That's right, adios, see ya, arrivederci, sianora, bye! I'm so outa here. Ok, ok, calm down, not right away, I am happy as a bug in rug right now in beautiful, warm Southern California. I love my job. I love my friends here and can hardly imagine being without them. I bitch about my ghetto shack, but my dog is as happy as he's ever been and why not, he has the whole place inside and out to himself. I'm surrounded by beauty and I can be soaking in the sun on the beach while the waves of the magnificent Pacific Ocean crash at my feet in about 8 minutes.

As awesome as that is, I just know that eventually I will wind up back where my soul is quiet and my feet happily whistle down the street. Eventually I will stop hitting the ignore switch and I will answer the sweet call of the South.

I am originally from Texas and that's one thing, but what I am talking about is the true south. I have been obsessed with it since the first time I crossed the Mississippi River. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Rolling down the window and breathing in the smell of the water and the magnolias, I felt like I was breathing in history, and music and all that means. It hit me so hard that it knocked the breath out of me and I felt it so clearly that I actually cried. Yeah, it's true, as ridiculous as it sounds, I actually cried and more pathetically, I cried even harder when I left.

It's an obsession alright, and not a quiet obsession either; it even consumes my subconscious. Ties to Memphis are the strongest. It's like a sicknesses with me, I constantly find myself in eerie Memphis scenarios, especially where it concerns music. A few months ago I was in the company of Peter Case, who I have had the pleasure of getting to know recently. We were standing in a group of friends talking, and during the conversation, I just kept touching his shirt, it was just a regular button up shirt, with a faint pattern in soft cotton, but I could not stop touching it. Finally he said "You like my shirt?" I blushed and laughed and said, "Yeah, I really, really do." To which he replied, "Thanks, I got it in a thrift store in Memphis." My friends (who are painfully aware of my Southern obsession) just looked at me and shook their heads. "Of course you did."

The strangest one was at a BBQ a few years ago. The friends that I went with had a whole other group of friends there that we hung out with for the day. There was one guy, George, who was like perfume to me the whole day. If I was within three feet of him, it was just intoxicating and so damn memorable. Like the smell of your childhood home. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I knew that smell. Later that night, he played drums during a set with the band, and following the set, when he walked back up to us, I finally recognized it and said, "Would you think I was crazy if I told you that you smell like Memphis". He just looked at me wide-eyed and said, "Only because I am from Memphis".

Out here in San Diego, I rarely find myself getting excited about local bands, but over the week of Christmas, I went to see this band, the Truckee Brothers play that everyone had been squawking about. When I walked in, they were already a little into their first set. To my surprise, I immediately liked the sound of them; I walked up to the bar, ordered a beer and a shot and found my way to some friends. All the girls were engrossed in this beautiful blonde thing, strapped to a guitar and making all those yummy guitar guy faces that the girls go crazy for. I however was immediately mesmerized with this magnetic persona hopping around on the stage with these enormous sideburns and in this crazy outfit that maybe my grandpa would have worn if he had been blind. It wasn't one of those "holy yowsa baby! I'd like to ride that like a fast train to Georgia!" kind of deals. It was more of a warm feeling like watching little kids on a playground or crossing the Mississippi on 1-40. He just made me smile.

They were great! I stayed the whole night, and even bought the CD and I never buy the CD. Between set breaks and following the show, I was introduced to them three times, by three different people. It was almost funny the last time. I liked them, I really did; I thought they were funny and approachable and strangely familiar, especially Mr. Sideburns. For some reason, I even asked him if he knew a friend of mine from Tennessee. About 15 minutes after I left, I found out that of course, he is from Memphis. And to top it off, although he was raised in England, the blonde beauty's mother was from the south. So you know he's got it too, that Southern thang. Suddenly it made perfect sense why I liked them so much. Theoretically speaking, they may be from San Diego, but technically, they are a southern band.

I told you, it's like a sickness. I am drawn to that shit like a stereotypical moth to the flame. Why am I bringing this up now? Good question, maybe it is because it was just a few weeks ago that I met the bothers T., maybe because I just got an e-mail a couple of days ago from a friend in Memphis who I miss like crazy or maybe it is because I went to see Rodney Crowell last night who has the sweet Will Kimbrough playing guitar for him right now. It was the best of all worlds, Rodney is from Texas, Will is from Alabama both have ties to Memphis and currently reside in Nashville.

Will & Rodney

It's just heaven to me. I get completely lost in it. Nothing exists for me except the sounds coming from that stage. It's like my childhood, my present and my future all rolled up into one. I know for all you readers on this metal music site, you have no idea what or who I am talking about, so for you lets just say "Think Pantera - Cowboys from Hell"; Those wild boys from Texas; fresh and new and still in their roots. Remember those songs and the rawness of their sound. Yeah, now you know what I mean. That's how I feel whenever I am in the presence of southern music. I'm not talking about just anybody doing country music, but guys from the south specifically, doing music, any kind of music, not just country, but pop, metal, rock, folk, funk, jazz, blues, etc. etc. etc. it's something in their souls, it runs through their veins, like the soil of the Delta earth, it's a little richer, a little darker, it's just different.

Musically speaking, here in San Diego I live in a 4 X 4 plastic square. CD's are my life. Like I said, going to see live music out here just doesn't have the same effect on me that it did back when I resided much closer to the Mason Dixon. So I live in a world of recorded music unless I get the rare chance, like last night with Will & Rodney, when I happen on to a band like the Truckee Brothers, or when I can beg and whine long enough to get my friend Adam (from Texas) to strum the guitar in my living room. I swear, if he really had a clue how much I loved it, he would never take his hands off that instrument.

So you see, I have no choice; at some point I will have to return to those cracked and decayed sidewalks. I will, at some point just get so tired of those plastic squares that I will have no other alternative but to find a quaint little house in Midtown Memphis or East Nashville, so that I can be within walking distance of those bars where the music is so thick, it's like pure maple syrup. And when I get there, I'm going to do with it just what you do with pure maple syrup; I'm going to sop it up like a gooey southern style biscuit.

Yep, maybe not today, tomorrow or even next year, but eventually, I am so outa here!

Jones is currently working in San Diego as a photographer & promotions director.
You can visit her website at imagesbystacie.com