Tag: Nashville

100 Years of Grand Ole Opry
Makes a Mighty Book

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

The sheer variety and singularity of the Grand Ole Opry – whether in just one of its shows or in just one of its many eras – would be paralyzing enough, if tasked with telling its complete, unabridged story to a broad audience. The assignment of taking the entire century-long history of the world’s longest running radio show and condensing it between the covers of a book would have to be heart-stopping. How could one ever take such a complex story full of twists, turns – and plenty of the idiosyncrasies found in human beings who make and love country music – put it down in 350+ pages?

It’s hard to imagine, but that’s exactly what writer Craig Shelburne, historian Brenda Colladay, and a host of Opry members have done with the brand new book, 100 Years of Grand Ole Opry. Shelburne – a BGS contributor and former managing editor for our website – worked with Colladay to penetrate the vast, lush archives of the Grand Ole Opry to posit its history decade by decade, chapter by chapter in the new hefty, coffee-table-ready tome. They completed dozens and dozens of interviews with Opry members, artists, musicians, employees, executives, and broadcasters and, as a result, the history book feels remarkably alive and vibrant – just like the show itself.

The book, released in April of 2025, demonstrates and reiterates time and again that the Grand Ole Opry isn’t a relic – nor has it ever been. It’s a living, breathing, adaptive being that’s enacted by a strong community of stakeholders not only from across the company that owns the brand, Ryman Hospitality, but the music industry as a whole, too. 100 Years of Grand Ole Opry showcases a country and cultural icon not waning or winding down after a century of triumphs (and trials and bumps and scrapes, too). No, instead, this book finds the Opry, beloved by all of us, merely at its next transition point, moving purposefully from the last 100 years to the next 100 years.

We sat down with Craig Shelburne on the phone to chat about the immense undertaking of writing this book, the surprises found and lessons learned along the way, and what makes the Grand Ole Opry so special, all for our Artist of the Month celebration of Opry 100.

This is such a gargantuan task, staring down the entire 100-year history of the Opry and being asked to turn it into a book. Where do you even begin? How did you take that first bite? What did it feel like to you to enter this process of creating a book?

Craig Shelburne: Yeah, 100 years is a massive undertaking and we – my co-writer Brenda Colladay and I – spent some time at Frothy Monkey in East Nashville sketching out some of the important Opry milestones in those eras when things really seemed to be shifting. As we did that, we realized that we could probably have each chapter be roughly a decade. At one point, we realized we wanted to have some breakout sections, but we didn’t know how to do that.

I wanted the book to be very readable, [without] a whole bunch of sidebars. So instead of designing sidebars, we have these pages that are interludes in between the decades, in between the chapters. You have the history of bluegrass, or the ways that the Opry has been on television, or what the Opry looked like when it went into the 21st century and a new era of technology. [That] was our chance to expand on one particular theme, rather than try to weave [those themes] into the narrative or take away from the narrative. It could be distracting if you dropped [a sidebar] into the manuscript every time the Opry was on television. Those interludes also gave us a chance to use some of these magnificent color photos [from the Opry archives] just because they’re beautiful photos. We didn’t have to necessarily set them up within the text. …

It was intimidating for a while until one night, late at night, I was writing and I realized that the main character of the story is the Opry itself. There are so many people that have passed across the stage, from Roy Acuff and Minnie Pearl up to the modern era. I wanted the artists and the cast members to be represented well, but really the main figure throughout this 100 years is the show itself. And it’s a show. It’s not a stage, it’s not a building. It’s a show.

Once I could get my head around the fact that this was the leading character in a 100-year story, the narrative started to fall into place. That was a breakthrough for me.

I also love how that format parallels the structure of the show itself. That you have segments, sets of artists performing, you have commercials and announcers and little games with sponsors, and you have talk-back sessions from artists. When you go to a show, it’s not just one thing from start to finish, it’s a bunch of different things – and there are obviously lots of interludes built in. So there’s something about the structure of the book that parallels the show in a nice way.

And telling the story of how the segmented portions of the Opry came to be was one of my favorite parts of writing the book. Basically, the Opry hired their music librarian – who was a very organized individual – to try to reign in some of the chaos from when the Opry was at what is now the Belcourt Theater [in the 1930s]. I think back then it was called the Hillsboro Theater. His name was Vito Pellettieri and he realized if he could wrangle three or four artists within the same timeframe, then these performers would now have a rough idea of when they needed to be standing side stage, instead of disappearing as musicians might have been wont to do.

Then of course, being the Opry, owned by an insurance company, the business people sensed an opportunity there and thought, “Let’s sell those segments to sponsors and advertisers.” And so that’s how the 30-minute segments came to be. Whether it was dog food or condensed milk or tobacco, if there was a sponsor for each segment, the Opry made more money that way, too. The Opry has been pretty creative in how it positions itself and how it can take advantage of good ideas quickly.

I know you spoke to dozens of artists, stakeholders, musicians, executives, broadcasters, and announcers. You and your co-writer Brenda Colladay must have done hours and hours of interviews for this book. Can you tell us a bit about that process and who you most enjoyed or were most excited to sit down with?

On one hand, the general narrative crafting you’re talking about sounds like really grueling work, but on the other hand, it sounds like doing that through these interviews was probably the most fun part of this process.

I would say the interviews were the most fun. I agree with you on that. I have the Opry show schedule as a shortcut on my smartphone now, because I would always try to figure out who was playing and who we needed to talk to.

As it should be, we started our interview series with the one and only Jeannie Seely. We felt like she needed to be first, and she deserved that. She only got about halfway through what she wanted to say [during our first meeting], so we set up another interview. It was wonderful to talk to her. Both of those afternoons were great, because with Jeannie, she’ll tell you the way it actually was. Some of it was very positive and some of it was critical, but it’s her perspective. And she was there! I didn’t get to see the Opry in the ‘60s or ‘70s, and she did. Getting to hear it directly from her was fantastic. She was also hilarious, when you got to sit down and joke around with her a little bit.

It was really important to talk to people firsthand and to go deeper than just, “Hey, what do you think of the Opry? Why is it important?” So the Opry opened up its entire archive to me, which was videos, books, newspaper clippings – pretty much anything that I wanted to look at, read, or watch. When I knew I had an interview coming up, I would spend several hours reading clippings and reading stories in order to come up with questions specific to their Opry experience. Rather than just, “Tell me about when you moved to Nashville. Tell me about this. Tell me about that.” Those aren’t questions, those are just prompts. When the people came in to talk to us, we were usually in pretty much a supply closet for camera equipment. It was a really small room. We didn’t have any cameras. We wanted everybody to be casual and comfortable and not worry about makeup and hair.

