My dad and my brother played guitar, but I didn’t start playing until I was a senior at Millsaps, when I was doing an honors thesis that was driving me crazy. I was a huge music fan, but I’d never played anything. I was also writing things like any silly English major in college taking creative writing classes. I’d always liked music as much as or more than I did literature, and songs are easier to write than novels. I grew up in Mobile, where my oldest and best friend, Will Kimbrough was a professional player, an original song-writing guy from the age of 16 on, an unbelievable record freak. And he was touring! He was our conduit for stuff like The Clash and The Jam; not as much punk as sort of punkish rock-and-roll. Not that I’d call The Clash punk; to me they’re the greatest rock-and-roll band ever. We were lucky there because one guy could change the field.
I’d been in a punk band in Mobile, “Joe Strange”, and I wrote songs then. We weren’t bad; we were okay. But I started playing on stage again when I was in school in Oxford. Law school was so boring, and I was around people who were so incredibly different from me. I was seven years older than most of them, for one thing, and they were all a bunch of Republican yuppies, who with a few exceptions just bored the shit out of me. So I hung out with the quirkier people in Oxford, and I think I wound up there for a reason. I started writing songs because I knew I was never going to be a hot-shot guitar player; I couldn’t play “Stairway to Heaven”. I knew I was never going to be in a band because I was a great this or that, and I wasn’t going to be just another white dude playing in a blues band, I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to play “Mustang Sally”. I didn’t want to be hustling money for playing stuff that I had no business playing, so I didn’t, and for better or worse, this is what I started doing.
When I turned 30 my good friend Eileen Wallace sent me a book she made: she’d made everything, the binding, the paper, the cover. I started writing things in that, and I’ve never stopped. And I’ll tell you, the voice memo function on an iPhone has changed the way I write songs. Now if I’m doing something else, something boring, just driving, or maybe watching a game, I can hit the voice memo, and mumble some stuff, and keep it to work on later. It helps. You know how this is as a writer; it comes, and you only catch a tiny portion of it in the net. My favorite songwriter, Richard Thompson, carries a notebook with him everywhere. It just ups the odds of not losing something important. When I’m writing songs just for me, as opposed as to for a band or someone else, I always tell myself they have to be okay just to play on an acoustic in front of people. Maybe that’s folk music; I don’t know. If they work like that, it’s okay because a lot of the time when I’m playing, it’s solo. I like to perform; it’s thrilling to play solo, but it’s kind of scary. I mean, it’s just you out there on the tightrope. It’s easier for me to play in front of 100 people I’ve never met than in front of 10 people I know. Denny Burkes is the best musician I know, so if I’m playing in front of Denny, it’s different. It’s like reading some of your stuff at a writer’s workshop instead of reading to a bunch of students. But I like it.
I can’t sing too great, I’m an okay guitar player; nobody’s going to ask me to be a singer in their band. The reason I play and sing is so that I can do my songs. I think once you find the way you get stuff out, if you find it, whether it’s building model planes or whatever, you’re lucky. I’m lucky in that I can write for myself; I don’t have to please anybody else. I don’t have a record executive breathing down my neck, so I can write whatever I want whenever I want. I think music is moving more away from a business and more into an avocation because anyone can make a record now, and hardly anyone can make any money because it’s all free. In a weird way, it’s going back to what it was like for people in the early 20th century when on Saturday nights people played music and traded songs just for the art, for the fun of it. That’s why I do it; I’ve made hundreds of dollars!
I’ve put out two albums. Neilson Hubbard produced the first two; Will Kimbrough will produce the next one. When I get into conversations over what I’m going to do, I always have people who’ll tell me, ‘Well, you need to market yourself; you need to do this, you need to do that …’ and I keep thinking, ‘Okay, why? So I can do what?’ Right now it makes me incredibly happy that I have people covering my songs; I can’t get a bigger compliment. I’ve gotten weird reviews from places like Holland and Belgium, but I think most of that is people see you’re from Mississippi, and they’re like ‘Yeah, yeah, Mississippi!’
