The Fortune of Nashville: The Kindling Arts Festival ’25
For the eighth year in a row, Oz Arts hosted the Kindling Arts Festival, a four day event which presented 19 different shows by 150 local artists at venues across Nashville. Music City Review has previously covered their 5th, 6th, and 7th annual shows. The festival is a boon to audiences and artists alike: besides being a blast of a weekend for festival attendees, Kindling provides local artists with venues, marketing, and technical labor. This year’s theme was Fortunes and Fates, and four of our writers were able to attend seven different performances.
Seekers
Kindling’s opening night at OZ Arts featured the single performance of Seekers, a trio of shortform works by different artists. The trio was perfectly programmed, progressing from Effluvia, a dense, thoughtful, and emotional work of spoken word and movement, to Altitude, a contemplative solo dance, ending with piece/peace, a large group work with 10 dancers. The full crowd perfectly matched the energy on stage: during the spoken word piece people snapped their fingers at the poetry; during the solo dance they sat in silent focus; and during the final dance the crowd got loud, whooping and cheering on individual dancers by name.
Jennifer Whitcomb-Oliva’s Effluvia was fascinating, just as she made it sound in her MCR interview. The black stage had various props spread across it: a metal trashcan in the middle surrounded by a 15-foot red-eyed snake made up of what might have been black trash bags; a ladder covered with vines held a golden hair pick at its top; two tall shelves topped with mannequin heads with afros, each shelf full of sparkling reflected light off of the many glittering objects; plastic bottles stacked on each other, almost resembling bowling pins.
The 30 minute piece began with Jennifer Whitcomb-Oliva’s appearance as a homeless woman pushing a junk-filled shopping cart, wearing a white winter coat and begging for change. This word, “change,” increased with meaning as the performance continued, developing into the cue for a change of vignette, and also demanding societal and personal change. Some of the vignettes were dead serious and heavy. Her Rapunzel moment, where the princess’s hair stood for her natural black beauty resisting societal urge to assimilate, was full of wry humor making us laugh and provoking a lot of snapping. Some moments were full of slapstick humor, others biting rage. The program stated that the piece is “illuminating the spiritual healing/self love that Black Women carry, despite the social order and imbalance of structural racism. It’s a call to remember, to witness, and to celebrate black women not as hidden gems, but the very gold of the earth.”
This dense piece provoked much thought and emotional response. Despite her skill of physical movement and her imaginative props, my favorite aspect of the performance was her spoken word. Some of the poetry was spoken live and unmiked, but most of it was a recording with musical instruments or sound effects underneath. Her poetry and apt word choice were performed perfectly. Much modern poetry is written more with meaning in mind, not the taste and sound of the words. Her reading of her poetry was full of savor and articulation in a way that reminded me of Shakespearean acting.
Phylicia Roybal choreographed and performed Altitude, a meditative piece of solo dance that held our attention and enjoyment. It began with her sitting in a black dress wearing a black straw hat. Beside her on a lone bench sat a green watering can. Across the stage, close to the audience, stood a large empty plastic terra cotta pot.
Her piece featured many unrushed repetitions of movement. The start of her piece was slow and deliberate. The first track that played was a beautiful 50’s sounding pop song in Spanish. Facing the audience, she slowly turned her head to see the watering can beside her. She lifted it and carefully took it to the front of the stage and slowly poured water into the pot for the duration of the song. This, at first, had me wondering if the piece would be boring. I was very wrong. After the song ended a man’s recorded voice said “patience,” a moment of quiet humor. She put the watering can down and slowly began to dance. Roybal moves like a true dancer, with grace and control. Her choreography followed a sort of narrative, from watering the pot, to struggling to move, to attempting to get onto the bench but continually falling down until she finally balanced, losing her hat, drinking from the large vase, and then planting herself in it, slowly gaining power and strength. Her note says “This work is an effort to create something that is continually recreating, disintegrating, and holding onto the memories that make me feel alive.”