Then it became a very comfortable conversation. We started every interview with the same question, which was, “What is going through your mind in those moments before the curtain comes up?” Everybody had a different answer. That put them in the frame of mind of talking about the Opry, I think, more than talking about themselves. They went pretty deep, back in their memories, of how they discovered the Opry and what it’s meant to them. Quite a few of those artists went to the Opry as kids. So then they started talking about their family and what the Opry meant to their family, there were a lot of emotions.

I think some of those artists expected it to be like a 10 or 15 minute interview to grab that [sound] bite that says, “I sure do love the Opry.” But we went really deep and spent more than an hour talking with some of these artists. You don’t get to put everything like that into the book, but suddenly now we have an oral history from these modern contemporary performers that will live forever. When somebody writes about the Opry in 50 years from now, they have it straight from the artists, [speaking] about their path to that stage.

I think that’s one of the best accomplishments of this book, that it tells the story in such a rich, full way that isn’t just the mythology and isn’t just the good parts and the glitzy parts. It sounds like part of how you were able to accomplish that is by having these interviews set up in such a way that you could build trust with folks, so they didn’t feel like they were just giving you that marketing sound bite. They could really tell you those full stories.

I think a lot of that came from the Opry headquarters. They wanted us to tell [it] the way it happened. A woman named Jenn Tressler, she handles a lot of the talent requests there and I think she primed most of these artists about what the interviews would be like and what the goal was. Just [so they would] be comfortable and [know] no topic is off limits. Artists were asked some pretty sensitive questions sometimes about the relationship with the entertainment industry in general, including the Opry and the artists rose to the occasion.

We wanted to tell the actual story. I’ve often felt that nobody wants to read a book where everybody’s happy and there’s no conflict. There’s conflict in this one.

From your interviews or from writing this book, what was a story or two about the Opry that stuck out to you or surprised you? Or, that brought you to learning something new that maybe you wouldn’t have tripped over into if you hadn’t done this book? Is there a story or two that stand out to you?

The first one would be just how young everybody was when they got involved with the Opry. George D. Hay was a young man; Harry Stone, who was one of the early program directors, had just turned 30 when he took on that role. The artists were [in their] 20s and 30s. You had a very young Bill Monroe, Roy Acuff, Minnie Pearl, coming on the stage and changing the game for country music.

Sometimes the Opry is perceived as the elder statesman of country music – and that’s true and they’ll always have a place there, it’s wonderful. But a lot of the shake-ups at the Opry and a lot of the progress that’s been made was because of these young, innovative perspectives. That happened over and over. I think without that viewpoint from people who were younger, the Opry would’ve struggled through the last hundred years. There would’ve been times somebody might’ve said, “I want it to stay the same way, ’cause this is how we’ve always done it.” It’s never the right answer, to do it just because it’s always been done that way. I think that was pretty fascinating to me.

The other thing I didn’t realize was that it was not until I believe 1978 that the Opry was ever aired on television. It was a PBS special. If you wanted to see the Opry, you had to come to Nashville for the first 53 years. After that one night on the PBS special, it didn’t happen again until the following year. Being able to see the Opry, you had to come to Nashville, and I think executives at that time feared that if you put it on television, people would stay away from the show and they wouldn’t sell tickets anymore. But time has proven just the opposite. People saw it on television, how exciting it was and they felt like they needed to be there, myself included. I watched it growing up in Nebraska as a teenager and I just was fascinated by it. By that time, of course, it was on TNN.

I watched it many a Saturday night with my grandparents and I didn’t always know who those legendary figures were that were sharing the stage with Alan Jackson or Clint Black or Alison Krauss. But because of the Opry, I got a country music education as a teenager before I moved to Nashville in 1994. By the time I got here, I feel like I had a leg up on other people who wanted to write about country music that were my age.

You’re pointing out another fact that we often forget about country music, hillbilly music, these traditions that made these musics. It’s that all of them are constantly changing and growing, morphing and adapting to the future – and responding to the present.

Like, the reason the Opry became what it is today was because of technology, because of the “Air Castle of the South.” Because of radio, because there wasn’t a lot of competition on the literal bandwidth, and because the tower was so tall it could reach so many people all across the country. To think that, nowadays, when we view “tradition” in 2025, we think that means not changing something.

Wrong!

But the Opry has always been changing and always been using cutting edge technology to do that. And country wouldn’t exist without technology, without the railroad, without industrialization, without radio, without recording technology becoming portable and handheld.

Oh, absolutely. Well said. It has to change, and the Opry does figure out a way to reach new listeners and engage with people that have never been there. Obviously, when you go to the Grand Ole Opry House for a show now, the emcee will say, “Who’s never been to the Opry before?” And a lot of hands go up. They’re constantly marketing the show – as they should be. They want people to have a seat in the Ryman or the Opry House to see how special the world’s longest running radio show is. I give them a lot of credit for always trying to reach new people and not just looking for what they’ve done already in the past. They take a lot of pride in the fact that no two shows have ever been the same.

I was just listening the other night [on the radio] and I was able to catch the Opry debut of Grupo Frontera. I thought it was such a perfect example of what you’re talking about, that a Spanish-speaking, Spanish first language group that makes country. Of course, it’s Mexican folk and Tejano and Latin folk and all these other things as well – but it’s certainly country & western. [They were] making their debut and you could hear the building shaking through the radio. It felt like one of those iconic ovations we hear about from the old days, with everybody stamping their feet in the balcony of the Ryman. The Opry is still doing that. And not only are they doing it, but this year for Opry 100, they’re doing it over and over again where they’re having these shows with these special moments, reaching new audiences.

And it was a brilliant move, because those fans now have a general idea of what the Grand Ole Opry is, how it is performed, and they got to hear some music from people they maybe hadn’t heard of. I know Frank Ray was on the show that night, he might’ve gained some fans from those who came to see Grupo Frontera. It’s a win for everybody when an artist of that caliber plays the Opry.

There was a great moment, after doing some digging, where I found the full performance of when Porter Wagoner invited James Brown to come play the Opry. It was like a 20-minute segment – there are some things online where you hear bits and pieces of it. But the Opry archive had it from start to finish, so I just sat there and listened to it. There was some screaming and hollering going on that night, too. It was exhilarating to listen to it. Then I found an oral history from Porter Wagoner – I quoted it in the book – that said, when you bring someone of world-renowned stature to the Opry, it benefits the Opry. You want the Opry to be in the news, because it draws attention to the show.

