The Joy of the Come Up
You move to “Music City” with $200 in your pocket and a dream. After 10 years of paying your dues and grinding, you finally have a breakout hit and your life is about to change.
Or you’re the manager who first discovered this talent playing at The Basement, and now feel the joy of having bet on the right horse.
You move to a special city at a special time. It will soon be “discovered.” But for a short time, you enjoy the magic window—before the bachelorettes, before the Californians, before country LARPers.
As Alex Hutchinson writes in The Explorer’s Gene, the human brain is hardwired to respond to the discovery of something new. Dopamine rushes in at the prospect of finding undiscovered gold, fertile lands, fresh water…
You’re not “discovering” Hispaniola today—but the rush is the same. The come up. Building a business. Falling in love. Landing in the right city before everyone else. Even trying Prince’s hot chicken for the first time.
Nashville in the early aughts was a very special time and place to be a part of. You found moments of freedom in the neon lights at night; the meat and threes during the day, the coffeeshops with songwriters scribbling in their notebooks. Music everywhere. Sparks in any direction.
Reflecting on this time, and sharing your experience with others who lived it, serves as a reminder that life is beautiful; the heartbreakingly blissful moments.
This is not a hipster-esque whine about how “I was there before it was cool.” I’m glad the city is getting its due (and don't exactly miss the 8th Ave. Greyhound station). It’s more an homage to the story of Nashville's transformation, told through the eyes of its people. How its story parallels larger cultural trends in our country. The down-home glow of Nashville seems to pull America together, giving us all a desperate reason to believe.
Altman's Nashville: The Brilliant Mosaic of Human Life and... America
In 1975, Robert Altman released his masterpiece, Nashville. It remains the best example of an ensemble film. A mosaic of 24 characters interwoven to collectively form an intimate portrait of a time and place.
We follow the characters as they drift around Music City over the course of 5 days. Altman doesn’t require you to catch all the dialogue, just that you immerse yourself in this world.
The realism makes it almost feel like you’re watching a documentary. It’s not. But this quality makes the primal power of reality and the dark mess of humanity hit harder. It’s a slice of life that organically evolves into a bigger cultural moment.
Through the textured stories of the country stars, wannabes, politicians, hangers-on, drifters, and so forth—we see everyone chasing their own version of success or survival…or both. This casually profound constellation of human experience casts a shadow of America itself in the mid-1970s, and what it would become.
Nashville was never just a city. It’s America’s heart playing out on a stage for tips. Its ethos, myths, contradictions, and the archetypes that populate it.
Meet the Characters: Nashville's Cast Then & Now
In an era of AI, information is cheap. Meaning isn’t. Using Nashville’s template, here’s Nashville’s rise (2005–2025) through eight archetypes—plus a few moments from my own years in the city.
1. The Songwriter: Authenticity vs. Virality
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2005:
A former one-hit wonder from the 90s, now pouring PBRs at Robert’s, telling war stories to wide-eyed dreamers. A wild card that’s a little bitter, a lot funny.
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2025:
Broadway mega-bar bartender in branded gear, more Disney cast member than confidante. Drinks come with souvenir mugs, neon straws, and scripted interactions.
- Macro Trend: The unique local character vs. the comfort of corporate hospitality. The local chaos and grit traded for scale.
When I moved to Nashville for college, I joined my older cousin from New Jersey. She introduced me to Nashville’s songwriter scene. Hearing musicians tell the stories behind their songs reframed music in a way that stuck with me. You’d see artists like Taylor Swift and Kings of Leon, locals on “the come up” at that time, playing small venues around town. I’m grateful we had that time together, and for all the nights she dragged me to songwriter rounds; for helping me find my sound.
2. The Barkeep: Soul (For Better or Worse) vs. Manufactured Experience
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2005: Former 90s one-hit wonder, now pouring PBRs at Robert’s, telling war stories to wide-eyed dreamers. A wild card that’s a little bitter, a lot funny.
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2025: Broadway mega-bar bartender in branded gear, more Disney cast member than confidante. Drinks come with souvenir mugs, neon straws, and scripted interactions.
