Nashville on the Fly

A weekend getaway to Music City offers pleasant surprises.

by

My wife, Tatine, and I roll into the spacious and inviting lobby of Loews Vanderbilt around 6 p.m. on April Fool’s Day, a Friday that will kick off our weekend in Tennessee’s capital city. As we approach the reception desk, the sounds of a female voice singing a twangy version of “Brown Eyed Girl” spill from an adjoining room.

I’m greeted by a friendly young woman who looks at my ID and says, “Welcome to Loews Vanderbilt, Mr. VanWyngarden.”

“Thank you,” I reply. Then, nodding in the direction of the music and then my wife, I say, “Hey, did you know she wrote this song?” thinking, it’s April Fool’s, what the heck.

The receptionist gives me an inscrutable smile, unlike Tatine, who offers a wifely eye-roll and her signature, “Are you kidding me?” look. But all is well with the reservation and the nice young woman smiles again and says we’re all set. So, off to our room we go. I take it as a good sign that Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone” is the elevator music.

Our room is splendid — spacious, smartly appointed with Nashville- and music-themed artwork, and offers a great view of the setting sun and Vanderbilt University’s Amsterdam-looking red-brick campus buildings across West End Avenue. I like this place.

Figuring it was too late to get a reservation elsewhere around town, we decide to eat at Mason’s Restaurant in the hotel, which is next to the lobby, where the music was coming from earlier. The singer is still there as we are seated, now crooning a countryfied version of “Take Another Little Piece of My Heart,” which is better than you’d think it would be. In fact, by the time I’ve finished my “Late Bloomer” cocktail (a delightful gin, bitters, Prosecco concoction) a few songs later, the singer — whose name, I learn, is Hali Hicks — has definitely started to grow on me. 

Tatine and I sample two appetizers — the tuna tartare tacos, and the kale-and-artichoke dip with flatbread — and finish with a greenhouse salad and the Springer Mountain chicken entrée. It’s all quite delish. And so is the people-watching.

Near the bar, a wedding reception has spilled over, with lots of tuxedos, shiny cocktail dresses, and other evening finery. And, at a nearby table, we spy our first Nashville bachelorette party of the weekend: five young women identically dressed in short denim overalls, gingham shirts, straw hats, and cowboy boots. They are having a large, happy time. I hope they tip well, and find the party wagon of their dreams. 

Saturday

Cheekwood Estate and Gardens is a 55-acre botanical garden and art museum located on the historic Cheek estate in the Belle Meade neighborhood, not far from our hotel. Originally built in 1929 as the home of Leslie and Mabel Cheek, it was converted into an art museum and botanical garden in 1960, and now welcomes around 300,000 visitors a year. I had read that the spring bulbs were in full bloom this week, so we’d decided to take advantage of our lucky timing and go.

It turns out to be the tenth anniversary of “Cheekwood in Bloom,” an annual flower show that this year features 100,000 tulips, 100,000 daffodils, and thousands more violas and hyacinths. The flowers are planted on a gentle slope with walking paths that lead down to a valley with small ponds. The effect is spectacular, with waves of shimmering color almost as far as the eye can see, the blooms’ intensity enhanced by the morning’s overcast sky.

Cheekwood offers a lot to see — far too much for one morning’s visit. As we take pictures and slowly ooh-and-ahh our way down to the ponds, we decide to save the sculpture trail, Japanese garden, and culinary garden for another visit, and head toward the mansion/gallery, which is set atop a nearby hill.

The home is a massive stone edifice surrounded by pools and fountains and dense plantings of flowers, topiary, and trees. The house itself has several wings and at least three levels. As we enter, we ascend a flight of stairs to the second floor, where several rooms along a central corridor are appointed in period furnishings with family portraits and mementos.

Other rooms are like miniature galleries and hold eclectic collections of painting and sculptures, old and new. One wall features a striking mannerist portrait of Andy Warhol, while across the room are 1940s nature prints, and down the hall, a collection of modernist glass-ball sculptures and other pop art pieces. 

The total effect is a bit kaleidoscopic; there are no dull rooms. The downstairs chambers and lower level “game room” are also filled with interesting art and family artifacts. If I had to make a Memphis comparison, I’d say Cheekwood Estates is like The Dixon Gallery and Gardens on steroids.

By the time we take the long walk back to our car, it’s early afternoon and Tatine wants to hit some vintage shops to continue her life-long pursuit of the perfect pair of jeans. Siri helpfully suggests a few and off we go, first to the East End neighborhood on the far side of downtown.

East End is an area that’s always reminded me of Midtown Memphis, with its Craftsman bungalows and eclectic shops and restaurants, but a housing boom is afoot and things are changing. Tall, skinny new houses and modernist glass-and-slab apartment buildings are popping up all over. Tatine checks the Zillow listings on her phone and shows me a small, ordinary-looking two-bedroom house selling for $499,000. Yikes.

After a visit to Hip Zipper Vintage, a quick loop around the interstate back to the west side of downtown brings us to a couple of stores south of Vanderbilt. While Tatine browses Starland Vintage, I opt for Love Peace & Pho, a little Vietnamese place just down the block that I’ve always liked. The rich bowl of noodles and fresh herbs is the perfect pick-me-up after a long morning of walking. Go, if you’re in the neighborhood.

At slow times during the day (aka waiting for Tatine to try on stuff), I keep trying to book a reservation for dinner. I have a list of recommended places from friends, and I would gladly return to a couple restaurants we’ve visited before, but all are either booked or only have very late or very early reservations available. Dang it, Nashville. Give a visitor a break. Who wants to eat at 5:30 p.m? Or 9:30 p.m?

