I’ve been to Nashville several times in the last ten years.  The weird part?  Not once have I ever played Joe Tourist in this city.   Well, today I had a client who wanted us to get some shots of “local” flavor.   That was my cue to go sightseeing.  Just call me the Rhinestone Cowboy.

From Church Street to Opryland to Music Row we traipsed around Nashville like seasoned pros.  And, mercifully, at 8am in the morning there weren’t any goofy Yankee tourists getting in our way.

From what I can tell, Nashville is street after street of souvenir shops, record companies and chain restaurants.  (Uh, NoshVegas?)  Its claim to fame, of course, is being the “home of country music”.  There is nary a street corner that doesn’t have a built-in speaker blaring some sort of knee-slapping, twang-tastic tune.   Girls wear spaghetti-strap dresses with cowboy boots.   Their boyfriends sport shiny belt buckles … each bigger than the last.   And instead of walking down the street like normal people do – they mosey in a synchronized boot-scootin’ boogie.

Everything is modern, upscale and user-friendly in the touristy-areas of Nashville.  Get off the beaten path and you’ll find some unique boroughs, however.  For instance, there’s an alley behind our hotel with a teeny honky-tonk that features NUDE KARAOKE.    And since we’re staying downtown, the area is rife with homeless people.   Unlike other metropolitan cities, homeless people are allowed to roam and hangout wherever they want.   They flock like a bunch of unshaven free-range chickens.

Since we had such a laundry list of attractions to shoot, we spent exactly four minutes at each location.  By the time we had reached the Grand Ole Opry, we were running late.  We got a handful of pictures and video.  It was reminiscent of the scene in “National Lampoon’s Vacation” when Chevy Chase and his familiar appreciate the beauty and splendor of the Grand Canyon for a scant 15 seconds.

Fortunately, we had a local photographer in tow that knew his way around Nashville like a backwater holler.  Thank God for Nick Bumgardner!   It was like having a company spy in your back pocket.  He knew which streets we could park on illegally and which bridges would give us the best vantage points for shooting.

And while he wasn’t exactly thrilled with shooting pics of us every ten minutes, he lightened up after we bought him lunch – at a killer sushi place he suggested.

Life is good in NashVegas.