Don't Walk - Run!

Living in Nashville, one has the opportunity to attend many music-related events. This is the week of Tin Pan South, a songwriter's festival that occurs annually here in the Music City. This is the 15th year this event has taken place.

At the risk of being labelled a hater, let the 'chick take a moment to admit that she just doesn't get it. The 'chick likes music. She likes live music. She has attended many, many concerts. But she doesn't get why people like to go and hear the people that wrote the songs sing them. They have musical ability and can play guitar and have good voices. But usually, they are the ones that never quite made it to the spotlight. They are the ones who write the songs that make the whole world sing but they're not the ones singing them.

On Tuesday night, the 'chick attended one of the sessions with a group of friends. It was in a bar - always a good thing for these events. There were familiar faces and the 'chick always likes being recognized. So far, so good.

Then the singing started.

There were three women and one man up on the stage. Each of them took turns showcasing different songs they had written and even recorded on the type of CDs that you have to buy at the event because you can't find them anywhere else. The man was excellent. One of his songs was funny, several were poignant - overall, just fine.

One of the women only sang songs about relationships gone wrong. She did finally figure out that the only common demoninator in all her failed relationships was her, but at the cost of the 'chick's sanity.

The other pair of women were a songwriting "group" and their songs all seemed to involve children and angels and puppies and kittens. The contrast between all the sweetness and light and the "he done me wrong" songs from the other female made the 'chick's head spin.

She turned her attention to the crowd instead. Seated at a table close by, there was a young blonde woman in jeans. Seated directly behind her was an older gentleman who, at first glance, appeared to be her father. It was her date.

Blonde woman was exhibiting the signs well-known to women everywhere of "leave me the hell alone - if you're hanging on me, I can't pick up that hot cowboy at the bar." Daddy wasn't getting the hint and actually followed Blondie to the bathroom.

This amused the 'chick to no end and she made sure to point it out for the viewing pleasure of everyone in the group.

As the evening drew to a close and the "done me wrong" singer finished her set, she chose the perfect song: You just can't walk away from a love like ours.

Judging from how fast Blondie was moving, apparently you can't walk away, but you sure as hell can run.