Finally, I decide to just go with the flow and make a 6:30 p.m. reservation at a place called Hathorne. It’s a little earlier than we’d prefer for dinner, but the menu looks interesting and it’s 10 minutes from our hotel.

This is a good call, though the place is a bit off the beaten path and the location — between an old church and a McDonald’s — is incongruous, to say the least. The interior of Hathorne is simple, spacious, and well-lit. The menu by chef Chris Gass is precocious, with small plates such as charred sourdough (with ricotta), crudo (with cobia, blood orange, mandarin, and white soy), crispy goat cheese (with pickled fennel and hibiscus honey), and smoked scallop agnolotti (with beer brodo, beurre noisette, and seaweed). You get the idea. This isn’t Applebee’s, and there are lots of vegetarian options.

After surveying the menu at length, we decide to go all in on the small plates and order six of them, because we are wild and crazy kids. And, as we always tell ourselves, it’s a good way to “save room for dessert.” Ha ha. 

Our server is professional, friendly, and knowledgeable about the menu, including the nice glass of Jermann pinot grigio he suggests to accompany my meal. Hathorne also has an extensive cocktail and mocktail menu. We taste and sample and pass the plates and thoroughly enjoy our adventurous repast, finishing dinner — and our Saturday — with brioche doughnuts and vegan espresso cake. 

Sunday 

We have a 10 a.m. reservation at the National Museum of African-American Music. I should add that I also have a reservation about the museum itself, mainly because it doesn’t seem like the kind of venue that ought to be in Nashville, which, compared to our hometown to the west, isn’t exactly known as a wellspring of African-American culture. My Memphis mojo was feeling a little skeptical.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who’s had these thoughts. Near the top of the museum’s “Mission and Vision” section of its website, in large bold letters, is the question: “Why Nashville?”

Here’s their answer: “Historically, Tennessee was the center of the Great Migration, when approximately 6 million African Americans left the South — with their musical traditions in tow — to relocate to large cities and other areas of the Northeast, Midwest, and Western states. … We’re preserving the history of America’s soundtrack in a place where music is truly celebrated on a daily basis.As the only museum in the nation with a dedicated focus on the impact of African-American music, NMAAM strengthens and diversifies the ‘Music City’ brand with compelling connections to both local and national musical distinctions. The Fisk Jubilee Singers, Jimi Hendrix, Ray Charles, and Little Richard are just a few of the pioneering artists who were a part of the Nashville music scene in the early stages of their career.”

Okay, I think, but New Orleans, Detroit, and Memphis would probably like to have a word with y’all.

The journey from African percussion to hip-hop and all points in between is an amazing and complex one, and the National Museum of African American Music does a credible and entertaining job of documenting it — and making it accessible to all.

The NMAAM is located in the very heart of downtown Nashville, just off Broadway on what used to be Fifth Avenue, and what is now named Congressman John L. Lewis Way. The backside of the storied Ryman Auditorium is just across the street, and Kid Rock’s Big Ass Honky Tonk is way too close for comfort. 

We find a parking garage nearby and walk toward the museum. Downtown Nashville is bumping on this sunny Sunday morning — shoppers, gawkers, and tourists of all stripes are wandering the sidewalks, hitting the shops and restaurants, snapping selfies. This is not like a downtown Sunday morning in the city where we live, and we are impressed. It was the first of several surprises ahead of us.

The second being that the NMAAM is pretty darn great, and you should go the next time you’re in Nashville. It’s located in the lower level of a nice glass-fronted building and it is definitely a legitimate attraction. As we descend the steps to the reception area, we are struck by how bustling it is. Three or four dozen people are standing in line or waiting for tours.

We confirm our reservation and pick up interactive wristbands. A helpful associate shows us how to use them to download songs to our phones as we go through the museum. This sounds cool, and we’re eager to get started, but first there’s a short film. It is really well done, tracing African-American music from the drum-roots rhythms of Africa through field hollers, spirituals, blues, ragtime, jazz, bebop, rhythm and blues, rock-and-roll, and hip-hop. The full spectrum of African Americans’ contribution to our musical culture is laid out beautifully and inspiringly in 12 minutes or so, and prepares visitors for what’s to come.

The museum flows in a roughly chronological order from room to room, with lots of necessary overlap in genres and artists. In the center of each room are tables with multiple sets of headphones. Each table has pictures of artists from the era of the room. When you put on headphones and click the picture of an artist, one of their signature songs begins to play. You’re then linked to other artists they are connected to — whether as an influence, a peer, or someone who later took inspiration from them.

I click on Etta James and see that her influences included Ma Rainey and Billie Holiday, among others, and that she in turn influenced Tina Turner, Aretha Franklin, Beyoncé, and even Elvis. And if you click on any of those artists, you can download their songs. It’s easy to get lost in here.

The NMAAM offers, as one might expect, the usual music-museum artifacts: costumes, posters, guitars, album covers, and hundreds of wonderful photos. You might not expect a room where you are invited to dance along to concert footage, or a booth where you can make your own beats and test your flow. There’s a giant screen where I watched Prince play “Purple Rain” in concert and almost cried because he was just so damn good.

The journey from African percussion to hip-hop and all points in between is an amazing and complex one, and the National Museum of African American Music does a credible and entertaining job of documenting it — and making it accessible to all.

As we aim the trusty Subaru back toward Memphis and glide onto i-40, Tatine plugs her phone into the sound system and we are carried home by the songs of Howlin’ Wolf, T-Bone Walker, Etta James, Mavis Staples, Salt-N-Pepa, Prince, Jon Batiste, and many others. It’s a wonderful souvenir of a great weekend in “Music City.” Well played, Nashville.