Nashville, TN – “Bowling Ball Baby” – 12th & Porter – May 20, 1999

When I introduced Chris Soucy from the stage last night, I did so with a new moniker – “On guitar, we’ve got Christopher Daniel Soucy, Otherwise known as Bowling Ball Baby.” Let me explain. About 3 days ago, Chris received this baffling email from a mystery sender:

“Where were you at the show? Everyone missed you and kept asking about you. I got naked. We all did. Missing you. Love you Bowling Ball Baby!”

-Anonymous

No name. No identifiable characters. No recognizable email address. This anonymous letter has since preoccupied Chris’s mind driving him plum crazy on our drives as he tries to reclaim lost memories. “Who could this mad stalker be?” he’ll mumble absentmindedly on a quiet mile of road. And that is how Soucy got his new nickname “Bowling Ball Baby.”

Nashville proved a warm-hearted city for music. It caught me off guard too. Given its heavyweight reputation in the music biz, I half-expected a crowd with ears too worn and jaded to appreciate what we had to offer. But, oh, was I mistaken. Our listeners were nothing short of captivated and vibrant. Even so, when I suggested they might dance if moved by the music, a hidden voice from the back countered with, “Folks in Nashville don’t dance honey.” That said, a few brave souls got up and shook it (they must’ve been from out of town).

Now, in the morning we’re back on the road and I’m savoring a wholesome breakfast of gas station peanut M&Ms behind the wheel. We’re headed back through kudzu-lined roads toward Memphis then on to Arkansas. It’s oppressively hot inside Moby and Donie Hathaway is on the CD player singing “I’m Just a Jealous Guy.” I love Peanut M&Ms. I prolong my chocolately breakfast by relishing each and every smooth oblong pebble individually. I meditate on their individual characteristics, letting their sweet colorful outer coating dissolve before allowing myself the indulgence of their chocolate crunchy centers. There’s something enchanting about the road this morning; the heat, the music, and the chocolate. The sheer joy of the moment causes me, halfway through my breakfast, to turn down the music and blurt out to the boys how much I love and appreciate them. Four cupped hands immediately reach toward me in response. “How much?” they ask. Of course, I can’t resist them and dole out my prized breakfast candy to their greedy little hands.