Alison Brown Carries on the Legacy of Louise Scruggs

Alison Brown heard Earl Scruggs playing on the Foggy Mountain Banjo album when she was 10 years old – and it changed the course of her life. More than 50 years later, Brown will be the newest honoree at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum’s Louise Scruggs Memorial Forum.

Yes, the circle really is unbroken.

Brown has received countless awards throughout her career as a ground-breaking banjo player. This time, however, she will be recognized for her many contributions to the business side of music.

The museum states that “The Louise Scruggs Memorial Forum recognizes a music industry leader who continues the legacy of trailblazer Louise Scruggs, a formidable businesswoman who set new professional standards in artist management.”

Michael McCall, CMHOF’s Associate Director of Editorial, said, “We always try to look at the people who are important in country music, but who the public may not know about.”

The forum began in 2007 with a mission to acknowledge Louise Scruggs’ remarkable contributions in light of the fact that “women don’t always get the recognition they should,” McCall said. “The forum is a way to shine lights where they don’t always shine.” Brown is the 17th honoree.

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Marty Stuart once told writer Jon Weisberger that Louise Scruggs “was to the business what Lester and Earl were to the music.” While performing with Bill Monroe, the “Father of Bluegrass Music,” Earl Scruggs introduced audiences to the three-finger style that we now think of as bluegrass banjo. That driving syncopation was one, possibly the primary, feature that separated bluegrass from the other forms of what was then called “hillbilly music.”

Decades later, bluegrass banjo players, almost without exception, cite Earl Scruggs as a primary influence.

While Louise’s impact isn’t as widely known, she was an equal force in the music industry. She turned the management of bluegrass artists from a casual afterthought to a profession. And her instincts and cultural awareness started ripples that are still expanding today as bluegrass, folk, and country meet in the land of Americana.

Louise was born in 1927. Shortly before she died in 2006, she told The Tennessean, “My mother worked her fingers to the bone, and my daddy did, too, and I didn’t want to go out in a field chopping corn.”

She developed office skills to fulfill a desperate determination established during the Great Depression to escape farm life. Those abilities set her on a path that in some ways changed the trajectory of bluegrass music. At the time, the bluegrass world was totally male-dominated on both the entertainment and business sides.

“But Louise was so good at what she did,” McCall said, that she was a total success. She overcame any resistance with her “integrity, and by being both hard and fair in business.”

Earl Scruggs and Lester Flatt started an immensely successful band in 1948. But it wasn’t just Lester’s voice and Earl’s banjo that made Flatt & Scruggs household names. It was Louise.

Louise had been working as a bookkeeper when she fell for Earl Scruggs, seeing him on stage as a member of Bill Monroe’s Blue Grass Boys. After marrying Earl, Louise initially stayed home to raise their three children. In 1955, she took over management of Flatt & Scruggs, becoming the first female manager and booking agent in the music industry.

In addition to excelling at contract negotiation and other financial aspects of talent management, Louise was a visionary. She pursued the potential of various media previously untapped by bluegrass, as well as navigating shifting cultural trends.

When Louise negotiated with CBS for use of “The Ballad of Jed Clampett” and appearances on The Beverly Hillbillies, the sound of bluegrass banjo was heard in living rooms across the nation – well beyond the coverage of the Grand Ole Opry. The theme song to Petticoat Junction kept the momentum going.

With “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” featured in the popular film Bonnie & Clyde, banjo teachers were inundated with requests to take new students.

Louise established Earl as part of the folk revival when she booked him into the first Newport Folk Festival. And New York audiences opened their ears and hearts to Flatt & Scruggs when the band appeared at Carnegie Hall. Louise also encouraged these revered bluegrass musicians to incorporate songs written by contemporaries like Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash; Earl even made some recordings with saxophonist King Curtis.

Flatt didn’t appreciate the expanded repertoire and he split from Earl in 1969. Louise quickly helped form the Earl Scruggs Revue with their sons, a “beyond-bluegrass” ensemble enthusiastically received on college campuses and at festivals. They performed with acts like Steppenwolf and The Byrds and they appeared at a major anti-Vietnam War demonstration in Washington, D.C., in 1969.

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The Country Music Association’s CEO Sarah Trahern said of Louise, “She was blessed with charm, intelligence, a puritan work ethic, and a wonderful sense of humor.”

The same can be said about Alison Brown, the 2025 honoree. To say Alison Brown is admired as a banjo player hardly touches the music community’s regard for her talents.

Once she heard Earl play at age 10, Brown never let up on the banjo, winning contests at a young age and working across her entire career to expand the banjo’s role in acoustic music.