The piece lasted around 30 minutes with multiple music tracks, many of which sounded like Ludovico Einaudi: minimalist arpeggios of increasing tension played on piano, violin, and cello. Her repetitions of small movements that slowly grew into longer and more complex ones matched this choice in music and added to the meditative nature of the piece. This was her first solo performance at Kindling Arts Festival and I certainly hope it won’t be the last.
piece/peace is Eboné Amos’s choreography. Shorter than the other two works, at around 15 minutes, it featured 10 dancers, mostly women. The program describes the work as one in which the dancers “center Black joy and offer resilience as an act of resistance in a world clouded in hopelessness.” Her choreographer’s note is a quote from Lucille Clifton: “come celebrate me with me that everyday / something has tried to kill me / and has failed.” Amos’s choreography and dancers fully succeeded in expressing this.
This piece was fantastic. It was infectious and fun, satisfying in the way that only group dances can be. The visual texture was different from the other two performances. Effluvia had colorful and ornate props and costumes and Altitude had simple props and black clothing. This had the dancers wearing loose white clothing, none identical: crop tops, skirts, dresses, tunics, pants, etc. The white against the black stage was bright and caught the colors of horizontal beams of light coming from the sides of the stage. This light changed a few times, from white, to blue, to golden.
The piece had several different styles of music, beginning with an upbeat pop song with a throbbing club beat. The full group occasionally broke into sub groups with a few dancers getting solo moves while the others danced around them. They were joyful and energetic.
Then the joy turned to sorrow, as a few, scattered, lone figures stood on the bleak stage and the happy music changed to dissonant horns with long moments of silence, until they grew into united jazz with groovy tonality. Mirroring this were the dancers, who again found unity and joy. A funky song ended the performance, the dancers now jubilant, and they chanted and came together in a circle in the center, putting their hands together, and crying “Whoo!” in victorious, contagious exuberance.
This was the perfect way to end the show and we leapt to our feet applauding. Amos’s choreography was absolutely wonderful and her dancers looked like they were having the time of their lives. –GT
All In!
FlyNash Aerial Arts is a permanent tent that houses the tallest aerial rigging in Nashville, and was the venue for All In!, a show by Nashville’s local circus collective, Suspended Gravity Circus. I attended their Friday night performance. The tent was a little hot and we were given paper fans with last year’s Kindling Arts Festival information on them. Seats were laid out on three sides of the stage area with light theater fog and two spotlights shining up at the ceiling. On the black stage stood a large slot machine and a bar with two stools, the word “Casino” on the back wall in light up letters.
The show was about an hour and a half long and was a lot of fun; it’s not every day that you can see an aerial circus. The story was dark, despite a number of cheerful and comic moments. It followed three characters as they arrived at the Casino: a wealthy college grad, a poor earnest youth, and a goofy adult tourist. They all were absorbed by the allure of the Casino and its false promises, eventually losing their money and happiness to the masked High Roller. Several showgirls showed their hopes and dreams which the High Roller quashed. The card dealer and a dancer dressed in a money-covered dress worked for him, loading the dice and taking the winnings. The show ended with the High Roller’s victory.
The music for the event sampled from a broad array of musical styles and time periods, with the main focus being money and power (although a few cheerful tunes like “Cocktails for Two” brightened the mood). The speakers blasted “Can’t Buy Me Love,” Pink Floyd’s “Money,” Muse’s “Supremacy,” among others.
The costumes were what you’d hope for at a circus, fun and with many styles, textures, and colors. My favorite outfit was the one which started the show: the card dealer’s skirt was a poker table which was used several times for poker games. Other costumes were showgirl outfits; a money dress; a goofy male tourist getup; and the menacing High Roller wore a dark purple suit with a glittering disco ball mask over his head.
The show featured a number of different types of movement art: dance, aerial silks, aerial rope, lyra (the hoop), hula hoops, cyr wheel, and poi. The aerial movement was impressive and added a layer of danger not found in ordinary dance. Some performers had safety cushions below them as they dangled high above us, and others danced above the hard concrete floor. Behind the casino bar cast members worked the rope system, their darting movements changing the height of the performer. The strength Suspended Gravity Circus had to complete their moves was impressive and watching their movements of vertical dance, twisting rope and fabric around themselves above a crowd was hypnotizing.
Some of the performances on the rope were dream sequences or showcased a character’s emotion, and others were part of the setting. My favorite blending of movement and casino were the cyr wheel (the giant metal wheel the performer can roll around inside). This started out flat on the ground and was used as a roulette wheel, but by the end of the scene the players were caught inside it as it spun around the stage. I really enjoyed the hula hoops too, which were light-up. They sound mundane compared to the aerial stunts, but they were one of my favorite parts (maybe because my recent attempt to demonstrate them to my three-year-old has given me context for the impressive choreography).