We’ve already talked about Jeannie Seely, but I wrote my concluding question with her in mind, as well. She passed in August of this year and when she did she had performed on the Opry almost 5,400 times. (The number is 5,390-something.) That longevity is incredible. So thinking about longevity, we’re standing here at the milestone of a hundred years of the Grand Ole Opry, looking at potentially another 100 years of the Grand Ole Opry coming up.

Do you see this modern era of the Opry as its golden age? Do you think the golden age of the show is yet to come? And who are you seeing that’s just getting their start “in the circle” nowadays that is gonna be like Jeannie Seely in a few decades, thousands of appearances into their Opry career?

Yeah [the future] looks strong to me, too. Something I never put into context until I wrote the book was that in the 1990s the Opry lost Roy Acuff, Minnie Pearl, Grandpa Jones, Bill Monroe, and Dottie West. And you just think, “How do you recover from that?” They did. They figured out a way to press on.

There were definitely growing pains and bumps, but some of those figures that they picked out in the early 2000s have become advocates for the Opry, champions for the Opry. The ‘90s country stars that I love, like Lorrie Morgan, Pam Tillis, Vince Gill, Steve Wariner, and Marty Stuart are still out there. They still play the Opry – and they’re the elder statesmen now. I do think the cast members that joined in the ‘90s and 2000s are gonna become a foundation for the show.

I think you’ll be seeing Trisha Yearwood out there quite a bit as she settles into the “twilight years” of her career. I sense that she will be out there singing alongside Kathy Mattea and Suzy Bogguss. I think Opry is in really good hands with the young women that they’ve invited to be part of the cast. More than once, without any prompting, artists like Carly Pearce and Lauren Alaina have said they feel the responsibility to be here. And I think Lauren Alaina is very likely to inherit the comic routines of Jeannie Seely – she’s pretty much already there. She had us rolling in laughter in her interviews. She’s got the natural timing of a comedian, but she’s got hit songs, too.

I think the Opry is in really good shape right now. They’ve done a good job of connecting to a younger audience that wants to play it. It’s a career goal now for a lot of inspiring artists. I think when I moved here in the ‘90s it was seen as living history and you had to have some history to get on that stage. But now you just have to have a good story, some musical talent, and an ability to connect with an audience. That’s easier said than done, but if you can have those three things, the Opry will take a chance.

I think they’ve found a recipe for success. They set themselves up to succeed. There are times in the music industry where it seems like things are crumbling or those pillars are not as strong as they used to be. But I think right now the Opry is as strong as it’s ever been. I don’t see it going anywhere anytime soon.

Lead image courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

Shooter Jennings’ Heartfelt Tribute to His Legendary Father

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Being the son or daughter of a legendary artist can often cause self-esteem and identity problems, especially if offspring choose their famous parent’s profession. But that clearly hasn’t been the case with Waylon Albright Jennings, much better known to music fans as “Shooter.”

The son of greats Waylon Jennings and Jessi Colter, Shooter Jennings has forged an impressive career as a singer, songwriter, instrumentalist, and producer covering over three decades, while displaying an idiomatic flexibility that’s seen him excel with both country and rock projects. Though he never uses the term “prodigy,” he was playing drums at five, taking piano lessons at eight, and sitting in with his father’s band on guitar at 14, while often spending time riding on his dad’s tour bus. Since then, he’s done an array of projects from heading bands to helming sessions, but he’s also always upheld a mantra of his father’s, which is stressing authenticity and passion in whatever he’s doing, writing, or playing.

Towards that end, Shooter’s newest venture both pays tribute to his famous father and reaffirms the musical values both have always championed. That’s the album Songbird (released October 3 via Son of Jessi/Thirty Tigers), which is the first of a planned posthumous trilogy of releases from the famed vocalist, who was one of the most distinctive and dominant voices to emerge in modern country during the ’70s and ’80s. Waylon’s landmark recordings, both as a solo artist and later in collaborations with Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, Tompall Glaser and Jessi Colter, not only ushered in the “outlaw country” movement, they signaled a major step forward for artistic independence and creative freedom that resonated across the popular music spectrum.

Waylon Jennings was an innovative and vital figure not only as a performer, but as a personality. His voice and stature helped give gravitas to an otherwise forgettable TV show (The Dukes of Hazzard) and helped fuel a drive for authenticity within country. Still, despite that quest for freshness and originality, Waylon knew how to make hits. He had 16 number one tunes on Billboard‘s Hot Country Songs chart and 11 number one albums on Billboard‘s Top Country Albums chart during his amazing career, while always being a staunch advocate for his view of what constituted country.

Though Shooter has always called himself “an MTV kid who went down the rabbit hole with rock and roll,” he’s also long held a great reverence and respect for country. He began sorting through hundreds of his father’s personal studio recordings during the summer of 2024. Having just begun an exclusive residency at Hollywood’s historic Sunset Sound Studio 3 (which he redubbed “Snake Mountain”), Shooter began examining the tapes with veteran engineer Nate Haessly. Things moved quickly, his initial goal of finding previously lost Waylon songs he could share with the world morphing into instead deciding the best way to present what turned out to be a rich treasure trove of recordings. The material he was hearing was recorded between 1973 and 1984 and featured such guest stars as Tony Joe White and Jessi Colter.

“I started listening to this material last year and knew right away I had to put it out,” Shooter said during a recent phone interview with Good Country. “Once we began thinking about what we would put out there first, ‘Songbird’ just really kind of took over.

“Everyone that I played the song for heard it and they were really emotionally affected. Many broke out in tears the first time they heard it. It was an example of my father’s philosophy about doing songs from other people. Any song that he chose to record he would turn it into his own type of anthem. I really think that was the case with ‘Songbird,’” Shooter continued. “It gives the album a power and special flavor, and I’m really proud of everything on it.”

Songbird was released the first week of October, with Jennings’ evocative and stirring cover of the Fleetwood Mac tune its lead single. It debuted at number six on Billboard‘s Top Album Sales chart and it’s been in either the Top 10 or 20 on a host of other charts as well, representing the highest any Jennings LP has charted in 35 years. The 10-track release contains several other notable singles, most of them already previously complete. But on a couple of cuts, Shooter utilized the talents of surviving members of The Waylors, including guitarist Gordon Payne, bassist Jerry Bridges, keyboardist Barny Robertson, and backing vocalist Carter Robertson to add some spice. Elizabeth Cook and Ashley Monroe were also enlisted to help propel Songbird to new heights. Shooter mixed the songs in a purely analog fashion on Sunset Sound Studio 3’s custom 1976 DeMedio API mixing board.

