the girl's voice went out... and so Keith needed an opener... in Phoenix... in two days. 

As we bounced down Highway 40 I tried to put the whole thing out of my mind. These kind of things tend to come and go quickly and I didn't want to get my hopes up too soon. It occurred to me also that if the show DID come through I would have to cancel a gig I'd booked that night - playing a Cajon behind a singer in a restaurant. 

The phone calls between Tony, the label, and Urban's people continued as we cruised West towards Memphis. At some point I found myself pondering the difference between playing a Cahon in the corner of a restaurant and pounding out a show on a drum set in front of 20,000 people. I tried to gage Tony's face as the calls came in but he was all business; answering questions, ironing out details, and jumping from one call to another. 

I started practicing my cancellation phone call and then realized I was getting my hopes too high again. So I forced myself to forget about the Urban thing and just enjoy the fact that I was currently heading to Memphis on a tour bus to play great music with an incredible artist. I then reminded myself that I would get to play music two nights later either way. It might be opening for Keith Urban or might be a gig with a different singer/songwriter. But that guy had some good songs, too! And a strong voice! And the gig included dinner at a pretty nice place! 

Then Tony set the phone down and said, "It's on. Can everybody play Phoenix two nights from now?" and I broke the "wow" moment by saying "YES!" too loudly as I bounded to the front of the bus to make my call.

We played a great show in Memphis that night and then the band rode back home while Sarah and Tony stayed for some extra radio promo stuff. The next day there was a flurry of emails. Apparently two of Sarah's band members had gigs they couldn't get out and wouldn't be coming to Phoenix, which meant we'd have subs on lead guitar and bass. Add to that, Sarah and Tony were flying straight to the show so we'd have to play the gig without a rehearsal. I thought for a second and realized I wasn't worried. Pulling off an arena gig unrehearsed is fine in Nashville. Just another "Music City" perk.

On the day of the big show Sarah and Tony flew to Phoenix from the West coast and I flew out from Nashville on my own. I looked for players on the plane that might be subbing the gig with us but I didn't recognize anybody. Then, upon landing in Phoenix, I ran into Tom Bukovac. Besides being Sarah's boyfriend, Tom also happens to be one of the busiest A-List guitarists in town. In fact, he has played on, among other things, a bunch of Keith Urban records. I was kind of hoping he'd be the sub guitarist and was glad we would get a chance to play together.

The sub bassist was there, too. He introduced himself as Jimmie Lee Sloas. Jimmie was kind and self-deprecating. He laughed and said he was nervous because he'd only received the songs the night before. I figured he was a competent player if he was hanging with Tom, but he was such a great guy that, within ten minutes of our meeting, I had already decided to go out of my way to help him through the set anyway I could. 

The record label had a rental car in Tom's name and we got it and drove to the hotel. There was a little time before we had to go to the venue so the three of us got lunch in the hotel restaurant. We wouldn't get to play together until the show so it was nice to hang a little before we hit the stage unrehearsed.

After we'd eaten Sarah came down and the four of us drove to "Jobing.com Arena". On the ride there we listened to the new Rob Thomas record. I almost objected but it was pretty good, and later it came out that Tom was involved in the production so I was glad I'd kept my yap shut.

We got to the arena and there were already fans walking in groups towards the lines by the doors. We drove around the place until we found the artist entrance and were then directed down a ramp to the side of the building. We got out and walked past Keith Urban's tour busses. His personal bus had a matching trailer on the back with several beautiful motorcycles inside. I might of said "To the victor go the spoils!" but it was too hot to think about anything except the AC inside the building. 

We went in and found our dressing rooms, one for Sarah and one for the band, and then went out to see Keith Urban's soundcheck as it wound down. Keith's drummer had a full set of Craviatto's in Bonham sizes as well as a little matching kick and snare to the left of his riser. He also had cymbals all over the place, some electronics, and a laptop next to his hi-hat stand.

When their check was over Keith greeted everyone and handed his guitar to Tom to play. While that was going on Jimmie Lee introduced me to Keith's drummer, Chris McHugh. I thought it was interesting that Jimmie seemed to know McHugh so well. Maybe they'd played together? It would all snap into place later when Keith's long time bassist, Jerry Flowers, said to Jimmie, "I'm just out here tring not to mess up your parts, man." Ooooooooooh. I should have guessed. Jimmie Lee was a heavy weight. It turns out he, like Tom, had also played on, among other things, a bunch of Keith Urban records. Gotta love Nashville.