I have some songs I’ve been working on for years. “Her Grief is a Man” came easily, out of a difficult situation. Some songs are from personal experience, some are just flat-out, straight-up fiction. I don’t know how that happens. I’ll be on a run, say, and the cadence of the run determines the meter of the song; it just starts. A lot of them start on the guitar. Inspiration is fleeting, but you can up the odds by picking up the guitar and playing one every now and then. You’ve got to work a little bit. If someone covers one of my songs and sends me a bunch of money, great; I’ve had some calls about songs being placed on television, and that hasn’t happened yet, but if it does, it’s great. I do want to make records, and it’s driving me crazy that I’ve not put one out in five years. I love “Leaves of Tennessee” and I have a few more I like very much in this batch. By my standards, it’s going to be a very good record, but it costs money and takes time, and I’ve had things to happen in my life which have made finding the money and time to make a record a relatively low priority.
My daughter, who is 10, is the best critic I have. She’ll come in, and I’ll be playing something, and she’ll ask, ‘Is that yours?’ ‘Yes,’ I’ll say, and usually she’ll go something like, ‘Meh,’ but the other day, I’ve got a new one that I just finished, and I heard her humming the chorus. And that’s when you know that it’s a hit; a hit is a hit, whether it hits your house or hits the world. People respond to a good song. What I think is my best stuff, some people don’t. There’s a song of mine called “Levee” that I thought was pretty good; I was trying to write something different, a two-step, and I’ve heard a lot of people tell me that’s the best thing I’ve ever written. What I hope that means is that the more I write, the higher the bar is raised and that my weaker songs in the next batch will be better on average.
And that’s a great thing.
As I was getting a degree in business and communications at Mississippi State my father asked me what I wanted to do; he told me that when I finished at State, he’d help me with anything I wanted. I told him I wanted to cook. He said that I needed to work in a restaurant while I was in Starkville to see if that’s what I wanted, so near the end of my college career I worked at The Veranda, just to learn basics; how to use a knife, what my pans are, so I wouldn’t look like an idiot when I got to culinary school. When I got to Charlotte (to attend Johnson and Wales), we had duck confit at a restaurant called Rooster’s Wood-Fired Kitchen, and my dad said, “You need to learn how to cook this dish.”
When I worked at Rooster’s with Jim Noble and Ramone Taimanglo, I was learning more there than I was from school; being at Rooster’s put me in the top of my class. The Manship has a lot to do with what I learned there; it’s not that I copied them, it’s about the adventure I had going to the East Coast, going down to New Orleans, then back up here. The style of the menu, a la carte, is a lot like Rooster’s, but at lunch it’s like most restaurants in Jackson: meat and two sides, wood-fired pizza, sandwiches, red fish on the half shell, steak kabobs.
Basically, I think that every chef needs to be cooking things they had as a child that hit home. I’ve trained all over the country and went to the best cooking school in the nation, but some of my best dishes come from my mom’s table. My mother learned how to cook from her mother, who is a Lebanese Cajun from White Castle, Louisiana, so that’s all kinds of crazy mixtures there. We’d have cannelloni on Sunday nights, we’d have maple ribs on Saturdays; all of my dishes and desserts are inspired by my mom.
I’ve been working in New Orleans, and the stuff there is really heavy. I worked in a place called Domenica, one of John Besh’s restaurants, which is northern Italian instead of southern Italian, mostly olive oils, vinegars, seafood dishes. But since The Manship is in a health-care environment, I knew I had to bring lighter food. I get a dish and I ask myself how I can make it light; for instance, using vinaigrette instead of a butter sauce or a Greek dressing instead of a steak sauce. I also want to offer local food in season, as fresh as possible, and I try to get as much of my inventory locally. We buy oils, vinegars and herbs from international sources, but when it comes to meats and seafood we’re trying to get as much as we can from around here. The Lebanese were merchants, and having a lot of Lebanese genes, I love talking to sales reps and farmers and bartering and trying to get a better deal just from being a good person.
The Manship is the brainchild of me and my partner Stephen O’Neill. While I’ve been training, I’ve been coming up with what I wanted to do as a chef in my first restaurant. I’ve been a chef all over New Orleans, but I never actually learned how to make money doing it. Stephen approached me a year ago and asked me if I’d like to hear what he had going on. We were introduced by our friend Bill Lampton, who said to me, “I know you’re happy at Eat Here Brands (which was with Al Roberts and Bill Latham), but I have a guy I want you to meet. So we met one day, and I basically told Stephen that I wasn’t looking to be anyone’s chef, I was looking for a business partner. So we got to talking and everything was kicking off well, and he had the location (1200 North State #100) picked out and he had half of his investors lined up. So he said, we’re going to be business partners, but the stipulation is you’re going to have to bring the other half of the investors to the table. And I said alright, but we’re going to use my concept. Bill knows a lot about the bar business, but The Manship is basically my food concept and design of how I want the restaurant to be as far as a la carte service, wood-fired cooking, my philosophy on everything.