Another song that’s quite appropriate in these times of extreme social conflict and division is Waylon’s version of Johnny Rodriguez’s “The Cowboy (Small Texas Town),” which finds him urging both cowboys and hippies to direct their ire away from each other and towards those causing greater structural harm to society. Additional recommended cuts include a sizzling Jennings version of Johnny Cash’s “After The Ball” and “I’d Like To Love You Baby” that features Jessi Colter.

Both “Wrong Road Again” and “I’m Gonna Lay Back With My Woman” are trademark Jennings numbers, while his version of Jesse Winchester’s “Brand New Tennessee Waltz” is also solid. The one criticism that some hardcore Waylon fans might make is Songbird doesn’t offer any previously unissued gems that he penned, feedback that Shooter’s been around long enough to anticipate. “What we went through and chose here were numbers that were made memorable through his treatments,” he continued.

“That’s something that my father always talked about and stressed, that whenever you do a song, make sure that you’re not just replicating something else, you’re making your own statement. That’s why Songbird has such an impact and that’s the case with everything on this album. These are songs that he loved from other people and wanted to perform and put his own stamp on them.”

Though born in Nashville, Shooter made the move to Los Angeles in 2001. Since then, he’s comfortably moved back and forth between rock and country. He’s had a mixed amount of success as a performer, cutting 11 albums and EPs in both genres. His biggest country hit came on the 2005 LP, Put The O Back in Country. That album’s lead single, “Fourth of July,” peaked at No. 22. The album version featured a cameo by George Jones, who sang the chorus to his signature song, “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” at the end. Unfortunately that was purged from the radio version, but Jones was credited on the Billboard charts.

The album also spotlighted Shooter’s then-new band, The .357s, which consisted of Leroy Powell on guitar, Bryan Keeling on drums, Ted Kamp on bass, Robby Turner on steel, and backing vocals by Bonnie Bramlett. Later that year his song “Busted in Baylor County” was featured in the 2005 film version of The Dukes of Hazzard. Furthermore, Jennings portrayed his father in the Johnny Cash biopic Walk The Line alongside Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon. His rendition of his father’s song “I’m A Long Way From Home” was featured on the film’s soundtrack.

Still, Shooter’s greatest fame has come as a producer for a wealth of recordings. He was introduced to the studio as a child, his earliest exposure being inside Chips Moman’s studio in Nashville. His rock influences come through in his at times freewheeling use of studio technology that wasn’t in general use during his father’s heyday, but on any of his productions he’s never let the artist’s voice be overwhelmed by layers of excessive production or backdrop.

He’s been nominated for five GRAMMYs in that role and won two. A short list of memorable sessions he’s produced include such artists as Brandi Carlile (Best Americana Album GRAMMY), Tanya Tucker (Best Country Album GRAMMY), and American Aquarium, as well as Jessi Colter, Jamey Johnson, Jaime Wyatt, The White Buffalo, Hellbound Glory, The Mastersons, Julie Roberts, Kelsey Waldon, Yelawolf, Marilyn Manson, Jason Boland, Billy Don Burns, Avi Kaplan, Billy Ray Cyrus, and Angry Grandpa. Just this year alone, Shooter Jennings produced acclaimed releases by the Turnpike Troubadours, Charley Crockett, and Jake Owen.

When asked what he enjoys most or looks for in terms of production collaborations, Jennings says, “The people that I truly enjoy working with the most are the ones who have their own ideas of what they want to do, how they want to sound, or what they want to sing. Then they bring those ideas into the studio and we take it from there. I’m not really quite as good when it comes to just taking someone who doesn’t really have a sense of who they are and saying why don’t you try this or try that.

“With Charley [Crockett], for instance, that guy comes into the studio and he’s already got all these things together and we can just hit the road from there and take it forward. A guy like Duff [McKagan], who can just write their ass off, or a group like American Aquarium, I can get really excited. Brandi [Carlile] came to me and wanted me to work with her and that was a fantastic experience. But in general, if you’re someone who has their concept of what they want to do, then we can sit down and really make it work in the studio.”

Shooter also has amassed some good credits in the worlds of broadcasting, film, and television. As well as getting the chance to portray his father in the 2005 film Walk The Line, he has made celebrity appearances on television shows CSI, Marvel’s The Punisher, and American Revolutions, while also playing a gunslinger in the 2013 film The Other Life.

Back in 2009, Shooter participated in a CMT Crossroads session, paired with close friend and fellow musician Jamey Johnson. The evening’s set list consisted entirely of duets, including a cover of “Outlaw Shit” from the Waylon Forever album, two songs from Jennings’s discography – “God Bless Alabama” and “It Ain’t Easy” – and four songs from Johnson’s album That Lonesome Song including “High Cost Of Living,” “Mowing Down The Roses,” “Between Jennings and Jones,” and “In Color.”

Shooter cites Glenn Danzig and the band Oasis as folks that he hasn’t yet worked with whom he’d like to in the future. But right now, his main focus is on the two remaining Waylon Jennings posthumous recordings – though he’s not sure yet exactly when they will come out or what will be on them.

“One thing I can say for sure is that there’s a lot more great music coming,” Shooter concluded. “I was really amazed at how much great stuff is there, and I think the fans are going to really be thrilled when we get these next two out there. My father did a lot of great music before he passed, and we’re going to get as much of it out there as we can.”

Photos courtesy of Shooter Jennings.

How-dee! And Happy 100 to the Grand Ole Opry

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

In 1925, world leaders were signing the final treaties coming out of WWI; Congress authorized work on Mt. Rushmore as a national memorial; the Scopes Trial was held in Tennessee; and the first patent on radio transmission was only 28 years old.

And, in 1925, WSM first broadcast its barn dance – soon to become the Grand Ole Opry.

One hundred years later, the Grand Ole Opry is the world’s longest-running radio program. After a century that saw changes unparalleled in world history, audiences are still drawn to the Opry. Every week thousands make the pilgrimage to the Grand Ole Opry House in Nashville while others tune in around the world. The show continues to inspire new generations of performers to aspire to step “into the circle” on the Opry House stage.

President Jimmy Carter on the Grand Ole Opry stage with Kelly Foxton, Hank Snow, Mel Tillis, June Carter Cash, Skeeter Davis, Bill Monroe, Jeannie C. Riley, and others on October 9, 1980. Photo courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

In The Beginning Was Insurance

In the 1920s, Edwin Craig was watching radio stations emerge across the nation – and seeing the money-making potential for sponsors and owners. He convinced Cornelius Craig, his father and founder of the National Life and Accident Insurance Company, that a radio station could sell a lot of insurance.