It was time for us to set up and I checked the drums we'd rented from Studio Instrument Rental (SIR). The drums were DW even though I'd asked for Ludwig but what really bugged me was the color. Despite DW's many amazing finishes and wraps they also have some real dogs, and this kit was wrapped in what looked like Aqua snakeskin. Worse than that, SIR had forgotten the rack tom, leaving me with just a kick, snare and floor. 

Chris McHugh's tech came around while I was setting up and I told him what had happened. He said "You want some rack toms? We have a bunch of kits out here. I can get you whatever you need." Wow. I was grateful for the offer but had already decided to accept the challenge of playing all the tom parts on the floor tom alone.

Another tech said " Who did you get those drums through?" I said "SIR". And he said "OH! Sorry I Rented?" I laughed a little but was still reeling from the thought of McHugh having "a bunch of kits out there" - in addition to the $10,000 worth of Craviatto gear set up on stage behind me. "To the victor go the spoils." I said then to myself. (It was cooler inside.)

After we checked, Jimmy, Tom, and I went to catering to hang out with some of the guys in Urban's band. The food was amazing and everyone was really nice. These guys tour a lot and the production is big enough to accommodate the band member's various hobbies. Some of the guys had motorcycles out with them. Or road bikes. I'd heard that Chris McHugh brings enough recording gear to do professional drum tracks from the road.

We hung around catering for a while and then the venue "opened the doors", and since it's not often I find myself in a hockey stadium I decided to walk around the building. There were huge merchandise booths set up and people coming through the doors in droves. And then I saw a little sign on the wall that said: "SUGARLAND WILL NOT BE PERFORMING THIS EVENING. REPLACED BY LYRIC STREET RECORDING ARTIST SARAH BUXTON. TICKETS MAY BE REFUNDED AT THE BOX OFFICE." And I realized for the first time we would be playing for a bunch of Sugarland fans who'd just found out they weren't seeing Sugarland. Yikes!

I walked to the very back of the venue and looked at my little three piece Aqua snakeskin drum set on the stage. They looked great and I was glad to see that without the rack tom nobody would notice the finish anyway.

After a while I returned to our dressing room and went through the songs with Jimmie Lee, tightening up some of the breaks and changes . Our set time was only 40 minutes. Time for just six songs. And it turned out Jimmie'd recorded the bass on a few of the tracks anyway so I was sure he'd be fine. 

Soon it was time to go on and we started heading down the long, concrete hallway towards the stage. Just before we got to the end Chris McHugh called us into the Urban band's dressing room to check out a video and I walked in to see Buddy Rich soloing on a beautiful monitor with perfect sound. I looked around the room and there was recording equipment everywhere. Just past that there was a fully loaded gym. 

I thanked Chris sarcastically for freaking me out with a Buddy Rich solo just before I was to play, and then Jimmie, Tom, Tony and I went out and stood in the wings. Sarah came over looking fantastic, and soon the lights went down and we were on.

Since it was a short set we got right to work with the single from her last record and rocked it. After the song I listened but there was no booing. The weird thing was they didn't cheer much either. Then Sarah said "I'd like to thank Sugarland for cancelling tonight." and I thought we'd get it then for sure, but no! I think they were too stunned to speak. A couple people yelled "Sugarland!" randomly from deep in the crowd and we went into the second song. 

As the show continued Sarah would slowly win over the entire crowd. She flipped them out by running shoeless down the ramp into the audience and singing and dancing with some of the fans. The drums were nice and loud in my monitors, Sarah was on fire, our background vocals were in tune, and the band sounded great. 

Bukovac was off to my right, snarling and twitching and playing the hell out of his guitar, while Jimmie Lee was on the other side, smiling and bobbing and tearing up his bass-neck like a madman, all the while reading little hand-written charts he'd sat on an amp next to my floor tom. We finished the set to a great ovation and walked off stage and back down the long hallway to our dressing rooms - like a team that had just pulled off a huge road win, which, in a way, we had.

One of the great things about opening a big show is that after you come off stage... you get to see a big show! So after I toweled off I went out to watch Keith Urban from the pit area on the side. The rest of Sarah's band was there, including Sarah, with about twenty relatives who had flown in to see her. 

Then Keith Urban came on and blew us all away! I knew Keith Urban as a good singer with a few cool songs, but I didn't know he was a rock star! At one point he ran through the crowd with just a couple of burly blockers, and even as people grabbed his hair, shirt, and guitar he continued to knock out a solo Angus Young would have been proud to have played. His band was chock full of top notch players, too, and every one of them sang like a lead singer. Keith pointed out Sarah during Stupid Boy (Goosebumps for everybody!) and it ended up being an amazing night all around.