- Macro Trend: The unique local character vs. the comfort of corporate hospitality. The local chaos and grit traded for scale.
I lived across from a dive called Oyster Bar, run by a faded country singer and his wife who drank heavily. By sundown they were usually half in the bag and regulars could pour their own drinks. Sometimes hilarious, sometimes sad, but always alive. The bar closed a couple years later. Today it’s a polished hot chicken chain.
3. The Real Estate Bro: Boomtown vs. Bubble
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2005: A scrappy hustler flipping duplexes, trying to convince skeptical investors from Greenwich that The Gulch might someday be worth something. Drives a Ford Explorer with a Nextel chirp.
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2025: Private equity-backed developer, clad in a Belle Meade CC golf polo, juggling 20 employees and 60-story towers that adorn the skyline like Jenga.
- Macro Trend: Real estate went from local hustle to private equity money. Today: asset prices skyrocket, the cheap money dried up, and ownership feels like a pipe dream to many.
Old Nashville friends joke: “The best thing we could’ve done after college was buy dirt.” One frat brother actually did in 2008. Back then The Gulch was just getting started; today he’s a mogul. The rapidly changing skyline captures the city’s rise, while evoking nostalgia for a time when the rent was cheap and the living was easy.
4. The DJ…Podcaster: Tastemakers Then & Now
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2005: Local radio DJ spinning a late-night Americana set, barely paying bills but shaping music tastes and turning them on to indie rockers. Cult-followed by insomniacs and diehard scenesters—all he ever wanted.
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2025: Podcaster with national reach who moved to Nashville from LA in 2021. Reels and YouTube clips pulling bigger audiences than local FM ever could.
- Macro Trend: The shift from gatekeepers of taste to influencers of vibe. America’s airwaves went from FM → RSS → TikTok & YouTube.
In college, I interned at the Nashville DA’s office with a friend who drove us to work in his ‘94 Tacoma pickup (the one with letters missing from “Toyota” on the tailgate). Using his St. Louis slang, the truck was affectionately nicknamed the hoosier mobile. He hosted a radio show on campus. I’d make guest appearances and we’d play our favorite “hoosier music,” if you will. Nobody listened—but we didn’t care. Sharing music felt like discovery. We couldn’t know that a decade later, podcasts and platforms would demolish radio entirely.
5. The Collegian: The Transformation of Work & Higher Education
- 2005: Vanderbilt student in salmon-colored shorts and a backwards white game hat. A product of Lovett, MBA—or the Joel Goodson of their Northeast boarding school (“not quite Princeton material are we?”). Funneled into the banking, consulting, law, or med school pipelines of Atlanta or Charlotte.
- 2025: Vanderbilt is Ivy-adjacent, single-digit admit rate, a top feeder for Google & McKinsey...yet students dream of building an AI startup after graduation. More into wellness and kombucha than frat row and games of beirut.
- Macro Trend: The American Dream Pipeline — elite school → elite firm → wealth → “greatness”– is breaking down. Students chase new ladders: e.g. tech, startups, creators. Some young people opt out of the system altogether.
In the early aughts, the financial crisis was just unfolding. Back then, everyone still funneled into the big four paths: finance, law, consulting, medicine. A friend landed at pre-IPO Facebook. At the time, it seemed a little risky, maybe even naive. In hindsight, it was one of the smartest moves you could’ve made as the sun set on the golden age of finance and the dawn of tech emerged. You sensed the game was changing in the American casino. But nobody could have predicted what unfolded next.
6. The Star is Born: Everyone’s “Gone Country”
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2005: Appalachian kid who grew up listening to her daddy’s Merle and Hank records, dreaming of the neon lights on Broadway. Pours her pain into a mic at Douglas Corner Café (closed in 2020)...hoping lightning strikes and she gets discovered.
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2025: SoCal transplant with an industry daddy and a TikTok content calendar. After Cowboy Carter, she thinks “I’m a simple girl myself, grew up in Costa Mesa.” So she packed her bags, bought some boots at Neiman Marcus, and headed to Music City.