Soon, the fifth floor of the company’s downtown Nashville building held a radio studio. The call letters WSM stood for “We Shield Millions,” the company’s motto. A program that would become the lifeblood of country music started as a way to promote life insurance.

The hiring of George D. Hay away from Chicago’s WLS was the beginning of the WSM Barn Dance. The 30-year-old who called himself The Solemn Old Judge and started every show with a steamboat whistle would set the tone for much of the Opry’s 100 years – including its name.

Which all started with a clash of cultures.

Some upper-crust Nashville residents complained the only radio they could hear on weekends was string band programming from the dominant WSM station. In response, WSM began carrying the syndicated “Music Appreciation Hour.”

The Barn Dance slot followed the classical program, and Hay, not one to pass up a good line, said, “For the past hour, we have been listening to music largely from Grand Opera, but from now on, we will present ‘the Grand Ole Opry.”

George D. Hay is pictured at microphone with a whistle and Uncle Jimmy Thompson is seated in this 1925 photograph from when the Grand Ole Opry was still the WSM Barn Dance. Photo courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

For years, the Shield Men – door-to-door National Life and Accident insurance salesmen carrying the company’s shield logo – introduced themselves as representing the Grand Ole Opry. They would even listen outside windows to see who was tuned in to the Opry – and who would be a likely customer.

The earliest WSM shows relied on local talent, running heavily toward fiddlers and string bands. But Hay would invite whoever he thought the audience would like.

DeFord Bailey, a Black musician grounded in both the blues and old-time string band music, became a regular, wowing audiences with his harmonica. Kitty Cora Cline, the first female soloist, performed on hammered dulcimer, and Fred Shriver played the accordion. Uncle Dave Macon on his banjo with Sid Harkreader on fiddle and guitar set the stage for the comedy that would remain central to the Opry’s success, with songs like, “Keep My Skillet Good and Greasy.”

A Beacon

As the recording industry grew, the variety of musicians available to the Opry grew, as well. The show began featuring brother duets, cowboy music, Western swing and solo crooners. Bill Monroe & the Blue Grass Boys were featured stars for decades.

Opry singers expressed the joys of new romance, the happiness of Sunday dinner on the lawn, the sorrow of lost love, and the loneliness of leaving home. Audiences across America listened – and related. The Opry became a focus of family life.

Dolly Parton, like many rural listeners, grew up without electricity. Her family faithfully listened to the Opry on a battery-powered radio. Waylon Jennings’ dad would hook their radio to the car battery. Jeannie Seely’s family would pile in the car and drive up a hill until they could get the signal. Opry history is filled with stories of musicians who listened as children – and dreamed of growing up to perform, like their idols, on the iconic stage.

Opry member Dierks Bentley, who gracefully moves between country and bluegrass, told BGS, “Being invited to join at all is the biggest honor – especially for me, personally. I grew up listening to all the Opry greats on the radio with my dad, so becoming a member is like having the ultimate backstage pass to see the best musicians in the world. And to be invited by Marty Stuart … hands down, it was one of the coolest nights of my life.”

Dan Rogers, the Opry’s senior vice president and executive producer, said the Opry has always been a place to celebrate the good times and be uplifted during the tough times. “Think about,” he said, “the folks who tuned in on Saturday nights during World War II. That was their only source of entertainment throughout the week.” Minnie Pearl, with her signature “How-dee,” and Roy Acuff gave them respite from war news.

On the first show after the 9-11 attacks in 2001, Rogers said, “Our background singers sang an a cappella version of ‘God Bless America.’ And one by one, the people in the audience stood and sang along. And I remember thinking, I bet everybody tuned in across the country is singing along to ‘God Bless America.’”

The Opry’s response to the COVID-19 crisis created desperately needed connection during a frightening time of isolation.

Just a week after deciding that live audience shows weren’t safe, Opry staff arranged a pared-down streaming production with no audience and a skeleton crew. Longtime cast members Bill Anderson, Jeannie Seely and Connie Smith held down the first night alongside Mandy Barnett, Michael Cleveland & Flamekeeper, and Sam Williams.

For the second weekend of restrictions, veterans Vince Gill, Marty Stuart, and Brad Paisley sat on stools spread out across the stage and pulled off what Rogers called “a beautiful, beautiful show.”

Watching from his office, Rogers started reading comments from grateful listeners. For months, people marked their calendars to tune in. They wrote, “I’m in Europe. I set my alarm. It’s 2 a.m. here, but I wanted to experience this with a community.”

Marty Stuart, Vince Gill, and Brad Paisley perform for an empty Grand Ole Opry House during the COVID-19 lockdowns in 2020. Photo by Chris Hollo, courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

Kathy Mattea, the newest Opry inductee, feels those connections whenever she performs there.

People may have sung along to her hit “18 Wheels and a Dozen Roses” in their car or in the shower, but at the Opry, she says to BGS, “Here’s your chance to sit with an audience and sing this song that everybody knows. Nobody knows who the person next to them voted for and it doesn’t matter at that moment.”

“The Ellis Island of Country Music”

In the early days of radio, what was called hillbilly music was as limitless as the range of a 50,000 watt radio station. And the Opry remains dedicated to maintaining those wide open spaces.

Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood, in their forward to the book 100 Years of the Grand Ole Opry, refer to the show as the “Ellis Island of Country Music – a place where all are welcome.”

Contemporary country often has been accused of being homogenous and limited. But despite the factors that have controlled commercial country, the Opry maintains its open-arms attitude. Rogers said, “The two core tenets of an Opry show are celebrating the past, present, and future of country music, and also showcasing multiple genres under the country music umbrella.”

In any show, he said, “You might have something that’s on the top 20 of the country charts today. And you’ll have country classics. You might have a contemporary Christian song, Americana string music, or even something from outside the genre by somebody who just happens to be a country music fan or was influenced by country music.”

In 1974, the R&B-oriented Pointer Sisters included an original country song, “Fairytale,” on their second album. The cross-over hit earned them an invitation to the Opry stage, where they became the first Black group to perform.

Ringo Starr appeared for the first time in 2025 and James Taylor’s debut on November 11 will be remembered as a big part of the 100th anniversary celebration.

And, Rogers said, “Because we can do it, it’s fun to take a chance on a new artist.”

Before his first Opry appearance in July 2022, Zach Top had no hits to his name. But Rogers remembered the programming team saying, “You don’t see an artist like that every day. It sure feels to us like our audience would absolutely eat that guy up!” Today, Top’s music is everywhere.

