Rock N Repeat

Why else would we readily detach ourselves from the salubrious comforts of everything we’ve known and make the pilgrimage to this land where the cries of desperation sung out by so many before us echo like sex in noen debauchery? To be part of something. A thousand chemical minds dreaming a dream we’re all afraid to be the first one to wake up from. The fat is in the fire and we’re sizzlin’, baby. This is Nashville.   

London Punks, Greenwich Village poets, Haight Ashbury hippies, our very own Nashville outlaws. What do they all have in common? If you were there you know, if you weren’t you lie about knowing. Inclusivity. In this age of non-denominational crossover everyone is everything look-how-great-my-life-is-got-the-selfie-to-prove-it-please-like-me skulduggery there’s nothing to latch onto. Nothing to make our own. 

The mighty music row may have fallen. But to quote Salman Rushdie, “In order to be reborn, one must die first”. Then they came in droves, eager to see what the fuss was all about. Cowboys and hipsters, young professionals and businessmen, first timers and second chancers. The children of 90’s hit makers became punkers and MC’s. New and old money danced in step and somewhere along the way the spark of nascent relevance began to crawl out of the primordial boredom. Dreamers. (shhh, don’t wake us.) Then it began to take shape.  

From somewhere in an underground jazz room a trombone bellowed heavy sway. Minor chords dripped morosely from the stage of a blues jam. Contagious pop music fizzed and bubbled out of vintage leather biker jackets. We’ve seen this before. We know what happens when jazz, blues, and pop meet a precipice generation. Rock N Roll.  

The time has come for Nashville to usher in the new era of Rock. Wait, the old era? Hang on, have ya’ll seen this shit? The arguable hayday of musical renaissance has returned. The 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s are alive in Nashville’s pure unadulterated take and give no quarter new rock scene! No copycats are they either. These guys and gals have managed to seamlessly merge pioneer prowess with unapologetic modern profundity. The result, a half throwback half millennial version of what our grandparents warned us about, the devil’s music. 

But it’s not all emaciated youth in women’s bell bottoms and long hair. Nor is it shredding and bashing or naked on drugs and, “hey, watch this” out of hotel balcony windows. It’s talent. Real and undeniable. Take for instance the Daylight Sinners lead by Liam Kelley. 

Liam meanders around the stage like a too cool to be here stray cat whispering his soulful stories like he’s stumbling through a rock n roll pink elephant phantasm. Meanwhile formidably riffing out mind blowing guitar licks with all the effortless caprice of a panther on an unsuspecting doe. Across the stage Scotty’s fingers do the talking all over the smooth velvet acid bass. Lights play off flowing silk patterned shirts. Hair ensconced faces peer with eyes transfixed into the nothingness of the crowd. And from behind them you hear Dustin making the rhythm his bitch with precision hi-hat and snare more reminiscent of a seasoned vet than an entitled millennial. Boom! goes the kick drum. A mix of high energy and flamboyant electric funk. These cats are the real thing. 

But It doesn’t stop with the Sinners. All over town from punk to synth to blues to folk, rock music has returned. The spark, the emotion, the will and the ability. A second coming. A new Nashvillian narrative replete with all the trappings of a true cultural movement. What shape will the future scene take? Thinking of the reggae, punk, and hip-hop spawned by the last rock revolution leaves me eager.  

Something is happening here. In Nashville. In this venue. Right now. This is what it must have felt like back then for those who know. But for every infectious note that melts away the mundanity of the corporeal day to day. This feeling transports the listener to a different place in time while simultaneously reassuring them they are right here, right now. That they are part of something. They are part of Nashville. Fuck it, they are part of Rock N Roll.  

Muse on Muse

       Hey, guys. Tony here. While I haven’t written a blog in a hot minute it occurred to me recently that I now have this medium to disseminate my ill-crafted thoughts to a lot more people thanks to the recent successes of the Share Your Buzz podcast. But alas, this article has nothing to do with the podcast; rather an introspective glimpse into the tangled topography of how my brain works. The other day I was hanging out with a friend at an establishment where one might procure an adult beverage, (Ahem), and the following events unraveled.  

       I get introduced to a local poet and writer, we’ll call him - Lester. Now, Lester is one of these real modern poetry cats. Opinionated. Indignant. A bit condescending and self aggrandizing. I liked the guy. Hey, what the hell. The joy of hanging out with we who fancy ourselves men and women of the word is the oft academic disagreements. I get off on that. In depth metaphysical discourse on philosophical injustice! Eh, It’s just the best we can do. Carry on the perpetual study of culture, counterculture, and all the dross in between. Lester was alright. Except that he called Kerouac a hack which sent a pulse of ephemeral fisticuffs coursing through my veins. 