The next morning we flew back to Nashville. The return flight was packed with players coming home from gigs. I sat with Leann Rimes' band and crew, next to her personal stylist, Kari, and we had a nice conversation. One of Leann's band members fell asleep and the other guys took turns throwing things into his mouth. It was a festive flight and I was happy to be included with a bunch of working Nashville players. 

"Music City" is a tough but magical town. Sometimes it feels like it's a million miles away and then all of a sudden it feels just like you'd hoped it would. 

I just passed the six month mark in Nashville. Six months is significant because it is the amount of time I'd originally given myself to "make it or break it" in town. I figured I'd either get work as a drummer and move my family out, or go bust in Music City and be forced to find a regular job. Remaining a drummer wasn't just a romantic desire. It's the only way I've ever made a living. And I was truly lost as to what I'd do for work if not music. Being a letter carrier was the only "straight job" I'd researched but I hadn't looked into it deep enough to know if they actually needed anyone. For all I knew there could be a long waiting list to apply. And what if I got the job and hated it? What if I went Postal?!? Making a living as a musician was a much better option if I could pull it off, so I was determined to try my hardest. 

Getting gigs was tough at first. There was music happening everywhere but it seemed the same few drummers were doing it all. Everyone knows how tight the session community is, but the live scene in Nashville appeared to be sewn up, too. I saw a drummer named Nick Buda play almost every night I went out. One time I went to a three band bill at 12th and Porter and he played with all three acts! And if it wasn't him it was one of three or four other drummers that seemed to get all the work in town. 

When I got to Nashville I tried to slip into the scene organically - without bothering anybody. I thought coming on too strong would make me appear desperate. But after a few weeks of just watching music I decided I'd better force myself out of my comfort zone and ramp up my networking to make something happen. I cold called producers whose music I liked. I sent out promo packs. I said hello to singers/songwriters/performers when I saw a great show. I followed a female singer right off the the stage and into her dressing room to give her a card once. "You sounded great." I said. "I'm a drummer and wanted to introduce myself in case you were ever in need." She thanked me suspiciously. I worked on my approach. 

I played for free, played for dinner, played for tips. I just wanted to get onstage and make music. After four months in Nashville I got my first session. And that session led to another session. My time beating the streets was starting to pay off. I was now getting some money for live stuff and landing occasional session work, and every gig led to more player connections. I wasn't making enough to support a family yet but I was starting to think Nashville could work in time.

My wife and kids came to visit over the Easter break and had a great trip. We saw Picassos at the Frist museum, we ate at cool restaurants, and we enjoyed the many activities for kids that Nashville has to offer. They were in town for 10 days and we didn't get through half the stuff I'd planned for their visit. 

We drove East to the Smokey Mountains. By this time Nashville had already sold itself many times over and the surreal beauty of the Smokies was icing on the cake. When we got back to town we looked at some houses with a realtor to see what the possibilities were should we decide to take the plunge. Ultimately, the whole trip went really well and when I dropped my wife and kids off for their return flight I was filled with feelings of relief and gratitude. If I could just get some more income going I'd have a great case for moving our family out. A month later, however, I did something really stupid.

I had a two sessions and a live show booked and was planning to go home to see my family when they were through. It was the busiest week I'd had so far and I was excited about the momentum. I was charting out some of the songs when I got a call from a music manager. He said he represented an artist who was going on the road and wondered if I might be available. He told me the artist's name and I began secretly looking up her website as we spoke. I asked him when the tour started as her site came up. She was really pretty. He said the tour was leaving the next week. My eyes widened. "Next week?" As I was trying to figure out all the things I'd have to cancel one of her songs came blasting out of my computer. I hit the mute button and he chuckled. "You know what?" I said. "As much as I'd love to do it, I have a really full schedule next week and then I'm heading home for a bit. I think I'm going to have to pass." He thanked me anyway and we hung up. 

Though it felt strange to turn down a tour, I knew I'd done right by the people I was booked to play with the following week. I'd also done the right thing for my family, who were looking forward to seeing me. I wrote it off as a case of bad timing. Since I was still on her website I decided to pull up one of the songs. It was good. I played another one. It was REALLY good. I clicked the "tour" button to see where I would have gone. The page came up and my heart stopped. She was opening the Brooks and Dunn/Alan Jackson tour all the way through October. I still felt I'd done the right thing, but it was hard to process the fact that I'd passed up a slot on one of Nashville's biggest tours of the summer. I called my wife to tell her what had happened. I thought it might give her a little security to know I was starting to get some quality calls. But like she's done so many times before, she quickly slapped me into reality. 