Stephen and I are a great mixture; he’s really into high-end spirits and cocktails, the vibe is big city with good up-tempo music, we have an open kitchen serving food a la carte, similar to a steak house, but not. It’s turned into a seafood hot spot, high-end steaks and of course the Mediterranean aspect. Most people here are doing Southern food, which is fine, I love it, but we’re concentrating on the Mediterranean angle and when I say Mediterranean, I’m talking Lebanon, Greece, Italy, Spain, not just a lot of red sauces. We do have chicken spaghetti with a red sauce using fresh basil and local mushrooms. I charge what I feel is a very fair price for the product I’m giving. If you want an under $10 lunch special, you’re not going to be eating something out of a can or something that’s bad for you. I think people respect that, and that’s the clientele I’m after.
Sure, we have unhealthy options, but we have sides to share so you can get a taste of everything; you don’t have to order a huge plate of anything. It’s all a la carte, and I think people like that. Say you don’t like cauliflower, and I’m serving the short ribs with a cauliflower puree. Well, you’re instantly not going to order the ribs because they come with the cauliflower. So at night, you order what you want. Everything is seasonal. We haven’t gotten to do soft-shell crabs yet because they’re out of season, we’re going into crawfish season now and we’ve had oysters on the menu since we opened in October, charbroiled, fried, you name it.
When I was growing up, I guess I had a chip on my shoulder; I never wanted to come back to Jackson until I could bring it on, and I feel like this is my way of showing you need to respect people when they’re young. As long as you’re parented well, you’re going to end up being very successful. We’ve been very busy, lots of neighborhood business, a lot of politicians; we’ve become sort of a politicians’ hot spot. We have people from all over coming to eat. We really didn’t do any marketing, we just opened the doors. This is the place people are bringing their friends from out of town to show off Jackson. We have a friend to do our artwork, we’re about to open up the patio, the weather’s just getting right for it, we have a banquet facility that’s been booked solid, and I’m having a baby Wednesday (Feb. 19). Things are just ginning.
August 27, 2005 According to NWS projections, Katrina is dead on for Jackson, passing slightly to the east sometime late Monday or early Tuesday
Mon., Aug. 29, 11:59am We have sustained winds of over 30 mph, and gusts in excess of 50. The driving rain is almost parallel to the ground at times. We’re expecting the eye to pass to the east of here within the next three hours, with hurricane-force winds (>71 mpg).
1:21pm Things are getting really dark and windy here, and I suspect we’ll be without power for a while. Cindy and I are both on the medical corridor grid, which means we’ll be back up and running quicker than most, but it’s going to be bad. I’ve never seen winds and rain like this before. The coast took a massive hit; nobody knows what’s going on down there.
Wed. Aug. 31, 4:17pm Power is still off. Two huge trees have blocked the street (Moody), so it may be awhile before we get power. Had tremendous amount of debris in my yard but no trees down or damage to my house. During the worst part of the storm, we had a battery television that kept us informed into the night. Yesterday we got out to get ice and gas. What chaos! People were almost fighting over ice. The gas lines were so long people were running out while in line. We finally were able to get gas and were so thankful to have a/c in the car. We then went and stood in line to get ice. Jackson is under a curfew and trees are down all over town. Everything in my freezer is gone. I attempted to take a bath this morning and the water was the color of mud. In addition to all this hell, we also have to deal with thousands of Cajuns all over town.
Sept.2, 8:15 am So far no work has even begun on any of the huge trees that are down. Belhaven was really hard hit. One of my neighbors has set up a tent in the front yard and she sleeps out there at night. Power is still not restored to Fortification Street so our grocery store has not reopened and the gas lines are unreal. I have seen so many altercations at gas stations. Most people run out while waiting and cars are all over the road.
Sept.6, Noon The entire Belhaven area in Jackson received massive storm damage; we love our trees, and we endure with them. Power was restored Saturday in Belhaven Heights, Sunday evening on Poplar. The one fatality in the Jackson metro area occurred down the street.
Sept.10, 11am While we still have piles of debris in Jackson, things seem to have returned to some state of normalcy. Temperatures are actually finally cooling down, and it’s nice to sit on the back stoop and listen to the cicadas. This is one we’ll all remember for a long time.