Vaughn ended up in California, where he gained wealth and semi-fame by writing theme music for television sitcoms “Third Rock From The Sun” and “That ’70s Show”. Bob retreated to New York, to more cruddy jobs and another doomed relationship, this time with a smart and thoughtful girlfriend who wrote for the Village Voice and who would later (unwittingly) become the female lead in the title song of the second Lonesome Bob album.
“I always felt like she had a big influence on him,” Rigby said. “I think she probably inspired him to explore a different side of himself, and probably inspired him to write more because she was a really good writer.”
Bob had, in fact, been writing songs throughout his time in the Combo, though Vaughn’s unquestioned leadership in the band meant that those songs went unheard. But certain portions of late ’80s/early ’90s New York were opening up to twangified music, as documented by Diesel Only Records’ Rig Rock compilations. In 1993, the Mekons covered Bob’s “Point Of No Return” after hearing him sing it in a New York living room.
“There was a connection of like-minded musicians who were coming out of a punk era and rediscovering country roots,” said Dave Herndon, who worked as an editor at the Village Voice when Lonesome Bob was beginning to assert himself on the New York/New Jersey scene. “Before, blues bands were the bar bands around town. But then the new thing became neo-country roots bands. And Bob slayed everybody with the stuff he was playing, even at his first shows. Songs like ‘I Ain’t Ever Been Married, But I Have Been Divorced’ were great.”
Then there was the voice, an instrument that’s bigger than Bob.
“I remember seeing him for the first time outside of the Combo and thinking, ‘Oh my God, he can really sing,'” Rigby said. “His voice is so distinctive, and so powerful, and I was surprised by that at first. His songs, too…it just wasn’t what I would have expected. It wasn’t the Ben Vaughn Combo thing, because it was more touching and heartfelt, but still with a sense of humor. I didn’t know that side of him until then.”
Lonesome Bob moved to Nashville on Labor Day of 1994. People kept telling him he ought to, and he finally decided they weren’t bullshitting. He had a few fine songs with him and a woman (who became the mother of his second child, Jake) with whom he would soon part. He also had the phone numbers of publishers who’d told him to call when he got to Nashville, but he didn’t yet realize that they didn’t mean they’d actually be able to do anything for him.
And so his first year in Nashville was marked by little other than an ugly breakup (“I didn’t find out until we were down here that she didn’t like hanging out in bars”), more subsistence living, and a streak of professional disappointments. But then he found Coolsville, a musician-packed rental property at 2003 Graybar that had become a combination rehearsal hall, party spot and dormitory. Songwriter Pat Gallagher had a separate place on the same land (he called his digs “Melody Manor”), and drummer Mark Horn, guitarist Tim Carroll and one other guy resided in Coolsville proper. After Bob, Mark and Tim began hanging together, the other guy moved out and Bob moved in.
“We kept all our gear in the living room,” Carroll remembered. “It wasn’t a living room for us, it was a playing room. We had a drum set right there, and space to rehearse, and whenever a lot of people would get together there we’d all want to jam. It was a really inspiring place.”
Rigby used Coolsville to rehearse for a Nashville gig. “It was kind of cold and rustic in there,” she remembered. “Mark Horn used to say it was one step above the KOA campground.”
Horn also used to say that Lonesome Bob should be playing shows and making records. Bob had recorded a tentative, acoustic version of his double-murder waltz “The Plans We Made” for inclusion on Bloodshot’s Nashville: The Other Side Of The Alley album, but Horn had something more unruly in mind. He, Carroll and bassist Dave Francis worked up a Bob-fronted set for a show at Douglas Corner, and they then went to Paul Gannon’s small studio to record some of the songs they’d learned for the gig.
The recordings — captured on a quarter-inch, reel-to-reel Fostex 8-track recorder — cost about $60, became the basis for Bob’s first album, and sounded like nothing else being attempted in Nashville. The songs beckoned come hither, then unleashed thematic sucker punches.
“My Mother’s Husband” began with observations of others, then opened up to describe the protagonist’s own lukewarm cohabitation: “It’s not some complex psychological dynamic/It’s just that loneliness is so much more problematic/I’ve got a girlfriend, but we’re not in love.” The band crunched home that “not in love” outro with a soundscape akin to a ‘roid-raging version of Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers’ “Roadrunner”.
Equally conspicuous was “Do You Think About Me”, which became the title track to a Waco Brothers album in 1997. Bob’s recording was like a Conway Twitty cheating ballad someone had mistakenly amped up to arena rock levels.