I called the manager back immediately to change my answer but I got his machine. I called again and there was still no answer. It started to sink in. This was the call I'd been waiting for - the call I'd practically given up on - and I'd blown it! I called eight more times in the next two hours and kept getting an the machine. My buddy Bones called and I told him what I'd done. "They're probably in a meeting." he said. "That's a really big tour, you know!" Aaaaaaa. My head hurt. My friend Glenn called and said "Wow. Do you realize you turned down Keith Urban's management company?" Aaaaaaa. My belly hurt. The manager finally called two hours later. He thanked me for my interest but said they'd found someone for the tour. 

I've always been better at drumming than business. Back in my early twenties I was dating a girl who worked in the financial district. I'd go down there for lunch, see all those suited people running to and fro, and wonder what they did all day. I occurred to me I had no idea what they carried in their brief cases. Was it cash? Calculators? Briefs? (What ARE Briefs?) I would stare at them with the same confused fascination people give an Amish family on the highway. I couldn't believe these intelligent business people were still wearing something as useless and impractical as neckties. The vastness of the gulf between their lives and mine was funny to me at the time. But that was before I was a husband and father. Now I had a family that was counting on me to bring home a paycheck. And I still didn't have a tie. And I still didn't know what went in a brief case.

As I sat moping I got a call from a guy in an 80's cover band. He had a gig on Cinco De Mayo and was looking for a drummer. In my condition I was apt to get rubbed wrong, and rub he did. He said "I hear you were in the Wallflowers!" (Wallflowers?) I was about to correct him when he said "Lemme ask you this! Are you better than Alex Van Halen?" I felt my face sag. I decided to be confrontational. "Actually" I said. "I think Alex Van Halen is one of the greatest rock drummers of all time and I don't think I'll EVER be as good as him." He didn't miss a beat. "How about Neil Peart? Are you better than him?" I felt my body sag. I actually looked at the phone, then collected myself and said "Neil Peart? Ya! I can play circles around him." "Great!" he said, and went on to explain that the gig was four sets from 10-2 a.m. and paid $50. I told him I couldn't do it, then hung up and went to sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

I felt bad about turning down the tour and felt bad about turning down the Cinco De Mayo gig, too. I thought about it and realized I couldn't pass on a paying gig no matter what, so I put my ego down and called the guy from the 80's band back. I asked him if there would be any rehearsals and he said "Don't THINK so! We've been together three months and haven't rehearsed YET!" I shuddered - and took the gig.

A funny thing happens when you put yourself "out there". It's as if the energy in the Universe repays you for your effort. I don't know if that theory is even true. I just know that ten minutes after taking the 80's gig I got an email from the musical director for one of my favorite singer/songwriters. He was putting her band together for a summer/fall tour and wondered if I might be interested. This time I didn't blow it.

I'm very happy to announce that we are now in contract on a house in Nashville and my family will be joining me here this summer. After a slow start things began to materialize quickly, and while I didn't really "make it" OR "break it" I'm confident now that I'll be able to provide for my family as a musician after all. My wife loves the new house and is excited about being closer to some good friends and family we have in the South. My kids will grow up in a beautiful city, with fireflies and seasons and "Yes Maam"s, and I can continue making a living doing what I love most. I feel very lucky. 

I will be playing great music with amazing musicians for the next several months and I can't wait to get started. In the meantime, if you are reading this from Nashville and looking for a drummer you can go to my site (http://www.stevethedrummer.com) and listen to the playing samples. See if I might be good for the gig. And if you're reading this from California? Please, know that we have plenty of room for company.

There is good news to come!

# # #

Though I miss my wife and kids, being alone in Nashville allows me to work as much as I can. I usually meet people for lunch or coffee every day, write emails, make phone calls, and see and play as much music as possible. But I'd been doing this diligently since arriving in November and it was starting to wear on me. I don't mind working hard. The problem was, despite my efforts, I still wasn't getting any paid gigs and my energy was starting to fade. I knew my chances of breaking into Nashville would be over if I didn't stay patient and remain focused and positive, but it was getting harder every week. Waiting for work is one thing but if the phone never rings you're not waiting - just wasting time. That's how I was feeling when I got an email from a producer (David Henry, True Tone Studios) saying he needed a drummer for a session. My first session in Nashville, after four months of networking.

