Room 409
I walk through the lobby of the Peabody, passing the fountains where, twice a day - once in the morning, and once in the evening - a school of ducks is led down a red carpet into a fountain by a duckmaster. And despite this popular daily tradition a once busy lobby has significantly dimmed, like most everything else, because of the virus. As I pass through the main floor and past the bar I am met by the sweet smell of perfume from the gift shop and the player piano plucking out standards. A player piano feels appropriate for this moment in history: a ghost plucking out ominous standards to an empty hotel lobby, save the staff and myself. When I check in the attendant alerts me that I have been upgraded to a suite with no extra charge given the length of my stay and the vacancy of the hotel. After handing me my keys I make my way across the lobby, up the elevator to the fourth floor, and finally to my room, number 409.
The room is the size of a large apartment and I'm grateful for the extra space especially as I plan to set up a mobile recording rig to demo on over the upcoming weeks. I consider the shape of the room around me and immediately start to rearrange the furniture to accommodate the makeshift studio. If I had to guess, the room is 200 square feet, and is complete with a large living area, a king sized bed facing a television, a bathroom (with bath and shower), a beauty nook that houses a very large vanity mirror, and a large closet. I decided to spread my gear throughout the room, setting up different stations, each serving a different purpose: Next to the bed I placed a small keyboard; in the beauty nook, my gibson acoustic guitar; and the mobile rig–a laptop and a few microphones–I placed in the middle of the room.
Out the west facing windows you can see a labyrinth of other buildings downtown and beyond them–the Mississippi river, reflecting the moon. I unload the mostly non-perishable groceries into a corner of the room — I plan to make most of my meals from these basic ingredients to avoid eating around others, to avoid the virus. The room does not come with a fridge, so I fill up a bucket of ice and put a few beers on top.
On that first night I found myself feeling restless and uneasy. Why had I come to Memphis? What did I expect to find? Was I really going to spend two and a half weeks here, alone? Feeling claustrophobic, I have a beer in the all but empty lobby — just me and the bar staff — and call a friend. I say I’m thinking about driving back home right then, making the 7 hour trek through the night, but my friend, on the other end of the line, encourages me to stay.
In the morning, I open the windows to downtown, to the river–and I write;
I am happy the suns rising,
Through the faint pink of my eyelids.
I’ll stay at least a day or two, I tell myself.
I love to hole up in a hotel and write, but the first day or two are always filled with regret and fear. I’m so glad you got over that hurdle and we’re able to create in that magical place.
Are you shooting these dreamy images on film? Gorgeous photos Mr. Morbs