This confirms to me that sales and popularity are often not about the music, but rather the bells and whistles that seem to capture audiences who have grown up demanding them.   Organizers’ one concession to the times is found in print ads for the event: “No video or audio recording permitted!”

Tickets are $25 each.  Call 615-361-5639 for further information.

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The November issue of Readers’ Digest features RACHEL CLARKE’s cover story, 20 Hat Tricks by TIM McGRAW.

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If my research is faulty I will be glad to have someone prove me wrong.  But it seems that regulars at Dickson, Tennessee’s Grand Ole Hatchery, who paid to see JOHNNY HORTON, JR. perform recently with J.K. COLTRAIN, ALLAN KARL and JOHNNY MILLER, didn’t exactly get their money’s worth.

To my knowledge, JOHNNY HORTON never sired a son.  While Miller is billed, according to the Hatchery’s VANCE SMITH, as “an impersonator,”  (though I think Smith means to says “impressionist”), “Horton” claims to be the real deal; a songwriter (rather than an imposter?) who says he has performed with DOUG DUGGER and CHARLIE LOUVIN.

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From the emailbag: (KIRT) WEBSTER PR’s  DONNA SCHACHER  writes,  “Join us for outlaw southern rock as it was meant to be!”  The accompanying invitation was to see BLACKBERRY SMOKE in performance November 14^th at The Basement Lounge."

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Fans who were trolling Nashville’s Chancery Court on Friday (November) the 13^th expecting to see CLINT BLACK were disappointed.  Black is still mixing it up with CHARLES SUSSMAN, but Clint’s legal team handled the arguments on his behalf on what disappointed fans who made it to the fourth floor of Davidson County’s “old” courthouse found was not to be a “Black Friday.”
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I  was probably the only credentialed media representative present at the November 8^th Walkway of Stars Induction who remembered both ERNEST TUBB and  (HATTIE LOUISE) TOOTSIE (BESS).  But RANDI RADCLIFF,  PATRICIA PRESLEY and many of the other scribes, as well as the fans who joined us, could tell any number of stories about their encounters with the honorees who, while watching the posthumous walkway inductions of ET and Tootsie, were on hand to receive unveil their own stars on that warm Sunday in November. 

When I noticed that Nashville mayor KARL DEAN was among the speakers, I knew it was only a matter of seconds before I would hear the first of several DOLLY PARTON jokes.  But Dolly took it all in stride, as she did toward the end of the festivities when her frequent Imagination Library PSA costar Tennessee Governor PHIL BREDESEN took the stage.  In between, Parton’s fellow walkway honoree KID ROCK bore the brunt of a few knee-slappers as the day’s fifth honoree, CHARLIE DANIELS processed it all.

 Not to embarrass anyone, but it was disheartening that two of the speakers obviously did not know of whom they were speaking when they referred to the Texas Troubadour as “Ernest Tubbs.”   

All of the entertainers, family members and other speakers present seemed heartened by the turnout and everyone appeared to have a good time, thanks in no small measure to the hard work of Nashville Convention & Visitors Bureau Public Relations Manager JENNY STEUBER.   

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From the emailbag: “JAMES STROUD and RONNIE GILLEY cordially invite you and guest to our CMA Awards after party.  The 10 pm. Veterans Day soiree at the Wild Horse Saloon featured  performances by the LOCASH COWBOYS and HOUSTON COUNTY.”

KIRT WEBSTER and CLAIRE RATLIFF deserve kudos for coordinating this event as they did the ALAN JACKSON Cracker Barrel meet and greet I previously wrote about.  I received a lovely note from Kirt (the only man- Jackson included- for whom I’d get up at an ungodly hour and head out to Mount Juliet), following the event (etiquette would dictate it was I who should have sent such a thank-you).

 Having only eaten (an evening meal) at Cracker Barrel once before (and surprised then  that I could find something to enjoy within what for me was a limited menu),  I wasn’t sure what to expect when Kirt told those of us at the media table that our breakfasts were being comped.

Surprisingly, the breakfast menu provided great variety and the funniest moment of the morning.  That occurred when HAZEL SMITH sat down beside me eying my plate which wasn’t full of sausage, bacon, grits, ham, breakfast sausage and whatever else one might find as part of a traditional southern breakfast.

 “Honey, you’re eatin' JUNK!,” Hazel concluded, as she gave my apple, scambled eggs, yogurt, granola and fresh fruit the once over.  Or perhaps it was my unsweetened tea with a wedge of lemon.