The session would be six songs for an artist named Tori Sparks. I met with her and got some demos of the tunes. She was great and I knew we would have a easy day tracking. I worked on the arrangements and met her once more to play through the music, but before we even had a chance to record David called again to ask if I could do a song for another singer/songwriter named Rod Picott. He said they'd already recorded the album and were scheduled to mix it when Rod wrote a new song and wanted to put it the record. The session was happening that week. "Thank you sir, may I have another?" 

I got to the studio at 10 a.m. to set up. Rod was really nice and the song was great. The bassist ended up being a guy I'd seen play live a bunch of times since I got to town. When we met he squinted and said "I know you." It was funny because he didn't know me as a drummer, but as an audience member. The session went real well. Great producer, song, and players. The Dixie Chicks' Pat Buchanan was laying some guitar on it as I left and the track was great in the end; just what I had imagined a Nashville session to be. I even got a Numbers chart and found it made sense. Then the next week I did Tori's session and that went really well, too. 

A couple weeks later I called and met up with a great local guitarist named Tom Mason. Tom lives in the middle of Shelby Bottoms Park with his wife, Pru Clearwater, and their dog Erroll. In typical Nashville fashion both Tom and Pru have original records out. They also play together in a band called The Big Happy. We met at their place in the park and went for a dog walk. Tom is a nice guy and we had a good talk. Later that night he called to ask if I would be interested in house sitting and watching Erroll while The Big Happy went on a three week tour. Their house is so remote I could set up in the living room and play drums all day without bothering anybody. The dog was cool, too, so I took him up on it.

I had done some sessions in town and that felt good but as the days went on I started to get antsy again. I didn't have anything on the books and had no songs to learn or music to work on. These are the times you wonder if you'll ever get another call. I didn't have gigs but I had a house where I could play some drums so I decided to just set up and start hitting. After a couple of hours I took a break and there was a message from a guy I'd met a few nights earlier named Will Champlin, inviting me to a big jam that afternoon at his studio. A chance to meet players and make music was exactly what I wanted and I called him back and went down there.

Will is the son of Bill Champlin, of the Sons of Champlin. (son of the Sons of... it gets confusing) Like his Dad, Will is also a singer/songwriter/producer, and they live in a big, beautiful house in the suburbs of Nashville with a professional studio in their basement. The players at the jam were great and we were having a good time. After playing for a while we took a break and I noticed Billy Ward's book sitting on the table. I picked it up and started reading a chapter called "How to Get Work". In the book he says that when there's nothing lined up, the way to get the phone ringing is to just set up your drums and play. I would have thought that notion was a little "new agey" if it hadn't just happened to me exactly as he'd described it. We played for a couple more hours and when I got to my car to leave I had a message from an amazing artist named Luke Doucet asking if I could do a session with him the following week. "Great!" (Weird!)

I have a four song session tomorrow. I met the artist (Jon Roniger) at a show and two days later his producers (Robert Reynolds and Jim Reilly) called to see if I could do the recording. I'll be splitting the record with a great drummer named Rich Redmond who works all the time. I went to the studio (16 Ton Studios) and got the demos yesterday. Rich was cutting a track when I got there, playing right in the pocket, making perfect choices, and his drums sounded huge. Add to that he looks like a frickin' movie star and couldn't be nicer if he tried. If I had forgotten where I was for a minute, Rich Redmond reminded me I was in Nashville. So I went home and got right to work on the songs; memorizing the arrangements, getting comfortable with the tempos, thinking of beat and fill ideas... If Nashville doesn't work out in the end it wont be because I didn't try my hardest. I'm going to go down there and NAIL that session! Then I'm going to get more jobs and nail those, too. (At least that's the plan.) 

The weather in Nashville has turned to Spring and the flowers and trees are in full bloom. It's like living in a tropical rain forest. Meanwhile, 2300 miles away, my daughter lost her first tooth and I haven't seen her new smile yet, and my son came in 2nd in the Pinewood Derby race and I had to settle for the excitement in his voice. I see a light at the end of the tunnel, though, and if I can get that light brighter we'll have a great life here. For now I just have to remain patient and stay focused and positive. Patient. Focused and positive. Repeat! Patient. Focused and positive. Repeat!... 

