Third Man Records

USA! USA! US.. Hey, Whatcha Got In That Bottle?

The coolest women EVER. I lived in the wrong damned era but I’m currently taking applications from super hot women who also love the booze so we can restore this lost sport to its rightful place.  For America!

We were in Nashville a couple weekends ago (Jack White and Third Man Records follow-up post coming up soon!).  We visited the Cuntry (see what I did there?) Music Hall of Fame.  We had some time to kill after that, so we walked around downtown Nashville.

Downtown Nashville is busy on the weekends.  There are lots of bars, record stores, bars, random ice cream shop from the Andy Griffith era and… bars.  Did I say bars?  They have lots of bars.  It was daytime, however, so we didn’t feel weird about dragging our kids down there.  We took a horse drawn carriage ride and took in the sights and sounds of downtown on a Saturday.

One of those sounds came from atop one of the two story bars.  I couldn’t help but think that the weight of all the humanity clustered together on the upper level would surely result in an awful catastrophe.  But I digress.  As usual.

I don’t follow soccer.  I hate soccer.  But that day, the chorus that rang from the second level of that probably-should-be-condemned bar was “USA! USA!  USA!”  And I thought how awesome it was that pretty much everyone you know, no matter where they’re from in the United States, could cheer for one team.

I’m an Alabama Crimson Tide football fanatic.  We moved here six years ago and I resisted all the hype for a while.  But it pulls you in, even when you think it won’t.  I vowed not to choose between Alabama and Auburn, even after being told multiple times by different people around here that I would have to.

I did eventually choose.  Some people ask why or how I chose Alabama over Auburn.  All I can say is that, after a while of watching the local news, listening to local sports radio, reading AL.com, etc., the choice just becomes clear to you.  I mean it.  It’s like Harry Potter and the Sorting Hat.  Your heart knows where to go.  If you make fun of me for that line, I will come to your house and kick you in the taint.

I have blocked family on Facebook because they acted like asses during football season and decided to post anti-Alabama shit on my wall, just because.  We weren’t even playing their team’s sorry asses.  They just hate Alabama.

You can’t escape football here.   It’s a living, breathing thing in Alabama.  Even during the off-season, news about football breaks every single day, multiple times a day.  I would not be surprised at all if one day a headline popped up on my Bleacher Report app exclaiming “Nick Saban Did NOT Eat His Traditional Little Debbie Snack Cake For Breakfast!”

You laugh, but I’m serious.  That could be an actual, real Alabama headline.

Chaos would reign.  Grown men and women would not come out of the fetal position all day, myself included.  Babies would cry inconsolably until Nick just did the right thing and ate his traditional Little Debbie snack cake breakfast.  Raging debates would ensue over what the hell this news meant.  How will his decision not to eat the Little Debbie snack cake impact the starting QB contest?  Why didn’t Nick just eat the damned Little Debbie snack cake?  He does it every single morning.  Every.single.fucking.morning.  College Gameday would set up camp in Tuscaloosa.  Kirk Herbstreit would predict WHEN he thought Nick would once again eat a Little Debbie snack cake.  Lee Corso would don a Little Debbie snack cake costume.  The local networks would interrupt regular broadcasting to ponder what this meant for our football season.  The sky would rain blood, frogs would fall from the sky.  Churches would remain open 24/7 so all could pray for Nick Saban, who has obviously given up on life and (way more importantly) football, because he didn’t eat the fucking Little Debbie snack cake.

All because, maybe, just maybe, Nick simply wants to cut back on his sugar intake.

I say all this to illustrate the passion that sports can bring out in people.  Irrational, totally crazed passion that makes one block family on Facebook.  Passion that inspires knowing your team’s stats so you can battle the haters that come from EVERYWHERE when your team starts to play in the fall, in my case.

It feels really good that everyone in my Facebook and Twitter feeds are posting “USA!  USA!  USA!” today.  I’m glad I don’t have obnoxious Germany fans, cluttering up my wall with USA hate and stupid memes that aren’t even funny or snarky, dissing my team.

As I write this, Germany currently leads the USA by a goal.  If pure excitement and unity count for anything, though, I think we got this.

USA!  USA!  USA!

Also, you might want to check out my friend Kari’s blog post from earlier today (which inspired my ass to finally write this post)  here.  Her conversations with her brother are the bee’s knees.  They make my brain hurt from all the intelligent words they string together.  At one time.  I’m in awe.  And I need an Excedrin.

The Breach

Warning:  I use all caps way too much in this post.  And also a lot of incomplete sentences.  It was necessary.  

I am a huge Jack White fan.  In any form.  Put Jack White in it, I’m a fan.  The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, The Dead Weather, Jack White solo.  Hell, put Jack White in Nickelback and I am there – front row, lighter in the air, prophylactic antibiotics at the ready.

If you’ve never heard of Jack White, I could introduce you to him lots of different ways but I’ll start with this clip from the documentary “It Might Get Loud”.

