Written and illustrated by Antsy McClain
Live music, classic cheeseburgers and military uniforms turned an ordinary Thursday night into an unforgettable glimpse at the American dream
Aaah, summer. Songbirds are everywhere. Each morning, finches and warblers and Carolina wrens can be heard in the trees heralding another sunrise. I love waking up to their melodic chatter.
Middle Tennessee, being home to migrating musicians, introduces another breed of summer songbird heard in places once void of their music during the winter months: the outdoor patio.
Burger Republic1 has a great menu, a stellar on-tap beer selection and a casual, dog-friendly patio. But yesterday, it fed more than our tummies. There was a songbird there whose music, message and flock fed our souls.
We had family visiting from out of town, and they wanted to hear some locally grown live music. We came to the right place. We asked to be seated at the patio where a young woman with a pink guitar was in the middle of her set.
Mattie Taylor 2 was singing a song about Knoxville when we walked in. I love Knoxville almost as much as she does, so she caught my ear immediately. And as she sang, I saw a kindred spirit.
It doesn’t seem that long ago that I was a young singer-songwriter playing any place that had a stage — or a patio with a corner I could squeeze into. Like her, I added music to a diary of hope and heartbreak, drawing from the mighty adventure of being young.
Now, all these years later, with a lot of work, a lot of help from friends and mentors and no shortage of dumb luck, I’ve been able to achieve my dreams as a singer-song-writer. I’m still having more fun than I should be allowed to have. As interested as I was in the musician on the patio, I was most smitten by her fans: a group of matriarchal pride appearing to span three generations. They were at two tables pushed together 3 feet away from the singer’s microphone, and they were glued to her every word. These women adored her. They sang along to every song and requested their favorites.
It was clear these women were not just watching a confident young singer-songwriter in adulthood; they were seeing the little girl they had raised, the kid who loved to sing, who made up her own songs, who made them gush with pride at elementary school recitals and high school talent shows. This was not a one-off patio performance at a Wilson County burger place; this was a culmination of events that took years to get here, years they were thrilled to be a part of. How could they not support her? How could they not get behind her with every beat of their hearts? is was their Mattie, and they were sharing her with the rest of us.
When she stopped to fix a broken guitar string, I got up for a bathroom break. On the way in, I happened upon some young men in Army camo waiting for their to-go order. I thanked them for their service as I always do, and they reacted, as these stoic soldiers always do, with grace and humility. Back at my seat later, I saw them pile back in their vehicle, bags of food in hand, and head toward the freeway.
The juxtaposition of Mattie’s music against this scene gave me goose-bumps. Here were soldiers and a singer, about the same age, going about their day. One is fulfilling her dream while the others are sworn to protect a way of life that makes sure these dreams can be pursued, whatever yours and mine happen to be.

My thoughts naturally pivoted to my father, uncles and countless friends who took the path of military service when they were young, with dreams of their own that would have to wait until they got back home. And I thought of a neighbor, a Vietnam vet who was part of a story I wrote for this magazine about how music and songwriting can help veterans deal with PTSD.3 We became friendly and found ourselves at a local buffet talking tenderly about our families, our homes, our dreams. I cannot forget these large souls, many of whom are gone but whose legacy of love and honor lives on in me and the people I love.
As America’s Independence Day approaches and we commemorate the origin story of our nation, I realize these concepts of freedom, loyalty and honor are too big for the words I have. I don’t possess enough vocabulary to give them the justice they deserve.
But here in my little corner of America, I can sit under an umbrella at a favorite burger place with family and friends — and a few dogs — where a talented young singer with a pink guitar sings about home, hope and a little heartbreak. And I have a lot of people to thank for this privilege. And our remembrance is all any veteran has ever asked in return.
And this reminds me of a favorite moment on the patio last Thursday, when the young singer pulled up a stool for her niece, about 7 years old, to sit beside her and sing a favorite song together. Her niece’s face was flushed, her eyes starstruck, in awe as she looked up at her aunt, tall, confident, living her dream.
That little girl is all of us. We grow up with our eyes wide open, taking in every word, every note, surrounded by people who are larger than life.
They are our family. We come from them. No matter what happens as we pursue dreams or chase careers, we know we will always belong with them. And sometimes that family will ask the waitress to push a few tables together so they can cheer us on and make requests.
The singer sang, her family sang with her and I took another bite of my classic cheeseburger, smiling the biggest smile I’ve had in days, unashamed by the tears in my eyes. Another day in Tennessee.
Now, that’s what I call classic.