Jeremiah Meyer

Jeremiah loves the dollar theatre. “Saw Samuel L. Jackson in 'Snakes On A Plane' the other day,” the Huntsville songwriter says. I am creeped by the flick, unsurprised at its placement in the secondhand cinema. But, Jeremiah just laughs. “I actually liked the film.” He’s quite honest, likable in his shoulder shrugging. “The story’s totally unlikely in so many ways. I like that.”

Showbiz these days, especially for a songsmith, often hands its young seekers that exact label: Unlikely. Jeremiah gets this, knows it well, and spent seven hours last night in a makeshift Southside recording studio anyways. He polished up the fourth of five tunes for his second EP, “Stay,” a soulful piano-driven offering. Meyer, who’s been pounding the keys for nearly two decades now – “Away from the piano? I’ve not spent more than a week. And that’s a long time for me” – is as refreshing in his sound and persona as his story is improbable.

“I spent 6 months on a Celebrity Cruise,” Jeremiah says. “I sang acapella barbershop tunes, doo-wop, soul. Every week I hammered out Beach Boys to the crowds.” He’s beaming. “I loved it.” Jeremiah’s unapologetic affection for the show-business, a term I use in its best definition, glows and, before hearing J. pounce on the piano or fill the room with his crisp voice, I believe in him. A Nashville-transplant myself, Jeremiah is the first musician I’ve met who will gush over The Scissor Sisters and Rodgers and Hammerstein in the same 60 seconds. The Broadway stage recording of “The Producers” plays in his car stereo.

Jeremiah is quite a guy. He’s untucked, a bit messy, and somewhat of a gentle giant. His hands, though, shrink to fit the row of keys when he sits at a baby grand. Belmont University gifted him a piano scholarship, and he soaked up three years of musical education.

Hailing from a tour-de-Southland of cities, Meyer now lives in Huntsville, Alabama, playing every type of venue from the local Voodoo Lounge to festivals and weddings across the Southeast. "I played an indie music festival in New Orleans . . . a nightclub in Athens, GA where Michael Stipe bought my record!" He also teaches music lessons by day. Alabama takes it’s license tagline, ‘Stars Fall on Alabama,’ a song recorded by Ella Fitzgerald, as signal to the soft piece and their aerospace industry.

Ella hums, “Moonlight and magnolia, starlight in your hair. All the world a dream come true. Did it really happen? Was I really there?”

“Those old jazz players and voices,” Jeremiah says. “They play like they’ve got to get something out.” Meyer himself does the same, and his story, unlikely as it is, seems a silver dream just beginning.