Claims professionals from around the country will soon congregate in Nashville, Tenn. for the annual PLRB/LIRB conference, but Music City looks—and arguably feels—much different than it did less than a year ago. Last May, torrential rains battered the Greater Nashville area, as well as other parts of Tennessee, Kentucky, and Mississippi. Devastated by the resultant flash flooding, the waterlogged city more so resembled a Katrina-ravished New Orleans than a bustling Mecca for talented artists representing a wide swath of musical genres.
That's because more than 13 inches of rain caused the Cumberland River to rise 52 feet and spill over its banks into Nashville. Middle Tennessee sustained the brunt of the storm's wrath. In its January 2011 assessment, the National Weather Service reported that flood waters claimed 24 lives and that property damages in the Nashville area alone had swelled to $2 billion.
Of course, this figure does not take into account the detriment to the rich musical heritage and infrastructure or the anguish of working musicians stripped of their livelihoods. The city's ruthless tempest swept away priceless relics—including vintage guitars, mandolins, and, as the Schermerhorn Symphony Center reported, two Steinway pianos—silencing them forever and sending lingering reverberations throughout the music industry.
It took just six days of submersion at Soundcheck to destroy an incalculable amount of rare recordings and equipment that took more than 50 years to amass. Dubbed the "Fort Knox" of Nashville's music community, the 160,000-square-foot site stored instruments and gear for more than 600 artists, from A-list country music stars to studio artists and touring musicians.
Few musicians carried insurance to cover the more than $10 million in losses to individual instruments at the facility. In addition, the Schermerhorn Symphony Center logged $40 million in losses, while the famed Grand Ole Opry House sustained $20 million in damages.
Distressed by the blow to music history, but admittedly a realist, Joe Chambers, founder and chief executive of the Musicians Hall of Fame, acknowledged the loss of these artifacts pales in comparison to the loss of lives and homes. "So many people lost the pillow they lay their head on at night, much less a guitar," he told the Los Angeles Times.
And much in the same way that music brings people together, the music industry has banded together to drive flood relief efforts. For instance, George Gruhn, an expert on vintage stringed instruments and owner of Gruhn Guitars, collaborated with renowned luthier Joe Glaser and steel guitarist/music producer Bruce Bouton to organize NASH2O, which has raised funds for uninsured musicians and fire and rescue departments in Middle Tennessee. The group also secured underwriting support from Fireman's Fund Insurance Company. In a strange way, NASH2O has been able to resuscitate dozens of water-ravaged instruments from top recording artists by reincarnating them as collector art pieces.
Though the journey has been wrought with tricky notes, residents have rebuilt homes and businesses and reinvigorated Music City. Even the choice of venue for this year's conference is symbolic, as the Gaylord Opryland successfully carried out its own flood recovery efforts. The hotel's executive director and the claims adjuster involved will discuss lessons learned, as well as the future of loss management and mitigation. I urge you to read Assistant Editor Marguerite Swallow's show preview, which begins on pg. 42 for more information about the wealth of educational opportunities.
I recently sat down with my dad for some pointers about how to make my own electric guitar not sound like rat stuck in a sewer grate. We admired the craftsmanship of his Gibson ES-335 as he reminisced about guitars he had owned (and somehow lost) as if they were deceased family members. Our little jam session reminded me of a family friend who once said instruments are often extensions of the musicians and hobbyists themselves. At the time, I didn't entirely understand what this meant. However, with my canary yellow Fender Stratocaster as an unassuming companion, I now realize how cathartic, euphoric, and even transfiguring playing music can be.
The same family friend played with Hank Williams back in the day and said that Hank Jr. would lay in a guitar case, which was repurposed as a "crib" backstage on occasion. I remain skeptical of that story. Nevertheless, I wholeheartedly plan to tell it to my kids one day and accentuate the velvet lining.
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