She was the first woman to receive an Instrumentalist of the Year award from the International Bluegrass Music Association on any instrument. She has won GRAMMYs and has been nominated for others and she is in the Banjo Hall of Fame.

Kristen Scott Benson, six-time IBMA Banjo Player of the Year – the second woman to receive the honor – recalls hearing Brown’s Simple Pleasures CD. “It was the first time I had ever heard any banjo playing outside the bluegrass realm. I was completely fascinated and my ears were opened to a whole new world of writing and playing.”

These days Brown frequently writes and performs with fellow banjo player Steve Martin and receives rave reviews for numerous other collaborations.

When Brown graduated Harvard with a history degree, she faced the question of what to do next. Realizing that neither the humanities nor banjo playing were money makers, she adopted the attitude of, “A girl’s gotta eat, right?”

She was accepted into UCLA business school and spent three years in investment banking. Then Alison Krauss beckoned her back to professional banjo in the early days of Union Station.

This eventually led her to performing with Michelle Shocked and to meeting her husband-to-be, Garry West. Cut to an Alison and Garry discussion in a Stockholm café about the elements of a good life. They still have the napkin on which they jotted words like performing, recording, having a label, a studio, publishing – and family. That was how the idea for an independent record label was born.

Small World Music began with the goal of distributing music by little-known artists they heard while on tour. Initially, they worked with a tiny Australian company, promoting six products in their catalogue.

“There was a video called ‘Coral Sea Dreaming’ that was visual music – beautiful scenes of coral reefs, set to a new age soundtrack,” Brown described. She and West thought it would be perfect for the Nature Store chain, but the buyer ignored their overtures.

So, Brown said, “We started calling Nature Stores and saying that we’d heard about this amazing video called ‘Coral Sea Dreaming’ – did they have it in stock?” And a few days later, the buyer called them.

“That was one of the first big things that helped our cash flow, leading to the launch of Compass.”

While she had been happy to leave the dry work of entry-level investment banking, she appreciates the knowledge she acquired there and in business school. “Like how to put together a business plan and the financial projections to support it. It also gave me paper credibility,” with investors.

Compass Records has evolved to become one of the most respected independent labels in the industry, specializing in niche markets like Celtic, folk, bluegrass, Americana, jazz and many varieties of roots music.

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The business environment Brown entered when she started Compass Records in 1995 was a far cry from the all-male world that Louise Scruggs operated in.

“I’m a firm believer that we all stand on the shoulders of the people who have come before us. And that’s incredibly true for me as a woman in business. I’ve never had to deal with those kinds of challenges [being undervalued or ignored] as a female.”
Brown and West planned their lives so they could start a business, support their love of music, and raise two children – building in the resources they needed for balance and family time. Technology and changing gender roles made all that possible in a way that wasn’t available in the 1950s.

But while she didn’t encounter the same challenges as Louise Scruggs, she finds herself facing more profound obstacles.
“The digital transformation has changed the music business, maybe more than any other industry,” she said. “How do you exist in an ecosystem where you’re creating music and having to give it away for free?”

Brown was recently elected president of the Nashville Chapter of the Recording Academy. She has assumed a leadership role in promoting the rights of artists and labels and she is a determined advocate for equality of broadcast royalties – more important than ever when “streaming pays a third of a penny per stream.”

“That’s a rate conceived by the Copyright Board before people knew that a stream wasn’t a small river,” she said. “I feel like this is a critical time for creators, and I fear that, with so many people in Washington in the pocket of big tech, that creators’ interests could very easily become marginalized in this race for AI.

“It’s a precarious moment, but at the same time, I feel like some of the best roots music and bluegrass music that’s ever been made is being made now, and I think it will stand the test of time.”

“I think that cultivating your community is the key to succeeding – knowing who your fans and supporters are and making sure they know who you are. And now we have the tools to connect directly with our audience, which we didn’t have when we started 30 years ago,” Brown said.

She also reminds fans that, “If you want to support the artists, buy physical product. That’s still where the artists can make some money.”

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Marian Leighton Levy, who started Rounder Records in the 1970s along with two partners, knows the challenges of an independent label. And she is well aware of how much more competitive the industry has become in the face of consolidation; artists’ ability to produce their own product; and the devastating effect of streaming on creators’ incomes.

Levy said of Brown, “She’s one of the few people who’s been a top level musician, someone who knows her way around the studio as an engineer and a producer, has started and been running a record company with Gary and somehow or other had as balanced a life as one can have while doing all of those things. And she’s been doing remarkably well for a very long time – it is just incredible what she’s accomplished.”

