Asheville Ain't What It Use To Be

Americana / Folk / Country Pop / Satirical Folk / Story Song / ORIGINAL

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A LOVE LETTER WITH TEETH

IT SPENDS MOST OF THE SONG ROASTING ASHEVILLE—THEN QUESTIONS ITS OWN NOSTALGIA.

Frank lives in the Asheville area, and “Asheville Ain’t What It Use To Be” turns his observations of its strange culture, contradictions and changing identity into the longest song in his catalog. What begins as a funny local roast gradually exposes genuine ache underneath, before the final chorus complicates the title itself: if Asheville isn’t what it used to be, what exactly was it—and whose version of the past are we remembering?

THE JOKE WORKS BECAUSE HE'S ROASTING A PLACE HE STILL LOVES.

“AIN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE” SOUNDS SIMPLE—UNTIL THE SONG ASKS WHAT IT ACTUALLY USED TO BE.

“Asheville Ain’t What It Use To Be” is Frank’s sprawling satirical folk portrait of the place he calls home.

Across the longest song in The Frank A.I. Project catalog, Asheville becomes a collection of contradictions: mountain beauty and rising costs, eccentric local culture and commercialization, community rhetoric and isolation, tourism and displacement, expensive amenities and visible hardship.

The first half gets much of its energy from roasting those contradictions. Then the arrangement strips down and the joke stops.

By the final chorus, even the title is being questioned. Asheville isn’t what it used to be—but what it used to be depends on who gets to remember it.

FROM FRANK

Frank lives in the Asheville, North Carolina area, and he describes it as one strange place filled with an equally strange culture and collection of people. “Asheville Ain’t What It Use To Be” grew from observing that place closely enough to both love it and make fun of it.

Frank approached the song as a folk tale about Asheville rather than a compact conventional song. That gave him room to wander through the city’s personalities, contradictions, frustrations and changes instead of reducing everything to one complaint.

It became the longest song in his catalog.

THE STORY

THE STORY.

The song opens like someone driving into town and taking inventory: a CBD shop, a man in a bathrobe, goat-milk soap, a banjo player, tarot readers, homeless camps, a drum circle and rows of Subarus. The images accumulate so quickly that Asheville becomes almost a character before the narrator explains what his complaint actually is.

Then comes:

“They say, “Keep Asheville Weird”—well, mission accomplished, hon.”

The joke immediately turns:

“But weird got expensive…”

WEIRD → EXPENSIVE

The culture that makes the city attractive is presented as something that can also become increasingly commercialized and expensive.

LOCAL CULTURE → MARKETABLE CULTURE

The chorus operates through contradictions: breweries beside affordability problems, expensive drinks beside visible hardship, healing crystals beside mountain views, and newcomers beside questions of local identity.

BEAUTY → CONTRADICTION

The picturesque Asheville and the struggling Asheville occupy the same song.

Verse two becomes a blame game. Florida blames New York, New York blames Atlanta, Atlanta blames the South, the South blames the hippies, the hippies blame the suits, and the suits blame the artists.

The point isn’t determining which group is correct. Everybody has somebody else to blame.

That sequence prepares the final chorus:

“Everybody’s pointin’ fingers, nobody wants the blame.”

BLAME THEM → NOBODY WANTS THE BLAME

The second pre-chorus turns the word community inside out. The narrator hears community celebrated publicly while describing neighbors who don’t actually know one another.

COMMUNITY → DISCONNECTION

Then the song deliberately changes.

“Now here’s where it stops bein’ funny, if it was—”

At exactly that point, the full arrangement strips down to acoustic guitar and voice.

FULL BAND → ONE GUITAR + VOICE

Earlier homelessness appeared among a rapid collection of Asheville observations. Now the narrator stops and focuses on one person beneath a bridge.

He refuses to turn that person into “local color” or a convenient symbol.

The language becomes deliberately plain:

“He’s just cold and hungry.”

COMEDY → HUMAN CONSEQUENCE

Then comes another important change:

“And we walk right by / On our way to brunch.”

Earlier much of the satire points toward them. Here it becomes: we.

THEY → WE

The narrator no longer stands completely outside the problem.

The French Broad section then provides one of the song’s clearest descriptions of Asheville:

“It’s beautiful and nasty—kinda like this town.”

The song allows Asheville to be beautiful and broken simultaneously.

Verse three returns to development, housing, short-term rentals and property pressure before the final chorus reaches the song’s most important turn:

“Asheville ain’t what it used to be— / But what it was depends on who you’re askin’, see.”

Until this point, the title can sound like a straightforward nostalgic claim that Asheville was once better. Now the narrator questions his own premise.

ROAST → SELF-QUESTIONING

“Was it better when the rent was cheap and nobody came? / Or was it just invisible, and poverty the same?”

The question becomes: better for whom?

OLD WAS BETTER → BETTER FOR WHOM?

The song does not provide a simple answer. Instead, the narrator becomes suspicious of his own nostalgia.

Near the end Asheville becomes three things at once:

“It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s broken.”

“It’s a damn good time…”

GORGEOUS + BROKEN

Then the spoken ending supplies the condition:

“…if you can afford it.”

GOOD TIME → IF YOU CAN AFFORD IT

THE SONG LOVES ASHEVILLE ENOUGH TO ROAST IT—AND DOUBTS ITS OWN NOSTALGIA ENOUGH NOT TO PRETEND THE PAST WAS SIMPLE.

THE LYRICS

THE LYRICS.