- Macro Trend: country music leapt from a more or less niche genre that lent a voice to people from Appalachia and the Texas Hill Country, to global mainstream. Now “everybody’s gone country.”
I grew up in the country, the son of a “blue blooded woman and a redneck man,” so country music has always been in my bones. When I moved to Nashville, it was part of the pull: the idea you might walk into a dive and hear the next George Strait. Today, you’re just as likely to stumble onto a TikTok star testing a brand collab. The magic is still there—it just wears different boots.
7. The Music Row Manslaughter: Old Music Row Machine vs. Streaming & Creator Economy
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2005: Intern at a Music Row talent agency, counting tickets and hoping a trainee program might lead to the CAA big leagues. Busting his ass for peanuts. In this era of centralized industry power, success lies in schmoozing with “old row” gatekeepers.
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2025: Artists realized they no longer needed agents and the favor of gatekeepers to break into the industry. So the trainee pivots into running a boutique “talent agency,” glued to YouTube & TikTok metrics—hoping to discover the next Luke Combs or Ella Langley.
- Macro Trend: Streaming, social media, and the internet led to the fall of the old Music Row & Hollywood empires. Power moved from walnut-paneled offices to algorithms.
When I moved to Nashville, I thought I might follow this path. Interns sorted tickets and swapped war stories from the mail room. A friend chauffeured a young Carolina artist from Eric Church who had just signed his first record deal. Cracks in the old system were already showing. After it was all said and done, only one friend remained in the industry—eventually leaving UTA to start his own thing. The “Murder on Music Row” Strait & Alan Jackson sang about back in 2000 would be about more than the sound of country changing today. The seismic shift of the music industry went from the old row machine to a wide open creator economy.
8. The Constant: A Rock During Times of Change
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Then & Now: Corner booth at Brown’s Diner, same burger and beer since 1973. Doesn’t care about your startup, record deal, or TikTok strategy. In the chaos, he’s ballast.
- Macro Trend: Every generation rediscovers the hunger for “what’s real.” The Constant reminds us that the family, places, and values you build—through love and sacrifice—will always outlast the hype of the moment.
For me, The Constant wasn’t just a character at Brown’s — she was an older relative I grew close to during my college years. She was deeply rooted in Nashville for most of her life. Her stories of family history helped me understand where I came from. Her intimate knowledge of the city helped me appreciate it even more. She died two years after I graduated in 2012, and I’m grateful I had the chance to learn from her when I did.
That Sense of Knowing That You Were Here and Alive in That Corner of the World
“San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run but no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were here and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant.” – Hunter S. Thompson
This January, I walked the streets in Nashville for the first time in nearly ten years. As everyone says—it’s unrecognizable.
At first, I was hit with both nostalgia and loss. For one: this special city and that time in my life would never be the same. For two: I was reminded of how much I loved it, but knew I left, and my home was elsewhere now. Life is beautiful and living is pain.
But then I realized you own what you build for yourself—whether it's a business, your family, your friends, your home, your connection to a place, etc.—that’s all you have. That's all you have, and nobody can ever take what you love away from you.
The skyline changes. The music changes. The cast changes. But the lesson stays: every city — like every life — has its magic window. A fleeting season when possibility feels raw and unfiltered, when discovery itself feels like oxygen.
Nashville in the early aughts was one of those windows. Its songwriters, barkeeps, hustlers, collegians, rising stars, and old timers told us something not just about a city, but about America itself: our creativity, our drive, our contradictions, our longing for new frontiers.
My family and friends in Nashville taught me that what matters most endures. Skylines rise and fall, industries transform, but the stories, the character, the roots we pass on… those last.
You can’t walk Broadway in 2005 again. But you can carry its posture with you: seek out the undiscovered, take the risk, embrace the community, savor the come up. Continue exploring. It’s in our DNA.
Because Nashville was never just Nashville. It was America humming its own tune. And the song isn’t finished yet.
Immerse yourself in Music City with our Nashville playlist on Spotify. The songs that sparked country music's evolution from "The Nashville Sound" to Outlaw to 90s Stadium to Early Aughts Americana and Modern Country. It all starts with a song.