Bluegrass has been a staple since before it had a name and it has never lost its place on the stage. Bentley and Del McCoury played “Roll on Buddy, Roll On” when the Grand Ole Opry House first reopened after the 2010 flood closed its doors for months.

Charlie Mattos is a 10-year veteran Opry announcer and longtime co-host and producer of WSM’s morning show. He said that on any given night, a portion of the Opry House audience “may truly have never seen a bluegrass band play.”

“And when Del McCoury and the boys finish with an incredible instrumental,” Mattos continued, “or Sister Sadie blisters the stage … the enthusiasm that comes out of that crowd, the immediate standing ovation for the insane musicianship that they have just witnessed …” Mattos said, “it blows their minds.”

Mattea said, “Bluegrass is front porch jazz – the virtuoso playing and the vocals and the harmonies and the trading off of licks. That’s how I fell in love with bluegrass.” And the Opry exposes millions to that brilliance.

A Good-Natured Riot

The Opry show is a complex set of acts and sets requiring precision planning, flexibility, and good nature on the part of the announcers – and commitment on the part of the performers. Rehearsals are brief or non-existent. Timing is everything.

Borrowing a phrase from George D. Hay, the Opry is still sometimes called a “good-natured riot.”

Mattos said, “When you come to see the show live, you see it all. The set changes. The artists leaving as the announcer sends them off. You can see the stage crew out there and usually in 90 seconds they can completely swap things around.”

But while reading a commercial during set changes, Mattos may notice the stage manager giving the “stretch” signal. He might have to keep talking for as long as four minutes – a millennium in radio time.

Sometimes the commercials themselves become the entertainment.

The first time Glad Wags sponsored an Opry segment, Chuck Morgan was announcing. While he stood off-stage reading the dog food commercial, house bassist Bill Linneman came up behind him and started barking. “By my last year there, there were like 20 people behind me going at it,” Morgan said. (The consensus is that Connie Smith does a great chihuahua imitation.)

A Family

Jeannie Seely – who racked up nearly 5,400 performances on the Grand Ole Opry before her passing in August 2025 – remembered it was more than the music that fueled her desire to join the Opry: “That’s hearing these people, like Mr. Acuff and Minnie [Pearl] and Jimmy Dickens and all of them, coming together every week,” she says in 100 Years of the Grand Ole Opry. “They always sounded like they were so glad to be together. They picked on each other and joked, and I thought, that’s just like a family.”

And they were family. When the plane Jim Reeves was aboard crashed in a wooded Nashville suburb, Marty Robbins and Ernest Tubb joined the search party, as did the elegant Nashville socialite Sarah Ophelia Colley Cannon – known as Minnie Pearl.

Opry star Jean Shepard was expecting her second child with husband Harold “Hawkshaw” Hawkins when Hawkins died in the plane crash that also killed Patsy Cline and Cowboy Copas. After months feeling adrift, as Shepard was quoted in the 100 Years book, “I looked down my driveway one day and here come two big black limousines full of the so-called ‘higher-ups’ from the Grand Ole Opry. They said, ‘We want you to come back to the Grand Ole Opry.’ And it really meant a lot to me.”

The family feeling is no accident. In earlier years, Opry members had to perform a specified number of Saturday nights a year. While there’s no set number today, Rogers said they look for a sense of commitment in new members. “It truly is about that relationship,” he said.

Rogers quoted Mattea, upon her invitation to become a member, saying, “These people treat you like family, no matter what.”

One of Mattea’s favorite Opry memories involves a bass player who toured with her. “He was sitting on a stool, playing and singing some old Western swing chestnut, and suddenly Riders in the Sky leaned into the dressing room in full regalia and started singing harmony.

“He was gobsmacked. He felt it was the highlight of his life,” she said.

Bluegrass performer Kody Norris’ music is influenced heavily by first- and second-generation bluegrass. But the band’s preference for flashy suits dates back to a family-friendly welcome Norris received 25 years ago.

His parents took nine-year-old Kody backstage at the Opry, “and I met Bill Anderson. And he had on a red rhinestone suit. That’s the first one I ever saw up close, where I could touch it.”

Later that day, upon meeting his equally rhinestone-clad hero, Porter Wagoner, young Kody got so excited he spit out his chewing gum. Wagoner graciously grabbed two Opry-logoed napkins, one of which the little boy used for his gum. The other one the grown Norris still keeps in perfect condition.

The Circle is Unbroken

In 1974, the Opry left its revered home of decades, the Ryman Auditorium, to move to the deliciously air-conditioned 4,400-seat Grand Ole Opry House.

To honor its longtime home, the Opry crew cut a circle out of the Ryman stage and inset it in the new Opry House stage. The circle symbolizes the Opry’s continuity, respect for the past, and optimism for the future.

Mattea experienced that sense of a completed circle on the day she became an Opry member.

“Suzy [Bogguss] was there. We’ve toured together and sung on each other’s records. She’s my closest artist friend, and she was the only one at the ceremony who was not a member. And I thought how generous it was of her to be there.

“So, while I was overflowing with celebration, to get to invite my friend to the party publicly in the name of the Opry was the sweetest gift. It was a moment I’ll never forget, and I’m going to be there for her induction, too.” Bogguss will officially be inducted as an Opry member in early 2026.

Braid Paisley and Little Jimmy Dickens return the Circle to the Opry stage after the 2010 flood. Photo courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

Join The Celebration

There’s nothing low-key about the Grand Ole Opry – so in the classic Opry spirit, fans have had plenty of opportunity to celebrate the centennial all year long.

Earlier this year, NBC broadcast a three-hour anniversary special, with dozens of stars ranging from Reba McEntire to Jelly Roll to The War and Treaty. The Opry also took the show to London’s Royal Albert Hall for the very first time. You can stream clips of these and other Opry events on YouTube and social media.

With the Virgin Music Group, the Opry has produced the album Opry 100, Country’s Greatest Songs (released November 7). Among the unforgettable recordings are Vince Gill singing his heart-rending “Go Rest High on That Mountain,” Dolly Parton singing “I Will Always Love You,” and Ashley McBryde covering the classic “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” You can order the album from the Opry site.

Craig Shelburne, Brenda Colladay, and Opry members and employees collaborated on 100 Years of the Grand Ole Opry, a book filled with anecdotes and photos that vividly illustrate the Opry’s remarkable history. And to teach your children well, there’s also a new childrens’ picture book written by Emily Frans and illustrated by Susanna Chapman. Find them in your local bookstore.

And, on November 28, 2025, the official 100th anniversary of the Grand Ole Opry we all hold dear, the Opry is celebrating with two huge birthday party shows featuring country stars and Opry members like Vince Gill, Ricky Skaggs, Trace Adkins, Dailey & Vincent, Bill Anderson, Jamey Johnson, Marty Stuart, and many, many more. Tickets are available here.