They say Nashville is a "five year town". I thought I could shave a couple years off by being experienced and coming in with a few contacts but now I'm not so sure. Being a seasoned drummer doesn't help like it did in the Bay Area. In Nashville you're expected to be seasoned. People don't get too wide eyed when you sound good. Drummers here show up at the audition playing songs well, with good time, and on great equipment. Come in with less and you'll likely be forgotten before you get back to your car. (Unless you show up at another audition, in which case you'll be remembered in perfect clarity.) Try to break into Nashville without being solid and groovy, and you might as well go down to LP field and ask the Tennessee Titans if they need any extra players. 

I've discovered that with so much talent around, relationships are just as important as musicianship. Familiarity is the key because band leaders hire musicians they know. I have lots of experience and a pretty good track record, but relationships are one thing I came to town short on, so I had to get serious about letting people know I was here and available to work. I had to learn to Network. 

An artist with a good gig can meet three or four of drummers every day, and any person who isn't a drummer can give you the name of one. So it's important to be on people's radar when a gig comes up. Some drummers are great at networking. I'm not. It goes against my grain to tout myself to others. But no matter who's best for the gig, the drummer who's making introductions, high fiving the room, and passing out cards like a Vegas dealer will get more work than the drummer who sits in the corner waiting for a conversation to develop. In Nashville if you don't get out and convince people you're the one they need they'll hire someone else. 

I'd been meeting people for lunch and coffee and going to shows every night but I needed to get more creative. So I got a book on industry contacts, put a promo pack together (bio, discography, picture, CD, and some press), and sent out over 70 emails to managers, labels, lawyers, and booking agents who represented bands or music styles I liked. In each email I described myself and asked if I could send them a promo pack. I got 10 responses back. No auditions or job offers, but all said they'd keep my information on file in case something came up, so I mailed the packs out with personal cover letters and tried to think of other options. 

Next I tracked down the phone numbers of some of the busiest drummers in town and called them up cold. I imagine these players get lots of calls from industrious hustlers new to Nashville and I wasn't sure what I'd say if I got one of them on the phone. "Hi. I just got to town. Can I ride your coat tails?" Or "Do your sub drummers' subs ever need subs?" But I haven't had to figure out an approach yet because none of them answered and so far none has called me back. 

After a couple months I got tired of just watching music happen and started taking free gigs so I could play. I got a call to back up a singer at a songwriter's showcase. There was no money but it was a quick set, the drums were provided, and I was dying to play some music. The drums are provided in many clubs in Nashville, by the way, in order to switch bands out faster. Often times you just bring cymbals and a snare drum. The kit that night was a DW four peice. The heads were destroyed and I would have rather played my drums, but not having to load in and out was nice and everything worked out fine. The singer called to book another gig the next week and I snapped it up. Another freebie, but at least I was getting on stage. This time the drum situation was different though. There was a bass drum, rack tom and floor tom but no hardware - not even a throne or kick pedal. So I grabbed a folding chair, gripped the snare drum between my thighs and rode the rack tom rim with my right hand while playing the snare and bass drum (on the floor tom) with my left. I made it through the set but my legs were cramping by the first chorus and it was hard to walk the next day. 

I was starting to play out now but still wasn't making any money. I'd graduated from "playing for free" to "playing for dinner" though and it felt like progress. Then, just as it was beginning to wear on me, I heard about an amazing opportunity. I was having coffee with a well connected friend and he told me Ben Folds' long time drummer had just left the band and they were looking for a replacement. I couldn't believe it. Ben Folds is one of the reasons I came to Nashville in the first place. Not because I imagined he might need someone, but just because if he was in Nashville there could be others like him there, too. Now the position was open, my style is perfect for his songs, and I was right there to audition for it. I even had a friend that could put us in touch! All of a sudden the whole crazy move started to make sense and I began to think I'd unknowingly come to Nashville to be here when this job came up. The next day, though, as I was imagining what the audition would be like, my friend called to tell me they'd already found someone. Apparently some kid who knows all the songs, sings like a bird, and plays his ass off had been hired before I'd even known there was a change going down. In the 24 hours I'd thought the gig was available I'd let my imagination run wild, pondering destiny and timing and fate as if they were on my side. In the end, however, they were trumped by the unflinching patience of the same reality I thought I'd beat. I felt like a Salmon who had awoken from a spawning dream to realize he was still in the ocean. 

In my first three months in Nashville I've made more friends than money. The good news is I've made some really great friends. Musicians who've been here a while already have their social circles and so new people tend to gravitate together and create their own cliques. The other newbies and I look out for each other because when it comes to getting work we're all in the same boat. 

