On The Road. Day Five. Big River.

 

Sunday morning. Nothing opening at breakfast time, lots of things not opening all day as it turned out, so we went for a walk. A long walk. A long walk to another state. Down to the Mississippi, along the Mississippi, to the 'Big River Crossing'. A bridge over the river. A one mile long bridge from Memphis in Nashville to West Memphis in Arkansas. 

Jumped over the state line, mid-river. Got to the other side, put our feet on the soil of Arkansas, turned round, walked a mile back. Genuinely brilliant and worth every second. 

Found ourselves in an Exxon station, in the middle of very little, waiting for an Uber. An Uber to take us out to McLemore Avenue and the Stax Museum. 

Which was, and I hate to say this because it's Stax and everything that came out on Stax is brilliant, massively disappointing.

It's on the site of Stax, in the way that the Cavern is on the site (almost) of the Cavern. It looks like Stax. In the way the Cavern looks like the Cavern. But it's not Stax. There's a replica of the studio room but it doesn't feel like the studio room.

It's covering the whole history of soul - or at least attempting to - not just Stax. But it doesn't tell you what was recorded there for who, doesn't give you the feel of what Stax was; I know why Isaac Hayes is a genius but the museum doesn't tell me why. 

It's got the Sax that was rescued, intact, in glorious condition, from the wreckage of the plane that Otis died in. That's a bit mind blowing. And Steve Cropper's guitar. And the 15 minute intro film before you go in is majestic. But the museum's missing something. It's taken some of the most vibrant music ever made and created something a bit underwhelming. 

Maybe it's just post-Graceland, post-Sun, but it just didn't blow me away and I wanted to be blown away.

I didn't buy a T-shirt. On principle. Which is basically bloody stupid. Bought a best of Stax LP. But I wanted to buy McLemore Avenue by Booker T & The MGs on McLemore Avenue. They didn't have it.

(It's a recurring motif; The Ryman talked about EmmyLou Harris's Live At The Ryman album but didn't have it to buy, the Johnny Cash museum didn't have any of the American series to buy. I bought stuff everywhere that was linked to the places we went, and I love everything I bought, but there were other things they could have easily sold me. The retailer in me sticking his head up again. Sun got it spot on though.)

Here's a bit of Booker T. Because the music is everything:

The Civil Rights Museum though. 

Devastating.

From the first room, which covered the unbelievably appalling murder of Emmett Till - one of those stories you think you know a bit about but actually know barely anything of, and certainly haven't seen the photos taken after his death that his mother insisted be taken so the whole world could see what they had done to her boy. And were only published in the black media of the time so the people that should have been made to see them never had them put in front of them.

It's impossible not to feel furious at how long it took, how much it took, for Black America to gain its voice; to be sickened and disgusted by white men's treatment of Africans. To be appalled at people who can pass laws that reduce a person to property and at people who, when those laws are finally changed refused to recognise that change. 

Impossible to be there and not feel guilt and shame. That museum belonged to the families of colour who were there; we were there to be educated. And we were. And it was too much to fully ever take in.

As you walk up through the levels, all the time aware that you're *inside* the Lorraine Motel where Martin Luther King was assassinated, you pass through the century, up to the fifties, the sixties, Rosa Parks to Selma. Then, suddenly, you're in the motel again. 

You can see the spot where Dr King was murdered. You saw it from the outside as you entered, now you see it from inside, through a window, from the spot between the recreation of his aides' room and his own room. 

It's insane and utterly devastating.

By the time we leave the Civil Rights Museum the day is moving on. 3pm and we need lunch. We walk across to the Arcade Diner, where (we later discover) Elvis and the lads used to go for a bite to eat after finishing a late night session. We're not getting a bite to eat, it's just closed. About a minute ago.

So we walked a few yards down the block to what appeared to be a record store. That was closed. But a guy in his late twenties is walking past and tells us that the owner of the shop is in his restaurant. Which is the Arcade, which we couldn't get into because it was closed. For him, obviously, it's not closed. So he takes us in, introduces us to Mark, who owns the record shop (South Main Sounds - as we were on South Main Street) and Jill who worked there with him. Which is how we ended up having a lovely chat with two fascinating people in a shop that they reopened just for us. 

And all I bought was two guitar picks. 

Lunch in 'The Blue Monkey' as recommended by Mark (Steak fried in gray, smothered in 'slaw and pickles with a bottle of Shiner Bock for me, a bowl of what claimed to be soup for J - though it was very definitely a stew of some kind)

And B.B. King's restaurant/bar/club for the evening.

At least that was the plan.

But we finally caught up with Paul and Jules, so, instead, we had sandwiches from the Peabody Deli and cocktails. A Blueberry Mojito made with Stoli Vodka? Oh go on then. And J had the Bees Knees.

And now it's Monday 11:05 and the train has just stopped for a cigarette break at Greenwood Mississippi. I've finished writing in the book, now it's J's turn. Could be a long bit - we're on an eight hour Amtrak journey, got to fill the time :)

J.

Couldn't believe how quiet Memphis is on Sunday. But we packed a lot into the day. Got up early and went for a long walk next to the Mississippi river, along the bank. Saw the River Walk bridge and made our way across to Arkansas. How bloody cool

Walked back to Memphis, got an Uber to the Stax Museum. I found it so disappointing tbh. I mean, I'm not massively into the music but it was more the fact that the museum was so bland and dry; nothing interactive (in comparison to Sun for e.g.), just random notes and artefacts (well, they appeared random to me). 

We called another Uber. Larry, an older guy, great voice. He talked about growing up in Memphis at the time when Elvis was a young artist. He said he was born on the same day as 'King Charles III', so we chatted about the royal family for a bit.

[I. An aside. This conversation about the royal family basically had J putting her hand on my knee in a manner that said, 'don't say anything'. Larry thought Charlie was miserable but that William was pretty cool. I said nothing, Larry didn't need my views in his life.]

J. I recorded some of the convo, because his voice was great!

Anyway, he dropped us at the Civil Rights Museum.

My god, I was not prepared for that experience. I'll let Ian fill in the details but suffice to say, I felt the shame, like a weight around my neck, of the actions of white men and women through the ages. 

God, it was draining. But a must see experience.

Then -

Jumping the trolley on Main Street, Memphis. Getting off at Beale. Only passengers onboard.

We saw a huge march for Palestine which was just coming to then top of Beale Street so we stood back to let them all pass. It was quite emotional. Some women were walking, holding dolls wrapped in blood stained sheets; it was quite sobering.

With it being Sunday, Memphis was so quiet. It's such a different vibe to Nashville. But our little pit stop at The Blue Monkey was so lovely. I fancied the 'soup' but when it arrived it was more like a bowl of scouse and was absolutely delicious. Home made, rich and spicy. Mmmmmm.

And that was Memphis. Two very quick days. Two utterly excellent days where we fell in love with a city that we 'had to let in'.