At the end of the show director and performer Bailey Freeman spoke to the crowd, thanking us for coming to sit in a “giant plastic bag and watch us do tricks.” She went on to say that the reason that this show was darker than usual is because this year’s festival theme of “fortunes and fates” and asked include a response to contemporary events as well. With the cancellation of many grants to many arts organizations (which almost stopped this particular performance from happening), and the current political prominence of billionaires, Suspended Gravity Circus decided that a casino setting where the house always wins would fit perfectly. -GT
30 Fortunate Plays in 60 Fateful Minutes
‘Where House’ performed at the Actors Bridge Studio, downstairs in the “found space” of Darkhorse Theater. “Found space” refers to the repurposing of spaces for theatrical purposes. Darkhorse, housed in what was once a Presbyterian church, provides a much-welcomed umbrella for a host of performing arts events and companies.
The eight-member cast regenerated last year’s performance of 30 imperfect plays in 60 perfect minutes as 30 Fortunate Plays in 60 Fateful Minutes. The performance is based on a strategy created by a Chicago troupe, the “Neo-Futurists.” This troupe created Chicago’s longest-running production, Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind, a set of thirty plays in sixty minutes that fused surrealism, Dadaism, and other progressive arts movements. The Nashville version was less avant-garde, but quite enjoyable. The cast provided each audience member with a menu of plays and a fortune cookie (Get it? “Fortunate”? “Fortune cookie”?) The basic format:
1) Thirty flash plays, each two minutes or less, are represented by large black numbers clipped to a clothesline. The players, who are also the playwrights, don’t know which play goes with which number; the audience does. Five large red numbers, called “doopsies” (more on this later) are attached to poles on either side of the white stage backdrop in the black-curtained space.
2) At the cue, “Curtain,” ending each play, the audience yells numbers. A cast member grabs a number, reads the title from the back of the page, another cast member says “GO” and the action starts.
3) All but eight of the plays can be “doopsied.” For this bit, audience members call out one of five doopsies after the play is chosen, but before “GO.” Each doopsie adds a special theatrical element. The play is performed twice: once without, then with the doopsie. For example, Play No. 13 “Bonnaroo Play” is a skit about attending Tennessee’s Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival in pouring rain with turbulent winds blowing down characters’ tents. The doopsie version in this case added a “caveman” element so characters could only speak in one-syllable words.
Not all the cast could stick to one-syllable words, but the whole mess was funny. It was in spots like these that the very real synergy between the cast and the nearly full audience pulsed with vitality.
Some plays like No. 10 “As It Pleases the Church,” were rather juvenile with “dick jokes” about churches with “big members,” but others, like No. 24 “Am I the Problem?,” provided thoughtful commentary on a world so full of trauma that a person can feel “punished for my numbness.” In this play, Bekah Stogner dressed as Death in a hooded black cape, holding a sickle; the rest of the cast paced in slow-motion on the darkened stage.
A few other plays especially caught my attention: No. 22 “In Sickness and (Mental) Health,” movingly portrayed a woman in deep distress, surrounded by cast members holding strings, effectively trapping her in a cat’s cradle. No. 6 “I Hate Chess,” offered a quick rumination on life, as characters played chess admitting none knew any of the rules. No. 25 “Purgatory,” where the opening bars of a song gets stuck in the characters’ heads, took me decades back to my only visit to Disneyland, where the sickeningly sweet “It’s a Small World, After All” haunted me for months in musicology grad school.
At times I wished the quick changes had been even quicker and more dramatic, perhaps through more exaggerated movement, like even slower motion with greater limb extension in the slo-mo sections, or even wilder dance moves in the party sections. Overall, though, this was an entertaining and, occasionally, thought-provoking show. It was impressive that they actually did all thirty plays in the sixty minutes once the timer started (with 30 seconds left!). This show could easily become a staple for the Kindling season, perhaps even filling a venue larger than the approximately forty-seat space at Actors Bridge. If the show returns, so will I. -YK
I Saw Goody Proctor with the Devil
When you go to a mainstream arts production, whether it’s a Broadway play at TPAC, a comedy show at the Ryman, or symphonic performance at the Schermerhorn, you know more or less what you’re getting. That’s not to say those productions aren’t incredible or worth one’s time, but they’re in a way predictable. The Kindling Arts Festival on the other hand provides one-of-a-kind experiences. It allows the audience to participate in the arts on an intimate level that’s just not feasible at a larger scale. It would be a mistake, however, to think this means the festival is composed of purely avant-garde material (although there is certainly some of that if that is what you’re looking for). To try and illustrate exactly what I mean, let me share with you my experience watching Amm Skellars’ production of I Saw Goody Proctor with the Devil.