One of the friends I've made is a newbie named Glenn. He was the drummer for Eddie Money for years. I used to watch him in on Mtv when I was growing up. Now he's in Nashville plugging away like I am, hoping to bring his family out when things get better. Glenn and I try to keep our heads up with self deprecating humor. A typical conversation might go something like:

1: "I was wondering if you could squeeze me in for lunch next week. What's your schedule look like?" 

2: "Oh. Let me check. Ya, my schedule next week looks like... ah... looks like a snowdrift! How about yours?" 

1: "Well, let's see. The only thing on my calendar are two concerned eyes. Oh wait. That's my reflection on the empty screen."

2: "Perfect. I can do Monday or Tuesday, or anytime Wednesday through Friday, or we could wait until the week end, which is free as well."

1: "Let's do Monday. I'll call if I get a master session or something."

2: "Ya. And I'll call if I get the Keith Urban gig."

The other day, after having exhausted the stores of humor we use to protect ourselves, we were standing around, arms crossed, staring at the floor. I said "Glenn, I've made $62 since I've been here." He said "Ya, buddy. I've made $75." We didn't talk for a while and then I said "Man I wish I pulled down your kind of bread." And we started laughing again. And then we laughed until tears came out, like it was the funniest thing we'd ever heard.

As I drove across the country in my drum laden Jeep the great moods I kept feeling surprised me. I'd worried that the enormity of leaving my life behind might catch up at some depressing truck stop in the middle of nowhere and seize me with a wave of despair, but it never happened. I drove five hundred miles a day and hardly even got bored. Maybe it was the excitement of going to Nashville. I knew it wouldn't be as easy. I didn't think I was going to just waltz in and start gigging every night, but I was thinking positive thoughts and looking forward to the music ahead. 

It was on my first day in town, however, that the feelings I'd feared hit me full tilt. I've spent a lot of time away from home on tour with various bands, but this situation felt completely different. One reason was because when you're on the road, you're working and hopefully making a little money. Also, the driving and hotel living serve as a daily reminder that what you're doing is ultimately temporary. But those comforting factors were erased now that I was coming back to the same house every night with no gigs lined up. I went from a touring musician to a guy renting a room; from a Dad/Husband to a boarder, and it felt like a long, permanent fall. 

Then there was the season. As beautiful as Nashville can be, the winter months are not the best time to be there. The grass dies, the leaves are gone, and the sun sets about two hours earlier than I was used to. One night I was staring out the window at dusk and it was cold and windy. A grey squirrel ran by looking for cover. "Grey?" I thought. "We have brown squirrels at home." As I thinking about all the changes a train whistle blew in the distance and my guts shifted two inches lower than I thought possible. I felt like I was in some seedy James Ellroy novel. I called home and told my wife the story. She said, "I thought you loved that dark stuff." I said, "Ya, just not when I'm the main character." 

The next day I forced myself to get on the phone, which ended up being the best thing I could have done. The warmth of the Nashville community corrected my down turn, because its just impossible to feel sorry for yourself when you're talking to one nice person after another. Everyone I called said "Welcome to Nashville! When can you come over?" and after my first day of cold calling I already had a schedule to keep.

The people in Nashville move a little slower and show more patience than the folks from home. People smile and say "hello". Where I'm from if a stranger smiles and says hello its usually followed by "Got a dollar?" I was walking out of a grocery store and the security guard said "Have a nice day!" Only he said it with a clarity and focus in his eyes, like he really meant it; like if I had a bad day it might cause him genuine concern. 

The first night I went out I happened into to a club where they were playing experimental Jazz. The drummer had a mallet in one hand, a brush in the other, and seemed to be dead set against playing anything with time. I'd carried the misconception that every stage in town would have incredible players performing heartbreaking songs, but that isn't the case. Fortunately there IS great stuff happening every night if you know where to go.

I'd heard about a club called the Family Wash and it turned out to be a good place to start. There's a songwriter night on Tuesdays that attracts lots of players. I was talking to a guy at the bar and mentioned I'd just moved to town. He said, "Welcome to Nashville!" and introduced me to about ten musicians in a half hour's time. I went to his website the next day and discovered he was a great singer/songwriter himself and also plays guitar as a sideman for an artist I've always liked. 

As I talked to people and met more players I kept hearing about "Billy Block's Western Beat Night". The Beat Night happens once a week at a club called 12th and Porter. Besides hosting the show, Billy Block is an established drummer, does an Americana radio program, and generally seems to serve as the mayor of Music City. I introduced myself and he couldn't have been nicer. "Welcome to Nashville!" he said. "Welcome to Nashville!" is the first thing you hear whenever you meet someone new, and like the security guard at the grocery store, they seem to mean it. 

