For an artist averse to the spotlight and a man known for treasuring family over the trappings of success, Dennis Linde hosted one hell of a parade and party last Friday, Jan. 5. Though he wasn’t there in body—appropriate for someone reclusive to the point of legend—he was everywhere in spirit. Weeks earlier, on Dec. 22, Linde had died of idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, a lung disease, and as family and friends knew, the typical staid funeral affair would not do. Only a memorial akin to the songwriter himself, something quirky and original like a New Orleans-style parade, would do justice in honoring Linde’s storied life. He was an anomaly in a town known for its collaborative songwriting. Linde rarely co-wrote, yet his successes were many, among them such hits as Elvis Presley’s “Burning Love” and the Dixie Chicks’ “Goodbye Earl.” Both the Nashville Songwriters Association and BMI awarded him the title of Songwriter of the Year, and in 2001 he was elected to the Nashville Songwriter Hall of Fame. Showing up to accept these many accolades, however, wasn’t always a priority, and though he recorded several albums of his own, among them 1977’s acclaimed Under the Eye, he wasn’t inclined to hit the road for a promotional tour. He was often called Nashville’s Best Kept Songwriting Secret, but any artist with half a mind knew the name Dennis Linde. He was a songwriter’s songsmith, his lyrics more like narrative poetry, his work distinguished by the telling detail, humor and, rarest of all, lyrics that don’t necessarily need melody to matter. With or without music, they hold their own. When songs with titles such as “Janie Baker’s Love Slave” or “Queen of My Double Wide Trailer” have a sense of poignancy and deep affection about them, then the word “legend” before the writer’s name isn’t too far off the mark. Linde may have given the characters in his songs Hee Haw like names—a forlorn Bubba from “Bubba Shot the Jukebox” or teenage couple Billy Bob and Charlene from “John Deere Green”—but he never resorted to trite pandering. Larry the Cable Guy and the rest of the Blue Collar Comedy Tour should take note. Such is why Linde’s memorial had to be more colorful than run of the mill. Gathering under a white tent set up in the parking lot next to EMI Music, Linde’s family and friends arrived ready to parade across 16th Avenue and down Music Circle South, the eventual destination a reception at the offices of BMI. A New Orleans-style jazz band led the way followed by Linde’s family: his wife Pam, his two daughters Lisa Marsden and Katie Brown and his son Will Linde. They in turn held aloft two large photographs of Linde, both affixed to a wooden pole and decorated in Mardi Gras fashion by framed borders of shining tinsel. No one in the stretching line of celebrants walking behind them had reason to get lost. And of course there was music. Alongside the band and together with a horn arrangement written by Bergen White, musicians including Billy Swan, Clifford Curry, Kris Kristofferson and Cindy Richardson broke midway through the procession for a performance of hymns. At the parade’s end, the entire crowd joined in together to sing the classics “O Happy Day” and “When the Saints Go Marching In.” It was a parade to mark Linde’s passing, which in turn celebrated his legacy. He may not have been much for socializing, but he sure knew how to craft an entire world within a three-minute song. He was a storyteller by way of music, and as another writer, the author Tim O’Brien, once wrote, “Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story.”