       Now, I’m going to omit the details of what happened next for respect of those involved. We’ll just say that Lester did something to betray his self-absorbed supercilious nature. It didn’t anger me in the least, but rather made me laugh. This I surely couldn’t show in the moment lest I risk being the dick for pointing it out. My friend was there when it happened. The following day I made a joke to said friend about such comical vainglory to which the reply I received was most unexpected. “He’s just intense, not vain. Maybe to a stranger it would look that way, but I know him.”   #oops

       After the obligatory railcar thought of, “How dare you don’t have the same exact sense of humor as me”, passed by the by - the next thought in line was a revelation. Maybe I’m not intense enough?! 

       I don’t feel passionate about anything enough for it to be a muse. The teenage angst that turned to impetuous action in my twenties that turned to reflective thought in my thirties has become daunted dissatisfaction. Not even a despise, just - nothing. 

      Sure, I like things. Things are cool. There are great authors I look up to. Wonderful music being made all around me. I live in the epicenter of neon paradise. But nothing does it for me. It all seems prosaic and lazy. The conflagrations of my youth have been extinguished by the contentment of age. Fighting the man? Who fights the man anymore? It’s been the same tired bullshit remonstrating with word since Isaac Newton was forced to recant science for blasphemy. Hip counterculture movements? Well, the badass poets and authors of the 1950’s and 60’s ruined that by doing it so well the first time. We can never aspire to replicate the Hemingways, Thompsons, and Bukowskis. What, then? Love? Ahhh, sweet disambiguous romance. There’s only been one of late that’s done it and her capricious nature has sparked more than a few words in my notebook. But there is nothing more disenchanting than a tentative muse. 

       So, the question remains. How to regain my intensity and passion? How to find that muse?

       By the way, creative lubricant doesn’t work. Actually, I feel far less creative in drink these days. So, “Go out and find new things that you enjoy!” Lack of experiences aren’t the issue. I do cool shit. Like, all the time. “Revisit your older works and try to rekindle that flame of yore!” I look at my passed work and think, “Remember when you used to be talented?!” This next one cracks me up, “Go out and make new friends!” Wait, what? So, what do I do with my now friends? “Hey, brohame. Sorry, but I’ve gotta ditch some baggage. Yeah, turns out all my lame-o friends are killin’ my mojo, bro-jo.” And if you’re one of my friends giving me that advice, guess what? That means you, too! 

       And so it comes to pass we still creep in this petty pace from day to day. But, wait! I haven’t written an article in over a year. Perhaps my muse is that I have no muse. Ye gods! What if being dead inside reignites my passion for life and the word? What a twist of fate. Perhaps my epitaph has not been written upon the pages of my youth!

       Yeah, yeah, yeah. Looks like I owe Lester a thank you for the inspiration. And who knows, maybe he’ll be one of my new friends. Oh, and listen to the Share Your Buzz podcast which I assure you is superlatively more entertaining than this blog. I leave you with this quote about writing from Jack Kerouac - 

“I spent my entire youth writing slowly with revisions and endless rehashing speculation and deleting and got so I was writing one sentence a day and the sentence had no FEELING. Goddamn it, FEELING is what I like in art, not CRAFTINESS and the hiding of feelings.”

Share Your Summer 2016

Ladies and Gentlemen... Guys and Dolls! Coalesce, cogitate, and cavort with us! 

Hey guys, Tony here from the Share Your Buzz news desk. Which at the moment is a plastic Adirondack chair on my patio. It's a beautiful fall evening, not too cold not too warm, and it brings to mind what a great summer we've had at Share Your Buzz. I think I can speak for Chris and Spencer too when I say a great big Thank You! To all of our incredible guests, friends new and old, and most of all you guys who listen to us fumble our way through the show every week. Admittedly, we are still finding our sea legs on this sea of mischievousness we've decided to cast off into. So, if our style of entertainment is not quite for you, don't give up on us just yet. It only gets better....unless it doesn't. I never underestimate the potential for complete and utter failure! (Ha) But seriously, thank you all so much. 

I start the beginning of Share Your Summer 2016 way back in the spring when we had the hilarious Coco & WeeWee on the show. We've made some great friends over the last few months. Adam Crutchfield, Jim Aycock, DJ Wick-it, the lovely ladies of Nashville Burlesque, along with DJ Boogie Frost and the irrevocably lovely and talented Stephanie Adlington.

Our in studio performers graced us with incredible live music from One Cent Stamp, Rae Hering, Dawn & Nash, Randy Reed, and Ethan Shane. 