The Western Beat Night has five or six great bands that play a half hour set each. I was so blown away by the music and talent I didn't notice at first, but then it occurred to me that every time someone new walked in the room it was all hugs and kisses, like everyone had known eachother all their lives. Eventually I started to wonder if I'd crashed a family reunion. I tried not to worry that these people had all been working together for years, and reminded myself that a room full of happy, hugging people is a good place to be.

On Sunday nights there's a show at a club called "3rd and Lindsley" that a lot of players go to. I met some people there and saw some of the most amazing playing I've ever seen. The guy I went with was pointing out the band members just before they started. "That guy plays with Keith Urban and the other dude plays with the Dixie Chicks. The keyboardist is with Delbert McClinton, and the drummer does a lot of sessions in town." Nashville is a city where a singer/songwriter can put together a pick up band, do one rehearsal, and pull off a knockout show, complete with seques, complex breakdowns, and intricate song endings. Of course, the singer's songs and voice were amazing as well and he topped it off by knocking out a guitar solo that would have forced Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck into a teary hug. 

After observing the Nashville scene for a while I was itching to work myself so I answered an "Drummer Wanted" add in the paper and played my first gig. The band was full of very nice people but they were all from California! I thought it was a coincidence but it wasn't really. There are a lot of Californians in Nashville, and a lot of transplants from other states as well. In fact, there aren't too many native Nashvillians in the music scene at all. I met a drummer who was born and raised in town. He pointed this fact out with a chuckle and the guy next to us said "You grew up here? That's so cool!" 

I had to get a read on what kind of income you could make in Nashville and after speaking to a couple of musicians that play in big national acts I was surprised to hear that the touring money isn't what you might think. Even on the top level, sidemen only make $40-50,000 annually. That's good money to play music but it won't set you up very long if the band loses momentum or switches their players after a couple years. I was told time and time again, "You don't make "rock" money here." 

The difference in Nashville though is that, because of the proximity to so many other major markets, a lot of the touring is four or five days out, then back for a couple nights at home. One of the guys I talked to has been with a huge national act for eight years and said the longest tour they'd ever done was three weeks. When you're touring out of west coast you have to go so far to reach other markets that traveling back and forth kills the profits. For that reason, any run shorter than three weeks tends to lose money. Lot's of times you'll go for a month or two (or three) depending on how much tour support or merchandise sales you get. So the trade off is, you don't make as much in Nashville, but the home time is nice and the cost of living allows you to get by on less income anyway. For road work, I'm told January and February are the months when big artists put their bands together for spring and summer tours, so I plan to send some promo packs to a few management companies and record labels. If I can get some auditions I think I have a decent shot at landing something.

As for the session scene, that's a situation you build into slowly and lose quickly. There are already lots of great players working in town and until there's a reason to make a change the producers normally keep them around. A local producer told me the budgets for recording have become much smaller and so producers use proven players they are sure can knock out a whole album in a day. If a player can't make a few session calls in a row, and a new person does a great job subbing, the sub has a good chance of getting the call for the next session. But to get the sub call you have to keep climbing the ladder, to the edge of the level above you, until you get a break. 

Another drawback to the session world is that top players seem to have a "shelf life" even if they don't sub out jobs. I talked to musicians that were in the studio every day and still felt their work could dry up at anytime. I met a realtor who said he was a session bassist for a few years until they "changed the guard". He directed me to his web site and I was shocked to see he'd played on over forty top ten hits in the 90's. If you're one of the few players on the top level you can do real well for yourself while it lasts, but the gig is just too coveted to provide work, income, and security, too. The place to begin a session career is "demo" recordings. They pay around $50-100 per song and if you can get to a point where you are working a few days a week it can support you while you're trying to get "master" (album) sessions, which pay much more. 

I've now been here long enough to see the possibilities but not long enough to know what is most likely to happen. Nashville has been a good but sometimes confusing experience that I hope turns into a great decision in time. I've learned that my "attitude" is a decision I choose to make every day. Getting lost on their crazy freeway system sucks, but at least there's no traffic. I got a parking ticket, but it was only 10 dollars. A guy waved me down while I was driving, but it turned out he was just waving. A big time drummer told me I'd need another job even if I was playing a lot, but Billy Block said "Don't worry, man. You're gonna do just fine!" What can I say? He looked like he meant it.