The play itself is described as an “electro-pop, feminist reimagining of the Salem Witch Trials” with “bold visuals, catchy pop hits and feminine agency”. This description certainly hits the mark, but it barely scratches the surface of what the show really is. This is an experience where the audience is a part of the performance, and I mean that quite literally. You can expect to react to specific moments, dance with cast members, and, if you’re lucky, even be drawn up onstage. There’s also comedy, thought-provoking imagery, incredible vocal performances, and mesmerizing dance numbers.
The performance begins with the cast walking straight through the center of the audience. The actors are dressed in a thoughtful mix of period and contemporary clothing (think bonnets, steeple hats, and aprons mixed with headphones, crop tops, and fish net leggings). As they take their place on stage, a colossal white cross fills the background, and we dive into our first scene. Here the town reverend admonishes his congregation against the temptations of the devil. Between verses of hymn and preaching, congregants break out in song to share their inner dialogues. With the stage set we are then properly introduced to the protagonist, Abi Williams who gossips with a group of town girls about her sexual encounters with a married man, Johnny Proctor. These recollections are shared through a humorous song, during which the other girls intermittently break out in provocative dance as suggestive images flash across the backdrop.
Next, we’re introduced to the narrator (or at least the closest thing the play has to a narrator). Dorkus Hohr (pronounced “whore”) is the DJ of a religious radio station who summarizes events going on in Salem at critical points throughout the show. Dorkus is used to transition between scenes and provide extra sprinklings of humor.
Following Dorkus’ short interlude, we come to the first major conflict of the play. Johnny and Abi find themselves alone, only for Johnny to break things off with Abi. He confesses his wife Goody Proctor is pregnant, and as a result he can no longer in good conscience continue to see Abi. Understandably, Abi freaks out. Directly following this Abi finds herself together with the other girls from earlier. They are attempting to order food (various forms of gruel and alcohol), when Abi goes on a tirade about how terrible Goody Proctor is. The other girls join in, with one calling Goody a witch. This idea snowballs and the girls all conspire to spread a rumor that they saw Goody cavorting with the devil.
From here we fast forward in time to find the girls together in a courtroom accusing half the town of witchcraft as they pretend to be possessed. DJ Dorkus catches us up with what’s been happening during this time and gives a summary of the court proceedings thus far. It’s here we’re formally introduced to Goody herself. As the name implies, Goody, is something of a goody-two-shoes. She’s dressed more modestly than the rest of the cast and comes off as shy yet polite. As she’s brought to the courtroom, she pleads her innocence only for the girls to mock and incriminate her. Audience members are then brought on stage to help provide evidence against Goody. As things start to spiral out of control, Johnny tries to convince Abi to recant her testimony. After this fails, he finally confesses to his affair with her. The two then break into a arguing duet.
This brings us to an inflection point in the play. Goody, realizing the depth of Johnny’s betrayal, joins the other girls in accusing Johnny of practicing witchcraft. This prompts the judge to offer Johnny a way out. He can sign his name to a confession of his crimes, and he’ll be allowed to go free. Through song, Johnny refuses, explaining his reputation is worth more than his life.
We once again jump forward in time, now with Johnny languishing away in the town stocks. Goody visits him, points out the hypocrisy of wanting to avoid slandering himself after all the trouble he’s caused, and confronts him about all his misdeeds. Goody breaks out in a stunning dance number to express her emotions. Abi appears and looks on in wonder and awe at this side of Goody she’s never seen before. The two women reconcile and begin to bond over their disdain for Johnny. The play then transitions back to the courtroom where the audience members once again play a part in the story on stage, before the reverend appears once more and wonders out loud how the town could have possibly descended into such chaos.
