At last, a nice warm sunny day to greet us. After a few days of unpredictable weather, the Memphis sun finally decided to show up in full force. Maggi, ever the optimist, declared we should walk the 40 minutes from our BnB to Sun Studio. My feet groaned, but the sunshine was too good to waste.
The journey took us past The Peabody, the grand dame of Memphis hotels. It’s famous for a delightfully quirky tradition: the daily duck parade. Every day, a “Duck Master” leads a flock of ducks through the lobby and into the fountain. We decided to give it a miss; we were on a mission.
From the polished elegance of The Peabody, Union Avenue quickly dissolves into a strange, post-industrial wasteland. It’s a landscape of empty lots and chain-link fences, a ghost of the factories and retail that once stood there. It felt like walking through the forgotten backlot of the city, a stark contrast to the musical pilgrimage we were about to make.
Sun Studio
We arrived at 9:40am, determined to beat the crowds, and were rewarded with the top spot in the queue. By the time the doors opened at 10, we were a modest party of about ten eager beavers. The lobby is a perfect little trap of nostalgia, with cool memorabilia and a coffee bar. We browsed while Maggi snagged a t-shirt for Adam.
The tour was a fantastic primer on Sam Phillips and the birth of Sun Records. Having listened to the “History of Rock n Roll in 500 Songs,” a lot of the story was familiar, but hearing it while standing in the very room where it all happened? That was the magic. Our guide was passionate, telling us about the secretary who first spotted Elvis’s spark, and the golden throats of Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, and Roy Orbison. The one thing the tour glossed over was how Sam Phillips lost his grip on all that talent. It’s the classic story of the visionary who could spot a star but couldn’t hold onto one.
Lunch
We retraced our steps, cutting through the famous Beale Street, which feels a bit like a theme park by day, before finding SOB (South of Beale) on Main St. It’s a slick operation—modern interior, a long bar stretching the entire length of the room, and young, capable waitresses. The food was… fine. Maggi enjoyed her standard Margarita and I had a perfectly ordinary beer. It was a decent pit stop, but not a place I’d rush back to. We chalked it up to fuel for the next adventure.
Walk by the Mississippi
After lunch, Maggi grabbed the car for a change of pace. We tried to get a good view of the mighty Mississippi, which is surprisingly car-unfriendly. After a bit of a drive-around, we finally parked and walked down to the riverbank. Standing there, looking out at that massive, muddy artery of America, it was easy to imagine the steam boats and history that have flowed past.
On the hunt for breakfast supplies, we spotted “The Fresh Market” and impulsively swerved in. It was a happy accident—a beautifully curated grocery store that felt like a slightly more elegant version of Whole Foods.
BB King’s Blues Bar
Neither of us had a proper dinner appetite after our SOB lunch, so we snacked at home before heading back to Beale Street, this time under the neon lights. We poked our heads into BB King’s, and the receptionist timed it perfectly: “Band’s back on in a few minutes.” A $10 cover charge seemed like a fair gamble.
I was fully expecting a gritty, traditional blues trio. What we got was a revelation. An eight-piece band—drums, bass, guitar, keys, sax, trumpet, and a phenomenal female vocalist—took the stage. And they didn’t just play the blues. They started with a jazz number, then slid effortlessly into R&B and even a stunning, reworked version of “Killing Me Softly.”
Every song was familiar, yet completely new. They deconstructed each track and rebuilt it with their own signature flair. The musicianship was top-tier, and the vocalist had a soulful power that filled the room. It was unexpected, it was brilliant, and it turned a simple night out into a proper Memphis memory.