“It’s not about me, man,” is the refrain constantly heard by acquaintances of transparently egotistical but consistently ostensibly humble Nashville musician Freddie Adams. “I don’t give a shit about the chicks, the drugs, the money, the glam. I just dig playing music, and I’m grateful for the love. That’s why I do this.”
“It sounds sweet,” said Freddie's former girlfriend Miranda Hill. “And he never wavers from that ‘man, I’m just lucky to be here,’ schtick. But you can just tell he’s full of shit.”
Ex-roommate Ryan Martin agreed. “You can’t put your finger on it, but you just know he’s a douchebag." Martin shook his head and grinned with reluctant admiration. "Still, I have to hand it to him. He never falters! Just when you think the whole humble jig is up, he pulls out a new level of self-effacing charm. It’s pretty impressive.”
Adams himself is the first to admit that for him, as an authentic, hard-hitting musician’s musician who's continually sought out by fans wanting to thank him for writing songs that evoked emotions they didn't even know they were capable of feeling, maintaining a sense of groundedness isn’t always easy.
He gave a thoughtful sigh and gazed up at the sky. "It's funny, you know? People always tell me how lucky they feel to have discovered me, and how my music forever changed their lives and the way they see the world. But to me, I'm the lucky one. They shouldn't be paying me top dollar like they do for my sold-out shows at the hottest Nashville venues. Way I see it, I'm the one oughtta be paying them."
He added with an endearingly humble wink, "But don't tell them I said that, okay?"