At the Hall, McCall lauds Brown not only for her success with Compass, but with all the ways she contributes to the industry – from participating in IBMA to the Recording Academy to the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum itself.

Brown feels deeply honored to be recognized at the Louise Scruggs Memorial Forum, “having been called Girl Scruggs for so much of my childhood.”

“Louise was such a wonderful, influential force in roots music, being acknowledged as following in her footsteps is incredibly meaningful.”

She sees the forum as a great contribution to the business of music by acknowledging how far the industry has come.

“One of the things that I think is so exciting about the moment that we’re living in is that women are peppered throughout the ecosystem in a way that wasn’t the case 50 years ago. We have women promoters, artists, DJs, running record labels. Now we have this golden opportunity to create the reality that we want to live in, and we can do that by supporting each other.”


Image courtesy of the Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum.

Chely Wright Now

From growing up on a Kansas farm, to building an award-winning country music career, to a groundbreaking coming out in 2010, to now. As Senior Vice President, Corporate Social Responsibility and New Market Growth at global workplace experience and facilities management company ISS, Chely Wright has followed a simple but effective mantra: “Plan your work and work your plan.” Her parents instilled this ethic in Wright and her siblings, and to this day it guides her trajectory.

“My parents raised all three of us kids to be problem solvers,” she says. “When you live on a farm, you’re poor, and you have to fix things with duct tape, you get really good at problem-solving. It’s in our DNA, and I love that they raised us to do that.”

A singer and songwriter, she moved to Nashville in 1989. Awarded the Academy of Country Music’s Top New Female Vocalist of 1995, her steady ascent led to over fifteen chart singles — including her first hit, “Shut Up and Drive” (1997), first number one, “Single White Female” (1999), and “The Bumper of My S.U.V.” (2005) — and eight studio albums.

Wright came out in 2010, making history as the first country star to publicly do so — at great personal and professional risk. At that time, she could not have anticipated that her courage and authenticity would not only reverberate and empower countless others, but would eventually lead to a high-level position.

“When I came out, I wanted to do it well,” she says. “That included embedding myself with organizations that could inform, educate, and help me be a good voice in the LGBTQ community. In doing that, I gained tremendous understanding of the power of storytelling and, essentially, culture work. I began having opportunities to do that work with corporate organizations, higher education, and faith communities. It became what I called my ‘side hustle,’ in addition to my work as an artist.”

When COVID-19 lockdowns brought touring to a halt in 2020, Wright continued her “side hustle” through virtual events and workshops. One of her clients, global design firm Unispace, brought her on full-time as chief diversity officer, working in DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion). This year, she joined ISS, whose international reach includes over 320,000 employees worldwide.

Moving into corporate social responsibility was an organic transition, as CSR intersects with DEI. “We think about creating access and opportunity for Black- and Brown-owned businesses, women-owned businesses, locally owned businesses, LGBTQ-owned businesses, veteran-owned businesses,” she says. “We think about procurement, sustainable sourcing, and ethical supply chains. Our clients have their eye on mindfulness around who works for them. They know there’s an employee value proposition. Those employees want to know that the company they work for is not only being good corporate citizens, but also ‘What are they doing for my community? What are they doing within a twelve-block, twenty-block, hundred-block radius of where I go to work?’

“Especially in the past five to ten years, companies are seriously asking themselves, ‘How do we not only protect our shareholders, our stakeholders, but how are we making sure that the people who work here know that not only do we need and want to give them health insurance, and economic security through a 401k and a paycheck, but what are we doing to use the monies we are making as a company to make the communities outside the four walls of this business, this office, better?’ That’s how I see the shared space between DEI and CSR.”

Wright works in the ISS New York office, sometimes telecommuting from home, and often traveling to meet with clients onsite. “I keep having opportunities to use my story,” she says, “and I cannot think of a single thing more gratifying than doing that now in a corporate space, in a global organization. I get to use that on their behalf and on behalf of our clients.”

In time for Mental Health Awareness Month, Chely Wright spoke at length with BGS about what she calls a move “from C-chord to C-suite,” how the landscape on Music Row and beyond has and hasn’t changed in the fifteen years since she came out, and how she balances fear and caution about the current climate with innate hope and optimism.

So many of us, especially women, experience impostor syndrome in our careers. Did you experience this as you moved into corporate spaces?

Chely Wright: Yes, a hundred percent. “Am I good enough? Am I smart enough? Do I belong here? Do I actually have the goods to deliver?” Making a dramatic life pivot, impostor syndrome bubbled up and it wasn’t my first bout. I dealt with it when I came out. I dealt with it when I left Polygram and went to MCA Records. I dealt with it in 1989, when I went to Nashville to get a record deal. I know now that when impostor syndrome scratches at my back, I just turn around and say, “Okay, I have things to learn.”