Of course, the celebrations will continue in 2026.

“The Opry is the core and soul of country music,” Bentley said. “It’s a place where the past, present and future of our genre all come together. There isn’t anywhere else like it.”

Continue exploring our Artist of the Month coverage of Opry 100 here.

All photos courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties, credits and attributions as marked. Lead image: Bill Monroe & the Blue Grass Boys and the Opry Square Dancers take the Opry stage at the Ryman Auditorium in the 1960s.

Jake Owen Started Bro Country. His New Album is Anything But

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Depending on who you ask, Jake Owen might be responsible for the very first bro country song. His 2011 hit “Barefoot Blue Jean Night” wasn’t the first party-ready ode to Southern summers and ice-cold beer, but its slick mix of country signifiers and stadium-rock production – courtesy of Joey Moi, best known for producing Nickelback and later Morgan Wallen – proved highly influential, arguably paving the way for crossover smashes like Florida Georgia Line’s “Cruise” and Blake Shelton’s “Boys ‘Round Here.”

“Never gonna grow up, never gonna slow down,” Owen sang on his signature hit, neatly summing up the youth-obsessed ethos of the bro country era. Now 44 and newly independent after 20 years on RCA Nashville and later Big Loud, he’s singing a different tune.

“I’ve made a lot of records that had a fantasy, ‘Remember when we were young?’ kind of feel to them,” Owen told Good Country. “What feels good about this new record is that I can listen to it and feel like I’m listening to my life right now. It’s very real.”

Dreams to Dream, Owen’s eighth studio album and his first with Shooter Jennings producing, is a sharp left turn for an artist known for hits like “Beachin,’” “I Was Jack (You Were Diane),” and “American Country Love Song.” Earlier this year, Owen decamped to LA amid the wildfires, leaving the comfort of Nashville behind in search of creative truth and a more organic sound. The result is one of the year’s best and most surprising country albums, which trades bro-ish bravado for world-weary introspection and a classic-country sensibility.

The title track is a rollicking, country-rock statement of purpose that name-checks Hank Williams, Jr. and establishes the stakes: “I’ve been down, but I ain’t no quitter/ ‘Bout to get up on my feet/ ‘Cause I still got dreams to dream,” Owen sings in the rousing chorus. On the Troy Jones-penned “Wouldn’t Be Gone,” he muses about leaving stardom behind to work in a hardware store. (“I already know a thing or two about hardwood floors,” goes the song’s best line.) Other standouts include “Chill of December,” a Haggardian expression of winter loneliness, and “The One I Did It To,” a doleful admission of romantic wrongdoing.

In a Q&A, Owen spoke to Good Country about teaming up with Jennings, defining authenticity on his own terms, and why he doesn’t shy away from his bro country past.

This album is a departure from the sound that you’re best known for. What made now the right time to do an album like this?

Jake Owen: My life has always been about timing and believing that I’m supposed to be where I am. The album’s called Dreams to Dream and it came about because I was in this interesting place in my life where I’ve had a record deal for 20 years and, all of a sudden, I’m doing something on my own. Which felt kind of like freedom, but also felt very scary.

For a long time I was focused on the more commercialized songs that would work on radio, since I was on a major label, and I felt like this is the time to make the kind of record that I’ve always really loved. I’ve always tried to follow my heart and what my intuitions have told me. They haven’t always been right, but I definitely follow them.

What was it like working with Shooter Jennings?

He really exceeded my expectations. I expected to go out there and make a record, but I didn’t know I would leave there with an awesome new friend and somebody that really believed in me as a person with dreams and a purpose and things they wanted to say. He was so encouraging to me. I felt safe with him, which is a weird way to put it, I guess. But you need people to pat you on the back and tell you that you’re doing the right thing.

It also was at a time when – I’m not ashamed to say it – there were not a lot of people ringing my phone in Nashville to tell me they were proud of 20 years of what I’d done in my career and 11 number one songs. Kind of weird, right? But the one guy that was calling me and applauding me and telling me that I could do way better, bigger things in my life than what I’d already done was Shooter Jennings. Out of all people, right? That says so much about how much he loves music and believes in people. I think you’d probably hear that same answer from anybody else that he’s worked with.

The second song on the album, “Them Old Love Songs,” is a Waylon Jennings cover. Why did covering Waylon make sense for this record?

Well, there was no part of me going out there that thought I would do any covers. But Shooter and I just talked about life and music out there, and he was saying that his dad always would cut cover songs for fun when he came off the road. Shooter would encourage me, each night or whenever we were done with the session, to do some covers and just have some fun. With that one in particular, I was nervous to ask Shooter, because it felt a little cliché. I wondered how many people work with him and have wanted to do that or if he’s offended by that.

But I always loved that song and the album that it’s on, Are You Ready for the Country. It’s pretty wild, because that album starts off really rocking, and then it goes into that. To me, if you listen to that song, the lyrics say, “I wish I had a true fine woman/ Let her rock me all night long/ And maybe we could get it together/ Like people do in them old love songs.” I’ve been singing that my whole life and it’s still the way I dream of love. And then, going back to the first verse, it says, “Nobody cares where I’m going, all they know is I’m coming back.” I don’t think anybody cared that I was going to make a record with Shooter. Nobody really even knew.

Also, one of the reasons Shooter and I decided to make this album was our love for the Hank Williams Jr. record, The New South, that his dad actually produced. Hank moved to Alabama to make that album, I think it was in 1977, and said he needed to get out of Music City because he wanted to go make his kind of music with his friends. And I felt the same way. Like, here I am going to LA to make a record with Shooter, and he’s encouraging me like Waylon encouraged Hank. So recording that Waylon song, with Shooter producing it, it just felt right.

You recently celebrated the 20-year anniversary of moving to Nashville and signing your first record deal with RCA. You made a post referring to “the highest of highs and lowest of lows” in your career. Could you tell me about some of those highs and lows?

Yeah, well, first off, thanks for even acknowledging that, which I think is important to the reasoning behind this whole record in general. I would start off by telling you that the highest high for me was just moving to Nashville and knowing that something was ahead of me. When I left college, I left my twin brother and a lot of my friends and my entire family at home in Florida. I still look back on that guy, and I’m like, “What the fuck was I thinking?” But I guess I just had to chase it. And then getting to Nashville and immersing yourself with people that are so much better than you are, I just didn’t have that where I was in college in Tallahassee. I kind of felt alone. Getting a record deal was also a big part of that, feeling like I had accomplished part of what I came here to do. And then I spent the next seven years having to figure out how to keep the guys in the band paid and the buses rolling on the road and how to get my first number one song. Everybody thinks that’s the easy part once you sign the record deal, but it really wasn’t. It was a rude awakening.

