Thank you to Randy Fox for the tribute you wrote to Charlie Louvin ("Tragic Songs of Life," Feb. 10)! I interviewed him several years ago for a magazine piece, and a couple of years ago I got to sing the high harmony with him on "When I Stop Dreaming" when he came to Memphis in 2009. I'm still reliving that night. I still recall how much of a fine musician he was, entertaining a largely younger crowd with the old songs. At 81, he showed up early and stayed late. He worked until 1 a.m. and was still signing autographs after the show. What a gracious man. We've lost a truly special one. Thank you again for the article. Best regards.
Cecil H. Yancy Jr.
Who you callin' punk?
So according to Randy Fox in "Tragic Songs of Life" (Feb. 10), the punk/alternative scene "seemed to be wheezing its last" in 1991. I guess I was hallucinating during the hundreds of local shows I've seen since then, and must have been dreaming of Nirvana, Sonic Youth, Lollapalooza and all the other amazing music made from 1991 until now. But then again, since I have never seen Randy Fox at a local show, much less a bigger one, he might indeed have missed all that and more. Calling yourself "hipbilly" does not make you hip. I suggest that Mr. Fox should leave his den and go check out some new music. He might just find that the scene he thinks died in 1991 is still alive and breathing very well, thank you.
Keep WRVU on the airwaves
I drive my two sons, 11 and 15, to and from school all the time. They like WRVU because it's different from any other radio station in town. On any given day, we might hear bluegrass, techno or Gregorian chant. It's fantastic. We talk about all this music as we drive around town — I explain what Gregorian chant is, for example, and they talk me through dubstep — and these conversations would not happen if WRVU existed only on the Internet.
I grew up here listening to WRVU myself, so it's one of those tender motherhood things to see my two boys connecting with the station the way I did. My kids are as upset as I am about the possible sale of the station's license.
WRVU is a one-of-a-kind treasure, floating in the air of Nashville, free and available to anybody who chances upon it. It pains me that Vanderbilt is willing to cash out this local institution. My suggestion: Just leave it as is. It's no big deal in the grand scheme of what Vanderbilt is up to. But it's a huge deal to those who benefit from it. It's not just college students listening to WRVU — I promise.
I tend to shy away from editor's notes: The paper's content should do the talking, for good or ill. But a few developments at the Scene deserve special mention. One — familiar already to sharp-eyed readers of our masthead — is that Stephen George (who's already made The City Paper a must-read in his tenure as editor) will serve also as the Scene's news editor and a contributing writer. Stephen has all the qualities an alt-weekly editor could want: He's a terrific and dogged reporter, he played in a punk band, and he doesn't sleep. If you read a news story in these pages you liked in recent weeks, thank him, not me.
Second is that in coming weeks, our fine music editor Steve Haruch will be moving up into the role of culture editor. Steve is one of our best writers, and he'll be contributing more pieces both in print and online. We can't wait to begin exploiting him. Stepping up as music editor will be D. Patrick Rodgers, our calendar editor, he of the John Holmes mustache and awesome record collection. He's done a yeoman job over the past couple of years. As I type, he's off to judge a battle of cover bands, which is not indicative of any coming shift in coverage. We hope.
On a bittersweet note, this issue marks the official farewell of Tracy Moore, the Scene's culture editor, admirably hard-headed sounding board and perpetual wellspring of ideas. Three years ago, Tracy came to the Scene's editors with the concept for the annual People Issue: It was an immediate success, thanks in large part to her oversight and her hawk's eye for flickers in the zeitgeist. She's moving to Los Angeles with her husband Lance and baby Edie, and while we're happy for them, we'll miss her every time we need to spitball headlines or brainstorm covers. Now we know why the sun sets in the West.
That's all. These are exciting times to live in Nashville, people. Turn the page, and we'll show you why. Jim Ridley
In last week's piece on the late Dennis Taylor ("Giant Steps," Feb. 24), his place of death — Greenville, Texas — was misidentified in the print edition. Also, as Nashville's many bivalve mavens were quick to point out, the photo accompanying last week's dining column ("The Face of Provenance," Feb. 24) was of mussels, not oysters. In both cases, the writers were not to blame. The Scene regrets the errors.
Good for you for being you.
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