There is nothing more exciting than taking on a new skill set and dipping my toe in a body of water that I never thought about being in before. I have 10,000 sunrises left, if I’m lucky. So it’s not “What can I do?” It’s “What do I get to do?” Why wouldn’t a person like me have a second and third life, take the leadership/communication/radical listening/storytelling/execution skill set, and go into corporate spaces?

We take a myopic view of the music business, but it’s business. The artists who have staying power and choices are iconic not just because of their talents. They do open their mouths and something magical comes out. But when you look at what they’ve done with their business and marketing and the protection and stewardship of their brand, it is business.

When Rodney Crowell produced Lifted Off the Ground [2010], he asked me, “What is your goal as an artist?” I said, “My goal is to be able to make music as long as I want to, when I want to, where I want to.” Because I’m in a corporate role right now does not mean in any way, shape, or form that I’m not going to make more records. I know I will. I have the choice to do that when, where, and how I want to, and having that choice is a blessing and a gift.

What changes do you see in the music industry? How does the big picture look today compared to when you came out?

It looks different than it did fifteen years ago. The music industry, as a whole, obviously is making progress. And I think it would be safe to say that the country music industry is making its own progress at its own pace.

All I know is this: change happens, whether we want it to or not, and there will never again have to be someone who says, “Do I jump first?” I jumped and several others since then have joined me in raising their hands, owning their narrative, and saying, “I am a writer, a producer, a picker, and I happen to be a queer person.”

That said, a lot has changed in the world that makes it more difficult to raise your hand and say who you are. Certainly in the last few years, politically, it’s gotten, in some ways, more dangerous to do that. In some ways, the stakes feel higher right now. But change happens. That’s the thing about time: you can’t slow it down. It’s coming.

Does country music have quite a ways to go to be known as a bastion of equity, fairness, justice, and safety for all? Of course. So does banking, construction, and tech. They’re all on their respective journeys and it takes courage. It takes courage to be a holder of a unique story that people might not be ready to hear. It takes courage, tenacity, and a sense of self. God bless those who raise their hands and say, “I am also this.”

Change is not always a forward or positive step. Change is happening now, but in ways that many of us feel are going backward and becoming increasingly frightening.

Change is happening in some terrifying ways. I won’t gaslight and say, “It’s not as bad as it seems,” or, “It’s just rhetoric,” because even if the thing itself doesn’t happen, the terror that it might is the damage.

Some of these things we fear might not come to pass for certain populations, but we look at our brothers and sisters who are in the fight as well — Black and Brown people, immigrants, trans people — they are my family, and very real things are manifesting for them that aren’t just rhetoric. My wife is Jewish, we are an interfaith family, we are two moms, we are women, and we feel under threat in a lot of different ways. People in our family, and in our circle of love and trust and chosen family, are under threat.

American democracy is, by all intents and purposes right now, very close to being disabled. When we hear we’re in a constitutional crisis, in farm terms, we’re hogtied. As a mother of Jewish babies, as a queer person, as a person who has traveled the world and believes America is the greatest nation on the planet, the importance of America and democracy surviving this — it’s not just America at stake. It’s everyone. It’s the human population. We need to find a way to become un-hogtied, because democracy and freedom, real freedom for all, has to stand. I shudder to think what the world would look like without an American democracy.

In a 2010 interview with Entertainment Weekly you said, “It’s the secret haters who do the most harm, historically.” Those haters are now loud and proud. Is that better or worse? Knowing the enemy versus not knowing who and where they are?

Yes. They’ve become unburdened by any concern of being seen as homophobic, anti-Semitic, misogynistic. The power of gang mentality is real and negative gang mentality scares me a lot. There’s danger in it and people are very easily pulled into the vortex of those energies. When these people group together, form coalitions, lock arms, and move, they take on a new and exponential energy that can suck others up into it.

That scares me. I almost wish they would stay in their closets. But it’s also helpful to know who’s with us and who’s against us. That is really powerful information to have.

You said earlier that you have 10,000 sunrises left, if you’re lucky. There was a point in your life when you no longer wanted those sunrises. The Trevor Project’s 2024 U.S. National Survey on the Mental Health of LGBTQ+ Young People cites, among other things, that 39% seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year. What is your message – and how is your mental health today?

Coming out as gay when I did was the only way I could survive. On the morning after I didn’t end my life, on that cold winter day in my house in East Nashville, I was afraid I was going to go back downstairs, grab that gun, and do it. So I got on my knees and said, “God, if you have a way for me now, I need to know it.” Hand over my heart, in an instant I knew, “You’re going to come out, you’re going to come out well, and you’re going to tell the whole story.”

