Nashville 1 - Ready to Reach Read Online Free PDF Page B

instantly blink it away, reminding myself that Thomas and I both will do well if we manage to navigate the waters of this town without either one of us drowning. We threw her a life raft today. That oughta be enough. I’m not about to take on swimming her to shore.
    Mike Hanson is top dog in the round tonight. He’s got a publishing deal with one of the major houses in town and just recently got his first cut with a cool new band. Thomas and I met him when we started coming to town and playing at the Listening Room. He’d already been at it for a couple of years then, and starting to get some interest. I knew the first time I heard him that he had the talent to make it, but the way things work here, affirmation doesn’t come until you get a publishing deal. The next rung up is a cut.
    Mike blows on the microphone, taps it once and makes it squawk. “Howdy, everybody. Welcome to the Bluebird Café. I’d like to thank y’all for coming out. I’m Mike Hanson. We got some fine music for you tonight.”
    The crowd claps with enough enthusiasm that it’s clear they believe him. I’m hoping we live up to it.
    Mike introduces each of us, calls me and Thomas a duo, singer-writer team, and I start to get a rush of nerves the way I always do just before we perform.
    “Y’all don’t forget your waiters and waitresses tonight,” Mike reminds the crowd. People clap and whistle. Mike strums a few chords. “I hope y’all will be hearing this on the radio real soon.” He sets right in to the song then, and the applause grows louder. It’s clear word has gotten out about his recent success.
    This is one thing I’ve come to love about Nashville. People here take pleasure in the accomplishment of others. Sure, everyone wants to make it, or they wouldn’t have come in the first place. It’s more than that though, a camaraderie of a sort I haven’t known anywhere else.
    It’s almost like running some kind of marathon together, and instead of begrudging the fact that they’ve crossed the finish line before you, you’re somewhere behind them, throwing a fist in the air and cheering them on.
    At least, the people who have been at it a while do. Don’t get me wrong. The competition is fierce. Thomas and I were no different from any other newbie to the scene. We drove into town almost a year ago, thinking we’d be on the radio in no time. We’d gotten enough validation from our fans back home on the University of Georgia scene that we’d started to accept their loyalty as all we needed to verify what would happen once Nashville discovered us.
    What we hadn’t counted on was all the other talent riding into town on the same wave of determination and hope. And how damn good they would be.
    Mike’s song is enough to make me green with envy if I let myself buy into that. The lyrics are raw with truth, but polished like a diamond that’s been buffed with a soft cloth. The music has an element of something different enough to make it sound fresh, make it stand out.
    I don’t think I’m far enough along to know exactly what it is that sets it apart from what the rest of us will play tonight. I just know there is something, and more than anything in the world, I want my stuff to be that good. A year of coming here has shown me that it’s not, yet, and in some weird and kind of awful way, I guess you could call that growth.
    When Mike repeats the last tag of his song, the crowd throws out a storm of applause. He’s shy, and makes a pretense of brushing something off the front of his guitar, then leans into the microphone again. “Thank y’all. Thank you so much.”
    When the applause falls back, the fifteen-year old sitting next to Mike starts her song, and while the lyrics don’t have the power of Mike’s, her voice is soft and sweet, the tone unique enough that it’s easy to see she’s got something special. People lean forward in their chairs, caught up on the wings of it, the emotion she lets spill through each word,