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I walk the line NASHVILLE, TN: The strains of Rhinestone Cowboy twanged around Tootsies bar. An aging covers band were working through their repertoire of country classics. Tourists in plaid shirts and Stetsons murmured appreciatively. I stared into my drink. I've enjoyed a bit of steel guitar as much as the next man ever since one night when I was left alone in the house with a bottle of single malt and a Johnny Cash CD. But this wasn't exactly the Man In Black at San Quentin. If the music of Memphis had given me an insight into how black culture was integrated into the American mainstream, I was hoping Nashville might tell me something similar about the recent history of southern whites. This was, after all, a sound with its roots in the folk music of poor Scots-Irish settlers. Country was defined by mavericks and outlaws... [read full story]