Jack White (from here on, I’ll just call him “Jack”) founded a record label he called Third Man Records in Detroit in 2001.  He produces and puts his own and other’s songs on vinyl.  You know, records.  That you have to play with a needle.  He opened the physical manifestation of Third Man Records (from here on, known as “TMR”) in Nashville in 2009.  It is the “Willy Wonka” of all record stores.  Jack is the most talented song writer, singer, and guitar player of our time, in my very humble opinion.  He also plays the piano and drums.  He is listed as #70 on Rolling Stone’s 100 Greatest Guitarists.

My husband is in Nashville tonight.  I drove him to the airport this morning.  The whole way there, I made him listen to Jack White in all of Jack’s various awesome musical forms.  I told my husband that he had to take me to Nashville this summer to visit Third Man Records.  He agreed way too easily and I should have known something was up.

My husband (from here on, we’ll just call him “E”) isn’t a big Jack fan but I made him watch this video last year.   TMR has the only working vinyl recording booth open to the public in the whole wide world.  The guy making the record is Jack’s former Raconteur’s bandmate Brendan Benson. Watch for Jack at the 3:12 mark.

Pretty cool, right?

So, I’m leaving the movie theater tonight with my kids.  I took them to see Captain America again. Don’t judge me, people! It was for the kids.  I’m an awesome Mom.  It has absolutely nothing to do with Bad Buckey.  I swear.  Anyway, this picture is randomly on my phone like something right out of the horror movie “Saw”.  The caption read “Where am I”?  I started frantically looking in every direction like a paranoid hummingbird on crack.

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That was followed by another picture.  I just knew the caption would read “Do you want to play a game”?  I almost shit my pants until I enlarged it and saw what was pictured and then I shit my pants anyway.

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E was there.  He was in my would-be musical inner sanctum.  He traipsed through my musical mecca.  He went to my modern day Graceland and breathed the very same air Jack has before I did. He not only picked up my Krispy Kreme doughnut in musical form but he licked it on all sides, put it on his dick and then documented the whole thing in pictures.

I hear you out there, you traitorous little bastards.  “C’mon, Steph, don’t you think you’re kind of exaggerating”?  Well, no, Steve (random name), I don’t.  You see, he arrived there at 6:07 p.m.  The store closes at 6:00 p.m.

I always tell E that he has “a way” with people.  I can call and talk to a receptionist/teacher/store, whatever, and they will give me the business and by “business”, I mean they won’t give me shit.  E can call 30 seconds afterwards, speak to the exact same person as I did, have the exact same request as I did and get results.  Almost every time.

E got into TMR tonight, after hours.  A chick who works there told him they were closed THROUGH THE LOCKED DOOR.  He casually said “Oh, golly gee, I was just going to take a few pictures, Ma’am” and he was inside like the starting quarterback on prom night.  He chatted it up with the lovely TMR chick.  They talked all about the latest single Jack just dropped, which E only knew about because I TOLD HIM THIS MORNING!  E knew before I did that Weezer was there at TMR just days ago, re-recording “Susanne” in the Record Booth!  How does E know that?  His new best friend at TMR told him tonight!

Locked inside, again, after hours, with TMR chick and E was a band.  An entire band.  They just stopped by and were chatting with the TMR help.  I excitedly asked E which band it was.  He didn’t know because he DIDN’T ASK!  I know, fellow music freaks!  I KNOW!  I am having a stroke right now. I mean it, I smell toast.  I need medical aid.  This is the blog equivalent of Fred Sanford having The Big One.  Elizabeth, I’m coming home!

To E’s credit, he did buy me a tee shirt and he readily told the TMR chick that I was the Jack Super Fan who brought him to their door.  Also, Jack wasn’t there tonight as he just started his new tour so that also lessens the pain.  However, this breach will not be forgotten.  You can’t just remove a musical Krispy Kreme doughnut from your dick, unlick it, put it back in the box and act like nothing ever happened.  I’m not one to hold a grudge or anything but if any of y’all are driving by the Birmingham airport tomorrow night, there might be a doughnut licker who needs a wet wipe and a ride home.

All joking aside, check Jack White, in any form, out.  Here’s a few of my favorites.

“Will There Be Enough Water?” by The Dead Weather may not be his most popular song but I think this video illustrates his talent really well.  It’s also on one of my “Sleep” playlists because the actual recording of it is very comforting to me.  It has the sound of crickets in the background and it’s a lot quieter.  I know, sounds crazy, but it’s put me to sleep literally hundreds of nights.

Here’s his barn burner cover of the old Little Willie John song “I’m Shakin'”:

And, what the hell?  A little something for everyone.  Here’s “Freedom at 21”:

And here’s a few more pics E snapped tonight.  Again, locked inside TMR.  After hours.  With some mystery band.  I’m not bitter or anything.