On top of that we had the opportunity to take the show on location to Dawghouse Saloon, Melrose Billiards, and all the way to Cocoa Beach, FL! A few friends from my hometown sat in on a show and we saw the first official appearance of Thunder Stick. The local group of misfits came through often, including but not limited to the ever inappropriate ladies of SYB under whatever guise they assumed on any given week. 

I know I'm forgetting something or someone and for that I sincerely apologize. Hey, I listen to podcasts too. I know once the show is over no one cares about what we talked about. That's kinda the point. It's a conversation with some friends over drinks. Not going to lie, with that comes the occasional bit of drama. Of which is not entirely my business to discuss. (Maybe if we do a "member's only" section one day we'll talk about the off air after party craziness). Notwithstanding, we got through it with an indomitable commitment to the endeavor we have embarked on. 

Spencer, Chris, and I are truly grateful that we get to sit down once a week and provide you guys with content for an our or so. The only way we grow is by word of mouth and we have a lot of exciting things on the horizon. So, climb aboard the good ship Dalliance, hoist the mainsails gallants and royals, and sail away three sheets to the wind with us. Salute! 

A Word On The Orlando Massacre

      Hey guys, it’s Tony. If you have listened to the show or even know me from another walk of life you probably have come to realize that I am very proud to be from Orlando, Florida. Thus, given the recent tragedy, I feel the need to express myself in the way I do best - hiding behind words. The views and opinions forthwith are mine and mine alone. I cannot, and never would, attempt to speak for my colleagues and contemporaries.

      I hesitate to say the massacre at Pulse nightclub was not a gay issue, as that would diminish the plight of the LGBTQ community, of which I am proud to have and have had called friends over the years. I tend to recognize things in the bigger picture, at times to my own detriment. I don’t see this as a gay, or a religious, or a firearms issue. This is a hate issue.

      Don’t conflate wrongfulness with hatred. The fanatics who commit these deplorable acts of violence never think they are wrong, but almost every one admittedly hates the victims they target. The answer is not to teach right from wrong, as that is highly subjective. The solution, in my humble opinion, is teaching not to hate.

      Equality is not about pretending we are all the same, that’s ignorance. Equality is acknowledging that we are all different, and it not mattering. Tolerance. Empathy. A sense of global community.

      We cannot just point a finger at mental illness whenever it’s convenient, either. Again, that only denigrates those who actually suffer from it. Being weak minded and easily manipulated is not a mental illness. Extremists prey on indoctrinating young impressionables to carry out heinous acts of violent hate crimes while they sit halfway across the world.

      I am not afraid to openly speak on personal opinion, but once again I feel as if that takes away from the victims. All of you assholes on social media who use tragedy, whether domestic or abroad, to proliferate your own agenda propaganda, how dare you. For shame! People are dead. Parents, children, lovers. Brothers, sisters, friends. Can you even pretend to imagine the suffering? Yet all you see is an opportunity to ejaculate your irrelevant, vapid, incipient personal views on gun control, religious prejudice, or sexual proclivity? For shame.

      Education. Education. Education. I cannot go through life, taking in the beautiful evening sky, sharing a drink with friends, listening to my daughter’s weekly travails, checking in on mom and dad, missing the lost and reveling in the found - thinking that we are born with intrinsic hatred. Or, at the very least, that it cannot be taught out of us.

      For the souls of victims. For families and friends in bereavement. For the souls of the damned. For guidance. For wisdom. For peace. For the future. Salute.

                                           - Tony


Well, we've experienced our first loss here at Share Your Buzz. Some of you local cats may remember that crazy snowstorm we had in mid January. The entire cast of characters you've grown to know and love from SYB being snowed in together for two days it is not hard for one to reach the conclusion that shenanigans did indeed ensue. 

Confronting the inclement elements like true American heroes we went on a food and beer expedition, frolicked in the snow, played drinking games, and all manor of debauchery that would be great for podcast content, right? Yep. We recorded one. It was pretty good, too. But alas, due to an amalgam of technical difficulty and user error that show is forever lost to the ether. It floats to the heavens to be only enjoyed by the gods. Gone

It may have been a blessing in disguise as now we can do another show on the topic and get more of the weekend in since we actually recorded the show early in the adventure. So that's why there was no show last week. So instead of a podcast this week I wanted to give you guys the first listen of a brand new song! And, in keeping with the theme, the song is called GONE. 

This track was written by Tony Manfetano and Kyle Loeffel. Kevin Post is on vocals and it was recorded at Dog Ear Studios in Nashville, TN. Enjoy! 