This brings us to perhaps the funniest moment in the play, where the reverend sings a solo in which he questions his faith and the existence of God. The performance then concludes with the town coming together in reverie. Dorkus explains that the reverend has left Salem for Bermuda (a callback to an earlier joke). Freed from the patriarchal and puritanical chains, the women of the town have never been happier. The ensemble sings and dances together celebrating their newfound freedoms and beliefs.
I Saw Goody Proctor with the Devil is an irreverent romp that punches well beyond its weight. With the production value of something you might expect to see at the TPAC, but an intimacy you can only experience in a venue like the Oz Arts Nashville, this play was truly an unparalleled experience. It’s fun and original, with themes especially relevant to the current climate. While the Kindling Arts Festival may be concluded, do yourself a favor and check out Amm Skellars’ current and future performances, and don’t forget to attend the Kindling Arts Festival in the years to come. -BH
Mellow Drama
This year I was only available to attend Kindling Arts events on the last day of the festival, Sunday, so I decided to focus on dance and movement events. The day turned out to be nothing short of magnificent! Kindling Arts is not only a great place to see excellent art works in development, but also non-conventional works of the most powerful expression in performance.
Advertised as “bold, satirical and uncompromising,” Becca Hobeck’s Mellow Drama was an excellent example of this. I first saw Hobeck about a year into the pandemic performing in David Flores’ Prism with New Dialect at OZ where they moved to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s “Helplessly Hoping.” (review here) It was a dark time, and her expression then seemed to perfectly capture the uncanny state and place we were all in, “helplessly hoping” that the pandemic would pass. It was marvelous to see her perform again, and in an intimate room (the lovely Darkhorse theater) without an inkling of social distancing.
The seemingly autobiographical choreography, script and/or narrative, was one of coming of age, and engaged with the typical encounters of hypocrisy, heartbreak and independence that goes along with a woman’s life in the South. Tailored perfectly well to her talents, Hobeck clearly enjoyed the performance. It engaged in a fantastic collection of styles, genres, dramatic devices and a tremendously diverse vocabulary in movement, including mime, shadow dance, marionette, burlesque, broadway (dance), crooner/pole dancer, ballet, modern dance and more.
From a remarkable pair of high heels, to a transformative and luxurious red cloth (a version of the infinity dress), to a silly red balloon and cheap suit, her fluency of technique and sophistication powerfully undermined reality and the need for any sophisticated props. Her website states that she uses “movement to process life experiences and embody transformation.” While the processes and transformations are on display, they are also always internal and subjective (she appears to be experiencing them); her power is to bring an audience along in the process and share in the experience. It was a complicated, beautiful, and riveting performance that seemed to end too soon.
Life Force: Expressions of Power
After a break, I drove over to Oz Arts to check out Life Force: Expressions of Power, a set of three different but equally moving performances that emphasized resilience in the face of oppression. It opened with Damballa, a two-part work featuring first a duet by Nashville-based ‘shackled feet DANCE!’ members Shabaz Ujima and Nathan Neal, followed by an ensemble movement by the six member Chattanooga-based Juba Dance Ensemble.
Shabaz Ujima, primary choreographer for Damballa, is a Nashville native who trained at the School of Nashville Ballet, where he is now a teaching artist. The title of the piece is a reference to the ancient Haitian and Beninian God of creation. A pre-Christian deity who, it is said, when he shed his serpent skin, created all the waters on the earth. The program describes the choreography as “uncovering layers of masculine expression, vulnerability and strength.” The strength and masculinity (at least in a Western European definition) was powerfully displayed in the opening moments with Shabaz Ujima’s natural charisma and vigor.
However, the conventionality of this masculine performance was immediately undermined when Nathan Neal joined him in duet. Neal’s performed masculinity in dance is much more coded as feminine, yet still extraordinary in its power and presence. His gentle grace under Ujima’s lead carried a natural fluency that was both charming and beautiful. Together they seemed to express the dualist nature of Damballa whose alter ego is known as Ayida Weddo. In the mythology, Damballa and Ayida Weddo represent a divine duality of male and female, earth and sky, spiritual and physical; a single entity sharing a dual spirit, carrying aspects of both genders.
This gender-fluid performance, an expression of a much older, and frankly, more natural expression of the reality of human condition, flies in the face of our current and needlessly strict societal norms. In the second half, when ‘shackled feet DANCE!’ joined them on stage, the binary of gender was quickly and much more clearly understood as a continuum, made all the more powerful in the modern political context when the music they danced to referenced the Spiritual. The performance was chilling, inspiring, and beautiful at once.
