Back on Acklen
I just got home from a strange evening, which I’ll describe shortly. First, a little history for context.
In 2011, when I first moved to Nashville, I worked in a law office on Acklen Avenue in Hillsboro Village. The office, an old, dilapidated Victorian house, was incredibly cool. In the ‘90s it had been the Nashville office for Asylum Records. It had the feel of an old Music Row record company, walls lined with gold records and songwriter awards.
I fell in love with Hillsboro Village, a quaint little area with a main drag on 21st Avenue, just below the Row. Or was it Hillsboro Road? I think the demarcation is a little further south towards Green Hills. It sits in the armpit of the Belmont and Vanderbilt campuses, with the vibe of a college town. That’s probably the appeal—that stretch of 21st Avenue felt a lot like Kirkwood Avenue in Bloomington.
The Village had its own dive bar called The Village Tavern. It had one “nice” restaurant, the consistently pretty good Sunset Grill, one of just a few fine dining options from the early ‘90s through the 2000s. Every time a lawyer visited from another office, we’d all walk across the gravel parking lot to dine on the law firm dime.
For everyday lunch we had Bosco’s, Jackson’s, Fido, Cabana, a revolving cast of international places on Belmont, and Brown’s Diner a few blocks away. Occasionally I drove to The Turnip Truck in The Gulch, but most days I walked to one of the Village options. One option I ignored was Pancake Pantry, in part because every morning, regardless of weather, there was a line of tourists that curled around the block rubbernecking, hoping to get a look at Garth Brooks munching on a stack of flapjacks. Of course, Brooks hadn’t set foot in Pancake Pantry since the ‘90s.
As a neighborhood regular, I got to know some of the friendly people working the various businesses. I’d chat with Jerry at Village Cleaners when I picked up my shirts and I was delighted when the Fido staff remembered my daily coffee order. Sometimes after work I’d walk a few blocks to the Belcourt Theater to catch an arthouse movie.
Beginning in 2013, Hillsboro Village began to change. In the four years I worked in what used to be the front parlor, I watched the neighborhood transform. First a big mixed use condo development wiped out half a block on 21st Avenue. Then they tore down a bunch of old houses to make room for a big hotel. Then all the old restaurants went out of business, Sunset, Bosco’s, Jacksons, Sam’s Sports Bar, Provence Bakery—all closed in a matter of a couple years.
New places came in, new boutiques and upscale restaurants. Florida Georgia Line opened a place that’s since become Bitcoin Park. Jason Aldean and Luke Bryan opened a high-end steakhouse. The neighborhood began to lose its character and transform into another sleek extension of tourist Nashville.
By 2016, when our firm moved to a new building on Music Row, it seemed time to leave. The house was literally falling apart. Even though I witnessed the transformation day-to-day, I have so many memories there. During those years I found my footing in Nashville, met so many amazing people, worked with so many incredible artists bound for greater things. I’m thrilled with how my life and career have developed since then, but I wish I still worked in that room, had people drop by unexpectedly, could wander Hillsboro Village and enjoy all it had to offer. But those days are gone, for me and for Nashville.
On to the story.
This evening I attended a show at an elegant Hillsboro Village cocktail bar called Anzie Blue. It’s on Belmont, across the street from the recently redesigned Belcourt Theater. I’d been there once before, for a reception following the John Prine You Got Gold documentary. My friend and client Abigail Rose performed.
Before the show I met with another artist client and her fiancé. They invited me to join them at a new boutique hotel called The Chloe. I wasn’t sure exactly where The Chloe was, so I decided to park by my old office where I hoped I could still find free street parking. Miraculously I found a space, and decided to check out the old office.
The last time I walked by the office at 1906 Acklen Avenue, it looked like they might be preparing to tear it down. The previous tenant that replace us, Spirit Music, had fled and left the place unoccupied for months.
But there it was, looking better than ever. Then I saw the sign, The Chloe. The Chloe is in my old office.
I walked in, forgetting for a moment to look for my friends. First, instinctively, I walked the entire floor, starting with my office. It’s the bar. Then I walked to the back to look at the parking lot. It’s a swimming pool now. No dumpster, no gravel.
I found my friends in a part of the restaurant that had been the neighboring office. There’s a breezeway that connects two houses, but it used to be sealed off. I’d never been inside the house before. I quickly forgot about the weirdness and had a nice mocktail and a good conversation.
We wandered down the block to Anzie Blue and caught a spectacular set, saw a bunch of friends, and left with the feeling that there’s still a pulse of nightlife in the area, perhaps more than ever. Then I slipped out and met Heather at a regional rodeo in Franklin to close out the night. A fine Friday night to be sure.
I’m not a particularly nostalgic person, but sometimes something happens to open the floodgates of memories. Then I find myself mining the archives, seeking photographic proof that it all happened. Here are some highlights from the old office from my camera roll.
ain't much old nashville left...