Another Year Over...

... and a new one just begun. Happy New Year! 

This time of year is ripe for reflection, tradition, and thoughts of days of yore.  Just last night I was doing some after-holiday cleanup and found a stockpile of old pictures, which subsequently led me down a memory hole. I believe in reflection. Time to examine what has made us.  So, you are who you are. What now? 

Let's put a pin in that line of thought for a sec and do a little reflecting of our own. 2015 was quite a year. Our nation's capital city (among others) legalized marijuana, we're in the midst of a new civil rights movement, gay marriage is finally legal AND endorsed by the Pope, there's shit on Mars, music comes out on Friday's now, and Star Wars is back! Yet, some things remain the same. California's still on fire and people in the middle east can't decide who's God is better.  

Much like the word conspiracy, (people make plans; or conspire, to do things all the time) resolutions have taken on a negative connotation - as broken promises we make to ourselves. Those are the easiest kind to break, after all. That circles back to my original point. If you're following along at home you may take that pin out now. 

It's a new year. A fresh start that rots rapidly. Don't let another year fall victim to indolence. The world doesn't wait while you relish, whether on regrets or laurels, in the past.  Take that trip, write that book, write that song, start that podcast.  

I know it sounds cliche and cheesy but that's the kind of mind set I'm in beginning 2016. I started Share Your Buzz as a direct result of frustration. Frustration at years of hearing my contemporaries talk about what they are going to do. Who did research on which DIY website is best for novice podcasting? Who searched for an available domain name? Hired a graphic designer to create a logo? Scraped together mics and editing software? Met with bar managers to ask for a venue? Edits and troubleshoots every episode? Lil' old me. 

I'm not telling you this in a fit of righteous indignation. Just that I had an idea, said I was going to try it, did, and now we have 4 episodes of a podcast on iTunes. Stop letting things make you and start making things you. 

Share Your Buzz resolves, (and conspires) to continue strong in 2016 with new guests, venues, and revelry.  A splendid time is guaranteed for all! Or most. A few, at least?  Well, I'll have fun anyway. Happy New Year!   


"Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be. But what will happen in all the other days that will ever come can depend on what you do today." - E. Hemingway


Pre-Holiday And Streaming Issues

Hey Guys! Tony here, and I just wanted to check in before the holiday craziness got too, well...crazy. First off, I've heard from a few listeners that the streaming from the website doesn't always work on all operating systems. There are a number of factors that could effect streaming but in order to circumvent that a bit I've made Episode's 1 & 2, plus from here on, available for download.  Also, you can now find us on iTunes if that's how you prefer to ingest your podcasts. Don't forget you can also take us with you on the go as all of the Share Your Buzz content is available on mobile devices. 

A Christmas show will be available as soon as I finish editing. Officially this Friday (12/18), but most likely Thursday night if I don't hit any snags. Every episode thus far has been a learning experience, both on mic and in post, but Spencer and myself have had a blast so far and see no end in sight. In fact, I've already begun booking shows in order to hit it hard and fast in the new year. 

If you haven't had a chance to listen just click on the podcast tab and give us a chance to Share Your Buzz.  Or, share our buzz?  Share A buzz?  Merry Christmas! 

Tony's Top 5: Places To Hang Out And Watch The Rain In Nashville

If you guys are anything like me you’re getting tired of all the hacky lists on entertainment sites. They’re usually taken from only one group’s perspective; Top 5 reasons why the places I like are better than yours - or - Top 10 ways I could tell you about places you can’t afford to go. Clickbait has turned the internet into the grocery store checkout line.  I would like to think that I’m more creative than that, but I’m not. At least I will not try misleading you into thinking I did some kind of research or polling. Nope, this is just some shit that I like. Thus, in regards to the rainy weather this week, in no particular order, I give you - Tony’s Top 5: Places To Hang Out And Watch The Rain In Nashville!

South Street:  This amalgam of BBQ joint meets crab-shack has some of the most underrated dishes in Nashville. But that’s not why we’re here. Despite the giant, sky encroaching high rise, the upstairs bar at South Street still has one of my favorite views of midtown. With the foliage just starting to change color this time of year I recommend posting up at a table by the big garage door windows and taking in the scent of rain among treetops. The staff is always laid back and easy to talk to. And if the rain gets a bit heavy just move to the bar and giggle like an adolescent boy to yourself about how the hanging lights, which are supposed to be partly opened clams, appear kind of X-rated.