Next up was Nocturne Dance’s Lady Lazarus. The title is likely derived from Sylvia Plath’s poem of the same name. Written just before her death, the poem employs the biblical character of Lazarus to explore her own themes and experiences with death and rebirth. But instead of transformative, the narrative is Sisyphean in that rebirth brings only the same objectifying reality, returning to “the same place, the same face, the same brute.” Finally, the poem further conflates the tale with that of the Phoenix:
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Delaine Kylynn’s choreography brought much of this into movement, but more broadly aimed the expression at the conforming forces of society and the quest for empowerment (where Plath’s work is focused at the masculine and perhaps her husband specifically). The genius of the work, for me, is the inspired connection of form and content; The way the dance, imagery, and even costuming, was starkly tribal (or at least ritualistic) in a minimalist style, a death and rebirth in a process of resistance and finally, transformation. Each of the dancers in the ensemble were quite remarkable in performance, often representing the society/tribe/collective with special mention to Arelys Hernandez’s turns as the individual.
While Lady Lazarus and Damballa represented strength and power in resistance to the collective norm, Friends Life Community expressed the positive potential of joining and a welcoming community in their work Threads of Power. An interdisciplinary, “devised theater” performance including poetry by Ciona Rouse, music, dance (some choreographed, some improvised) and sculpture, Threads of Power was, almost impossibly, the most moving and passionate performance of the day, All 15 dancers led the audience into a fresh perspective of acceptance through a positive message of dance.
Flirtations with Fate: Aerial Showcase
Finally, for my last ticket of the day, I headed over to the Nashville School for the Aerial Arts for Flirtations with Fate: Aerial Showcase. I never really know what to say about these performances. The athleticism is always amazing, the strength incredible, the grace profound and the artistry can, at times, be well nigh sublime. There is clapping and cheering after every “move,” but the performances often carry narratives that beg attention, from which the applause can distract.
Cassidy Slabaugh and Ella Hunter’s duet “The Seed” on ribbons was remarkable for its teamwork and wonderful balance of strength and grace in a performance that was a Zen of beauty. Caroline Wehby’s “Grief as a Portal” was a much more introspective expression which seemed to declare the value of tragedy in its grounding, and the clarity of purpose it brings. Natalee Elmasian’s fortune-telling smile, even when suspended in the most ridiculous positions, belied a confidence, strength, stamina, and artistry that all of the performers at the NSAA shared.
As I mentioned before, it was, overall, a wonderful day in a festival absolutely brimming with innovative movement and expression. I would be remiss not to mention that I am also very excited for Becca Hoback and shackled feet DANCE!’s return to Oz in December. I’m going to go buy my ticket now before this is published and they sell out! -JM
This festival is a reminder of the benefits of local live art, from the mainstream to the completely countercultural. Despite the gloomy financial outlook for many arts organizations in this current political climate, the delightful and impressive performances that Kindling provided Nashville emphasizes that artists will always create, and those who care about the arts will always support them.
For more information about the festival, see their website.
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A Nashville native and MTSU graduate, Grace Krenz is a reader, a writer, and an arts enthusiast. She lives in Nashville with her husband and two children.
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Y Kendall is a Stanford-educated musicologist, specializing in dance history who recently earned an MFA in Creative Nonfiction at Columbia University, studying nonfiction writing with Ben Ratliff and Margo Jefferson. Kendall’s diverse works have been published in Alchemy: Journal of Translation, Columbia Journal, Mitos Magazín, The Hunger Mountain Review, and The Salt Collective, among others. Born and raised in Tennessee, Kendall now lives near Nashville, freelancing as a flutist and writer, while caregiving for relatives.
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As a software engineer for Microsoft by day, Brady Hammond moonlights as a musician, artist, writer, and all-around arts enthusiast in his free time. He received a B.A. in Linguistics from BYU in 2017 with minors in Scandinavian studies and computer science. Hailing originally from Georgia, Brady has enjoyed traveling the world. He spent some time living in Denmark before eventually returning to the states. He currently resides in Nashville with his wife and three children.
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Joseph E. Morgan is a father of two, husband, teacher and recovering guitarist in Middle Tennessee.
