This weekend is seriously a set of high holy days for me and a few hundred (thousand?) fans. Starting tonight, at Third and Lindsey in Nashville, The Floating Men will be playing again for three nights. They last played more than a decade ago. The last time I saw them was in June of 2006 in Chattanooga, and the fan base has missed them so damn much. And their return is heavily due to Facebook. A fan group there kept growing, and there was a heavy call for the band to play again. Lead singer Jeff Holmes said it wouldn’t happen, but the demand was huge and steady. Finally, he announced a show, and when tickets sold out practically instantly, they added Saturday. When those tickets went up, same thing. They had made a Patreon group a couple of months before, and they opened Sunday for Patreon subscribers who had been mid- or high-tier fans who hadn’t been able to get tickets (including me).
“Why the hell would I want marijuana,
With all of these mountains of madness to move
When the Martian marauders come marching,
They’ll march with our manhood stuck to their shoes”
I discovered the band back in 1995 or 1996 (I’d have to look) when a friend from the local poetry slam started introducing me with some mix tapes (Meryn Cadell, Moxy Fruvous). She didn’t give me any Floating Men songs but insisted I go to a show. They were playing the Down Home in Johnson City, where I ran the slam, and I agreed. It. Blew. Me. Away. I couldn’t afford their cds, but I scrounged that money together anyway as soon as I could and bought them. They had two studio and two live albums out at that point, and I was so happy to have found them. I also noticed Jeff Holmes and bassist Scot Evans were super busy talking to fans at shows, so I tried talking to still-busy drummer Jeff Bishop.
“This whole MacGyver of ill-advised love thing just ain’t working out”
I was experimenting with web pages back then, and I cobbled together an early fan site. I went to shows and asked Bishop if I could ask some questions. He introduced me to Holmes, who introduced me to Scot. I ran the page for years, listing their tour dates and lyrics and a FAQ and pictures. Pretty early on, Holmes agreed I could bring in blank tapes (and later, minidiscs) and record shows off the soundboard wherever they were playing. I gathered a few dozen shows and traded for a few more. The fansite finally was retired (replaced by the MoWiz fan site and an early official page), but I kept going to see them, talking to Holmes before shows at most of them.
“I can prey on the urban romantics
Weeping haiku over cafe au lait”
For me, a poet, the lyrics are the most important part of a band, and Jeff Holmes knows how to write lyrics sharper than anything I’ve heard. The music is “Americana” or “Southern Rock” and occasionally downright Country, and while I’m never been a huge Country fan, I’m ridiculously Country-adjacent at times. The Floating Men absolutely is in my wheelhouse; in many ways, it carved out its own spot. It’s not too much of an exaggeration to say they had a major impact in my writing and in my life. They have been a source of joy in a life that has often been a depressive struggle, and I’m so grateful to them for being there. I still have all the recordings, all the t-shirts. My bedroom has framed posters from their shows. Their albums are heavily themed, storytelling over several songs. The Haunting is an album told from the point of view of ghosts, for example. The last two albums are a full rock opera.
“All our finest restaurants have folding chairs
And you won’t find a meaner waitress anywhere”
So tonight, I’ll tune into the livestream (three nights, available for the next three weeks) over on Volume. Tomorrow, I’ll drive to Nashville and join a listening event at a different bar (a consolation gift of sorts for people who couldn’t get tickets) with other fans. Sunday, I’m in the audience for the first time in 18 years, and I can’t tell you how intensely happy that makes me. Call it nostalgia if you must; I don’t care. This is important to me in ways I can’t fully explain. I’m absolutely ready for this.
Bill Abbott, poet, web page 