Dan McGuinness: There’s something reassuring about being in a warm, dimly lit, livingroom-esque place while you can hear the inclemency outside. Dan’s, over on Demonbreun, has that home-like vibe. Being situated on the corner lot of the hill gives it a sunken cave feel. Tucked away in pallid recesses I would go with the Bangers & Mash and a brown ale. Between the crappy weather and gimmicky “Irish Pub” decor you’ll feel like you’ve been whisked away to the UK in no time.

Fenwick’s 300: The front wall of this relatively new cafe is all glass. Grab a spot at the far end of the bar and stare out at passing cars and hurrying pedestrians through picturesque dancing raindrop windows. You can’t go wrong with unlimited coffee for $3 but if you need something a little stronger allow me to recommend the plain 12oz latte. Yes, plain. If you want cocoa in your espresso we’ll get you a hot chocolate, little baby. Get the pumpkin french toast available for Sunday brunch but prepare yourself for enough sugar to fell a baby giraffe.

Acme Feed & Seed: There are a ton of places on Broadway who have expanded upward in the last few years. Tin Roof, Rippy’s, Tootsies, and Honky-Tonk Central all get honorable mentions for good top floor views, but they still fall victim to intoxicated tourists and douchebag college kids. Acme draws a bit better crowd. The rooftop isn’t always open but if you can get up there on a rainy afternoon it’s pretty cool to be four floors up watching a storm. Third floor windows are still a great view of the river. The unique atmosphere is really what stands out against the sordid backdrop of lower Broadway. Get the moscow mule with bourbon and call an Uber.

Losers Bar:   A midtown staple and the first bar I ventured into when I moved to Nashville, Losers will always hold a special place in my heart, and my liver. The key here is to sit on the small patio out front facing Division St. They usually have the plastic down when it rains but you can open a section and lean on the wooden rail watching the rain and sipping on a refreshing Natty Light out of a plastic cup. Perhaps I’m just being wistful for days of old. I recall sitting out there, listening to the rain hit the awning; with old friends, new friends, and girlfriends. Some of which have left us, and others that won’t leave. You’re no Reba so don’t worry about being Fancy. Get a cheap draft beer and order chicken nachos. Insider tip, be out of there before 10pm lest you be bombarded with pastel polos and Affliction shirts.

So there you have it folks. When weather endeavors to put the kibosh on your plans don’t fall to your knees and curse the heavens. Embrace the cleansing rain. Think of it as a baptism for the sins of our city. Put on some songs about rain and be glad it’s them and not you. Salute!



It's Not You...It's Him

“I know you ain’t in love with him, break up with him.”



So, this is where we’re at now? I really do not understand why pop-country has become the mating call of the douchebag. The above quote is the tagline from a song by Old Dominion called, “Break Up With Him.” This is a song in which some guy, let’s assume he’s wearing pre-worn jeans and a sparkly shirt, is endeavoring to convince a lady, presumably in a troubled relationship, that she does not love her boyfriend and that she should leave him and come over to this ingrates place. What an asshole.


How about you mind your own business and keep out of other people’s affairs?  Hey, sometimes the ties the bind get a little loose, but no real gentleman would consider purposefully breaking up a relationship. Couples have trouble all the time. That does not give every insolent troglodyte within Tinder range the go-ahead to encroach on a precarious couple. I bet he wears flip flops with long pants. Douchewad.


Okay, I got that out. So let’s look at the bigger picture here. What does this say about the general attitude we harbor towards relationships? Is this the kind of decorum we want to imbue into our young people regarding how to treat and respect others? Sure, there’s tons of irreverent behavior romanticized in music. It just seems like other people’s relationships should be hallowed ground. Is nothing sacred!


Mind Your Own Business is a sentiment we find far back as the titular Hank Williams song and is echoed as current as “Biscuits” by Kacey Musgraves.


Before all you fella’s that like this song get hotheaded, (we wouldn’t want you to melt the gel in your spikey hair and burn your eyes), let me address cheating songs. Yes, cheating songs are a tale as old as time in country music. Notwithstanding, I don’t recall a song in which it was glorified. Hank Jr and Waylon never sang a cheating song where the cheater later told all his buddies about it while they high fived and ordered another round of vegas-bombs without tipping. No, old school cheating songs were the laments of guilty souls.


I learned a lot from the music of my youth. How to drink, how to be witty, how to write, how to love, how to stop- collaborate- and listen. I also learned a lot about what not to do. The advice of tortured lyrics ring through my conscience whenever I meet with a moral conundrum. Maybe this song is a warning on how not to act. In that case I’m back on board.


Furthermore I belie---hold on, my ex-girlfriend just texted me. “ into a fight….he’s an ass….need a drink….”  You know what guys? I’m going to have to get back to you.