VERSE 1

Pulled into town on a two-lane highway, Past a CBD shop and a man standing in a bathrobe He’s selling soap made from goat milk, lavender, and honey Nine dollars a bar, they just want your money There’s a banjo player on a busted up amp, Three tarot card readers and multiple homeless camps, A drum circle blowin’ smoke toward the mighty blue ridge, And a Subaru graveyard past the Bowen Bridge.

PRE-CHORUS

They say, “Keep Asheville Weird”—well, mission accomplished, hon. But weird got expensive and it ain’t as much fun When a one-bedroom apartment costs your firstborn son And the only thing that’s local is the setting sun.

CHORUS

Asheville ain’t what it used to be— Fifty breweries and no affordable groceries, Nine-dollar IPAs on every corner block, While somebody’s sleepin’ in a bag on Lexington and Dock. We got healing crystals, we got mountain views, We got more transplants than a hospital ICU. Everybody’s movin’ here to “find themselves”— Welcome to Asheville, “Keeping it weird” for ourselves

VERSE 2

Now the Florida folks blame the New York crowd, New York blames Atlanta, Atlanta blames the South, The South blames the hippies, the hippies blame the suits, The suits blame the artists, and the artists blame the roots That got pulled up and paved over, condo by condo, While a retired tech bro buys a loft in Montford. He’s got a podcast about “simple living,” A Tesla in the driveway, and a heart for “giving”— He donates to a mutual fund, not the homeless shelter down the way, But hey, at least the underpass looks colorful from the graffiti today.

PRE-CHORUS

They say, “We’re a community,” at the farmer’s market stand, Twelve bucks for a tomato grown on someone else’s land. Smile at your neighbor—if you know ’em—but you don’t. You’d say hello but you just moved here, and honestly, they won’t.

CHORUS

Asheville ain’t what it used to be— Fifty breweries and no affordable groceries, Nine-dollar IPAs on every corner block, While somebody’s sleepin’ in a bag on Haywood and Dock. We got kombucha bars and infrared saunas, We got more opinions than we got marijuana— And that’s sayin’ something in this zip code, friend. Welcome to Asheville, where the rent it don’t end.

BRIDGE

Now here’s where it stops bein’ funny, if it was— There’s a man beneath the bridge the French Broad runs up under, And his tent’s been there since June, maybe longer. He ain’t quirky, he ain’t “local color,” He ain’t somebody’s “before” in a transformation story. He’s just cold and hungry. And the river’s high. And we walk right by On our way to brunch. The French Broad smells like history and runoff, Swimming in the E. coli, wonder where you got the cough It’s beautiful and nasty—kinda like this town: You love it and you judge it while it’s tryin’ not to drown.

VERSE 3

Now the city council’s got a five-year plan— More mixed-use developments, ain’t that grand? “Affordable housing” in the press release, Startin’ at three-fifty, what a masterpiece. The Airbnb next door’s got a hot tub on the deck, The owner lives in Charleston, sends a cleaner once a week and sends them the check. Meanwhile Grandma’s property tax went through the roof, She’s lived here fifty years, but here’s the painful truth:

PRE-CHORUS

They don’t want you gone, they just want what you’re sittin’ on. A half-acre lot near the parkway—goin’, goin’—gone To a couple from Connecticut who call it their “escape.” They’ll stay three weeks a year and do nothing but complain about the interstate.

FINAL CHORUS

Asheville ain’t what it used to be— But what it was depends on who you’re askin’, see. Was it better when the rent was cheap and nobody came? Or was it just invisible, and poverty the same? We got street performers, we got dreamers, we got people in the cold, We got mountains full of beauty and a story half-told. Everybody’s pointin’ fingers, nobody wants the blame— Welcome to Asheville, y’all. It’s gorgeous. It’s broken. It’s a damn good time…

OUTRO

…if you can afford it.

THE SOUND

THE SOUND.

Americana / Folk / Country Pop / Satirical Folk / Story Song

GENRESCountry Pop / Americana / Folk.

TEMPO96 BPM.

KEYG major.

INSTRUMENTATIONAcoustic guitar, electric guitar, fiddle, pedal steel guitar, upright bass, light drums and harmonica accents.

VOCALSMale lead, warm baritone, conversational storytelling, slight Southern drawl and dry humor delivery.

PRODUCTIONA warm analog mix. The chorus opens into a full-band swell. The bridge strips down to acoustic guitar and vocal. The final chorus is the largest dynamic moment. A melancholy fiddle leads the outro fade.

THE BRIDGEThe lyric announces “Now here’s where it stops bein’ funny…” and the arrangement simultaneously strips down to one acoustic guitar and voice. The music therefore changes character at exactly the moment the satire becomes serious. After the bridge, the larger arrangement returns, builds to the biggest final chorus, then gives way to the spoken “…if you can afford it.” followed by the gentle melancholy fiddle fade.

THE LONGEST STORY

FRANK LET THE SONG WANDER BECAUSE THE CITY IT DESCRIBES DOESN'T FIT INTO ONE VERSE.

“Asheville Ain’t What It Use To Be” is Frank’s longest song, and he approached it more like a folk tale than a compact pop song. Instead of isolating one complaint, the lyrics travel through an entire collection of characters, places, jokes, frustrations and contradictions.

That length also allows the tone itself to change. What begins as a local roast eventually strips down to a serious encounter beneath a bridge, rebuilds into satire and finally questions the nostalgia contained in its own title.

The result isn’t simply “old Asheville good, new Asheville bad.” It is a portrait of a place the narrator can love, criticize, laugh at and worry about at the same time.

CREDITS

CREDITS.

SONGWRITER: Frank J. Buffum
LYRICS BY: Frank J. Buffum
ARTIST: The Frank A.I. Project

LISTEN

LISTEN.

YOUTUBE

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