I had a responsibility to my maker to tell that story, which included a successful, relatively well-positioned person who always had a ton of confidence, love, friends, health, and resources. I had all those things, and I found myself with a loaded nine-millimeter gun in my mouth – a gun my parents bought for me for protection.

I had a responsibility to say, “This is how bad it gets when you don’t get to be who you are.” It was important, and I’ve said this many times, for the 14-year-old kid at the foot of their bed with their dad’s gun in their hand. It was important because we have to raise our hands in spaces where representation does matter, like in country music. Somebody needed to say, “I love the Grand Ole Opry, I love our troops, I love having grown up in a farm town in Kansas, I’m a person of faith, and I am a queer person, always have been, and always will be.”

My mental health, ever since that morning after I didn’t end my life – I’ve never had another thought of doing it. I’m often asked if the day I came out was the best day of my life. It wasn’t. The best day of my life was the day I decided I was going to come out, because for the first time since I was 9 years old I had hope that I could be me – the whole me.

So my message … I don’t say “It gets better.” I never liked that campaign of “Just survive junior high. Just make it through being bullied in high school, because once you’re an adult and have resources to change your zip code, it gets better. Just hang on through the shit because it’s going to get better.” I don’t like it. Our job as grown-ups is not to ask young people to survive the shit until it gets better. Our job is to roll our sleeves up, reach out, go to the shit, and fix it for young people right now. It’s incumbent upon those of us who have power, position, and resources to make it better now.

What can each individual, those of us who don’t have “power, position, and resources,” do to help make it better?

What I realized after coming out and having conversations with thousands of other queer people, whether it be on the phone, or they’d write a letter, write to me on Facebook, or stand in line after an event and talk to me and share their story, I understood that everybody has a fan club. That fan club may be your neighbors, your colleagues, your family, your congregation. It may be one person or a collection of people that notice what you do, what you say, how you express yourself. Everybody has their own personal story and presence. How will you use your respective power, position, and resources to do good?

Power means your personal influence – and it may just be with one neighbor or coworker. Position means, for example, if you’re really good at swinging a hammer, then do a little work with Habitat for Humanity. Use your skill. Resources might be, “I’ve got some extra ‘this,’” so use it.

Everybody has power. How will you wield it? How will you use your skill set? How will you use your unique resources, your influence, to make things a little bit better for an organization or a single person? That might mean swinging your hammer, or it might mean helping someone in a crosswalk when the light is about to change. There are a thousand ways we can use our power, position, and resources every day.

You wrote your autobiography Like Me: Confessions of a Heartland Country Singer “to tell the story of who I am.” Who are you now?

I’m exactly the same. I have new experiences to add, my CV looks different, but I am exactly the same person. Still a person of faith, a person who loves country music and the Grand Ole Opry, who loves to meet and talk to people. I’m still really curious, proud of who I am, and as hopeful as I always have been.

And I’m still strategic, as evidenced by the way I came out. If you look at the way I’ve lived my life and evolved my career since then, it should surprise no one how strategic I was in how I came out. I wanted to come out well, and that required strategy, because the people who will and do malign people like me, the Focus On the Family [kind of] organizations and the far-right fringe, who want to tell stories that aren’t true about people like me — you better believe they’re strategic.

I’m going to meet and match their strategy with how I tell the real story of me and people like me. It goes back to what [my parents] Stan and Cheri Wright told me: “Plan your work and work your plan.” I did that when I came out, and I’m doing that now.


Photo courtesy of Shorefire Media.

Bob Hillman’s Rock and Roll Return: From Beach Volleyball to Marketing to Musician

Bob Hillman had a real thing going on in the early 2000s. He had made waves in New York City, rubbing shoulders with some of the finest songwriters of the era at places like Fast Folk and The Living Room. The singer-songwriter was creatively fulfilled, but not gaining the momentum needed to experience strategic growth in folk music. After opening a long list of dates for Suzanne Vega, Hillman decided it was time to step away and get back to business… school that is. He got his MBA in marketing and went on to hold a decent paying job for the next decade and a half, raising his family in the Bay Area.

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After a layoff, Bob thought it was time to dig in again and started writing, recording, and performing. Since 2016, he’s released a couple of albums and an EP or two. The most recent is the mostly acoustic Downtown in the Rain. In our conversation, we talk about what it’s like to reignite his creative entrepreneurial musical spirit, how he used that energy in his corporate jobs, and also how he hopes to one day meet his singing partner on the EP, Maria Taylor.


Photo Credit: Brian Joseph