About five years ago, I had a vision as clear as the Cumberland River and as convincing as Janet Reno’s description of events at the Branch Dividian compound.  I was walking down a busily active street when I saw the Bat Building, violently engulfed in flame, illuminating the entire skyline of Nashville.  As I was about to dial 911 on a nearby pay phone, I noticed that no one around me seemed to care about the scorching of our most recognizable architectural faux pas.  That’s when I heard the voice.

“The outcry against Nashville is so great and their sin so grievous that I have come to see if the truth is as bad as the reports that have reached me.”

No one seemed to hear it besides me.  I decided to play along with this prank or whatever hallucinogen I had accidentally ingested.  (ACCIDENTLY, Mom...)

“Who are you?” I asked.

“The Almighty,” was His reply.

“Mr. Brooks?  Is that you?  Or...Mr. Gaines?” I fumbled.

“No, I am the Alpha an the Omega, the Lord of heaven and earth.”

I cowered in embarrassment and fear as He told me of His anger with my hometown, a place in whose voices of originality, independence, honesty, and strength He had once found such delight.  He then told me of His plan to destroy the city due to His disappointment. He said, “Nashville is beyond repair.  Its artists are mediocre.  Its cable station carries Roller Jam.  Its so-called Christian singers are having affairs with fat, golf-playing Belmont alumni.  I will turn its theme park into a shopping mall.  I will reactivate the state’s death penalty.  I will break up Todd Snider and the Nervous Wrecks.  I will bring in NFL football, Starbucks, Fox News at 9, and Walgreens...lots and lots of Walgreens! ‘Twill be a slow destruction!”

“Wait, Lord,” I pleaded, “Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked?  What if there are fifty exceptional entertainers, artists, and non-conformists in the metro area?  Will you really sweep it away and not spare the place for the sake of fifty hip spokespersons?  Far be it from you to do such a thing--to destroy the deserving Tim McGraw and that guy who sings “How Do You Like me Now” along with the saints like Steve Earle!  Will not the Judge of all coolness do right?”

The Lord answered, “Well, technically, Steve Earle doesn’t count.  He lives about 40 miles outside of town.  But you do have a point.  If I find fifty good, and I mean GOOD, performers in Nashville, I will spare the whole place for their sake.”

I spoke up again, "Now that I have been so bold as to speak to the Lord, though I am nothing but a mediocre guitar player and an inconsistent vocalist, what if the number of true roof-raisers is five less than fifty?  Will you destroy the city because of five people?"

"If I find only forty-five," he spake, "I shall spare the city."

To make a long story short, we worked our way down to one.  I convinced God that if only one original, stimulating, head-turning, boredom-quelling performing artist made his or her residence in Nashville, Tennessee, the entire city should be spared, if not blatantly blessed.

And that was it.  The Bat Building returned to its normal, unflaming status, and I set about the task of discovering at least one stellar, deity-pleasing performer in a city of over a million people.  After searching the clubs, papers, sidewalks, colleges, and local bins at record stores, I came to the conclusion that I would never find the him or her with "it."  Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of talented people in town, but no one quite brilliant enough to balance out the massive population of spineless, shape-shifting, line-dancing, sleep-inducing, achy, breaky, emotion-faking, do-anything-for-a-buck goobers that have put us on Jehovah's black list.

At first, I was hopeless.  I thought about moving to Los Angeles, thinking I'd be safe wherever Dan Bern lives.  Then I thought, "No, I can't just abandon my hometown like that.  If God wants a folk hero to save this town, I'm just going to have to become that hero myself!"

On that very day, I changed my name to Southpaw Jones, broke the 6th string on my guitar, swore off long term relationships, and never looked back.  I decided to write killer songs, put on unforgettable shows, produce engaging recordings, and renew God's faith in Music City, USA.

Well, I still haven't heard back from God, and frankly, I have noticed quite a few new Walgreens lately.  But I think I've become pretty good at what I do...perhaps even good enough to protect Nashville from His impending wrath.  Who knows?

If you ask me, I think maybe He just hasn't been exposed to ol' Southpaw yet.  I mean, I get no press, they only let me play the Bluebird Cafe once a year, and I can most accurately describe my CD sales by using the word "dozens."  I think maybe He just hasn't heard of me or my music, and until He does, N-town will continue to slide ever so closer to the Billy Ray Cyrus level of Hell.

That's why I've developed this web site, to draw attention to myself and my efforts to save Nashville through good, old-fashioned, unclassifiable music.  I hope you enjoy it.

And if You're reading, Sir, I especially hope You enjoy it.

Humbly,
Southpaw Jones