Music Row Is Dying

How can you write about Nashville without writing in cliché? Everything in the town is shaped like a guitar. Or a guitar pick. Or a music note. Blake Shelton’s booming voice blasts over the airport PA system when you land, promising The Real Country Music Experience. Guaranteeing it in a false bonhomie that sounds vaguely threatening. Trudging past bedazzled cowboy boots marked up to highway robbery prices, Music City Welcomes You over and over until you’re curbside. I’d had three bourbons on the plane. I didn’t want music, I wanted a bed. Some peace and fucking quiet.