Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 12

1085 Walking in Memphis

Walking in Memphis

We went into Memphis without really knowing what to expect. Patty had told us to meet her at a landmark that everyone would know: the Peabody hotel. As we drove around looking for it I realized things looked vaguely familiar. I had been here before, on that Nomad tour, but I had been sick as a dog at the time.

That had been the beginning of the stomach flu that ripped through the entire touring company but which had us all thinking we had to cut down on our drinking. Guess what? Although overindulgence on booze wasn't why everyone was puking so much, that didn't mean that everyone didn't need to cut down on their drinking.

I wondered if being off the road was helping with that or making it worse for the guys.

We eventually found the place and I went around the block to stick the car in a parking garage. "I think the place we played was a couple of blocks from here," I told Ziggy, as we walked out onto the sidewalk. "I only really saw things from inside buses and cars so my sense of direction is crap."

"Looks like America," he said, looking around at a downtown area dominated by brick buildings from the turn of the century (the 19th century). "What time are we meeting her? Let's walk around a little if we have time."

We had maybe 20 minutes to spare, which wasn't that much, but I was happy to walk. I definitely felt under-exercised and over-anxious. It was the middle of the afternoon. I think we went by some blues clubs and bars but they were empty and washing down their sidewalks. I wasn't really paying much attention to our surroundings. I was paying attention to Ziggy.

"What did she say again on the phone?" He asked.

"That it was time BNC got back to emphasizing music."

"Do you think she meant that the music division should worry about music and the film division should worry about film?" His eyes were searching ahead of us, taking in the people and places that I was ignoring. "Or did she meant what the BNC music division was previously doing wasn't music?"

"No idea." It was too hot to keep my denim jacket on, so I slung it over my shoulder.

Ziggy was ever-so-slightly glammed up, same eyeliner he'd been wearing to the hospital but with many more rings and a few necklaces on, a skin-tight black T-shirt and jeans under an oversized western-cut shirt with almost-subtle rhinestone buttons. He wore the shirt with the sleeves rolled up, unbuttoned, like it was more of a jacket than a shirt. He wouldn't have looked out of place adding a cowboy hat with silver conches on it. "I thought Barrett said that the musical direction I should go would be determined by what movie property they attached me to next."

"I guess bring that up? But maybe that's what she means. The music division can't wait around for Hollywood?"

"I suppose we'll see soon enough." He did a little twirl on a street corner. "This is fun."

"Talking about corporate motivations is not my idea of fun,"I felt compelled to say. "But being out of the hospital is nice,"

"I meant walking around without a bodyguard, but yeah, that, too." He steered me toward the entrance of the hotel—I guess he had been keeping an eye on where we wandered. Before we went in, though, he jacked up the sleeves of my T-shirt to show off my tattoo and fluffed my hair.

"Bend down and touch your toes," he said, when it wasn't fluffy enough. "Shake out your head. Now, flip it back when you stand up. That's better."

I stood up, my hair now in its full glory, I suppose. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in some glass. "Where'd you learn that? You've never had hair this long."