And I went through a divorce. I got married, I had a kid. It’s like the classic country song shit, man. I think that was a big low for me, having to leave my family to go on the road. I had been very successful from my dreams that I chased, but the one thing that I probably desired the most, outside of music, was a family life. The one thing that I’ve never been good at and I haven’t figured out is that real solid relationship in life, building love and trust, and that bothers me a lot. It bothers me that I can be good at a lot of other things, and that is the most important thing to me, and I haven’t been so great at it.

You were a major player in the bro country era, which is now having this sort of nostalgic reappraisal. I’m thinking of the HARDY and Ernest song “Bro Country,” which is an ode to that time in country music. When you think about that era, what goes through your mind?

It’s funny, because I don’t know that anybody has said this before, but I’ll tell you right now: I started that shit. Everybody wants to shy away from bro country or whatever, but I invented that shit. And yeah, I am proud, in a way. I remember being at a time in my career where I had a record deal for seven or eight years and I had a couple songs that had done all right, but I was feeling like I was gonna lose my record deal if I didn’t try to do some different shit. And I didn’t have a producer at the time. I’d left Tony Brown, who was great. And he’s like, “Hey, man, you should meet this guy, Joey Moi. I think he’d be great for you.”

Joey obviously came from Nickelback and all that. At the time, no different than when I left Tallahassee for Nashville, everybody was like, “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” So here’s a guy now from Nickelback who’s gonna try out making country music on me, which was probably a crazy thing, too. It wasn’t that I was trying to sell out. If anything, I look back and I’m like, “Dude, I had the balls to just do something different at the time.”

“Barefoot Blue Jean Night” was our first release and it had all of these claps and stomps and loop shit. It ended up being the most-played song of the decade [according to Country Aircheck]. I have the plaque on my wall. It was a major, major changing point in my life and career, because it worked. Not only did I keep making those songs for the next few years, but it influenced a shit-ton of people.

I think a lot of people might want to avoid that association. It’s kind of like the way that ‘80s rock and roll gets shit on sometimes, but there are still people in their cars cranking it to 11, right? If you look back at my early career, the songs I was writing were very country, because that’s what I always loved. I went on tour with Brooks & Dunn and Alan Jackson. So when all of a sudden, years later, all of the people that were my heroes were like, “I hate this kid,” it kind of hurt my feelings. But I always knew in my heart that I would get back to what brought me to the table.

Among the detractors you alluded to, people who are into more traditional-sounding country music, there’s this idea that pop-country or bro country is inauthentic. What do you think is “authentic” country music?

Authenticity is the ability for artists to take any type of music and just make it their own. Johnny Cash never shot a man in Reno. But it was a huge song for him. George Jones didn’t write “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” but he owns that song. Stardust is the biggest album Willie Nelson ever released and he didn’t write a single song on it. And he’s one of the greatest songwriters of all time. Authenticity isn’t about where somebody’s from or how they grew up. If you own what you’re doing, and you deliver it in a way that’s believable, I think that’s authentic.

I’m thinking now of this back-and-forth you had with Jason Isbell a couple years ago about artists writing their own songs.

Yeah, dude. That guy. I love Jason Isbell, that’s what’s crazy. Some of the artists that I love the most just spout off at the mouth. The other day I said something about Zach Bryan. I love that guy’s music too, right? He’s amazing, and he’s also uber successful – selling 120,000 tickets or whatever, which I could never even fathom. And Jason is out winning GRAMMYs on top of being an incredible guitar player, so much more talented than I could ever dream of being. But I don’t understand why guys like that will take the time on shit on someone else’s music.

That’s never made sense to me and it’s always made me want to just ask that question directly to them. Which is what I did to Jason. I was just like, “Dude, I’m not going to get into an argument with you over Twitter, so give me your number. I’m going to just call you and have a conversation about why you feel this way.” He and I had a great conversation. And he was very cool to acknowledge and entertain my questioning behind why he would just spout at the mouth about stuff like that. We both ended it at the time – and this was years ago, when I was drinking, or maybe he was – he’s like, “Dude, we should catch a beer sometime.”

So, to go back to the authenticity thing, there’s so many people that are so great at a lot of things. One of my absolute favorite artists right now is Charley Crockett and he does that, too. I wonder, sometimes, I’m like, “Why are you guys all trying to prove to one another that you’re more authentic than the next guy?” Sorry, you can tell I’m getting tense talking about it. But I’m confused by it, because those guys make some of my favorite music and it bothers me that they feel the need to try to blow somebody else’s candle out in order to make their already blazing one shining brighter.

I wonder if part of you wanted to prove to that type of person that you could make one of these really rooted, quote-unquote “authentic,” hardcore country records.

I think it was about proving to myself what my intuitions are and what my beliefs have always been about what’s right for me. I also really needed somebody to tell me that what I was doing was the right decision, and Shooter never wavered. He was constantly telling me, “Dude, this is it. You’re going to open up a Pandora’s box for your career in ways that I don’t think you’ve seen before.” I will say that it’s definitely opened my eyes to a lot of things and a lot of people reached out to me that have never reached out to me before.

One of my favorite songwriters, artists, people I’m a huge fan of is Brandy Clark. I think she’s incredible and just a brilliant songwriter. And she happened to be in LA when I was there and stopped by to see Shooter. She called me after and I just started crying. Because she was like, “Jake, I’m so happy for you. Like, I hear you in this.” It was just so fulfilling to hear that from her. She didn’t have to do that, but I was so moved by it.

I’m grateful for people that don’t think about music from a standpoint of judgment, but look at it as a possibility of something greater.

Photo Credit: Spidey Smith

BGS 5+5: Bryan McDowell

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Bryan McDowell
Hometown: Baltimore, Maryland
Latest Album: Bryan McDowell (out November 7, 2025)
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): Red

What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?

Literature, and particularly the novel form, is where I’ve gotten more and more inspiration. I appreciate lessons in a sort of general creative craft that I’ve found by understanding, for example, painters’ processes, but I think since I’ve worked increasingly with lyrics, I’ve turned more to some classic novels for inspo. Some of the newer unreleased songs are from that source, like this laid-back song I have that draws on Crime and Punishment, the first psychological thriller I think it is. The entirety of the book is the suspense and mental anguish of knowing a person who’s committed a terrible crime and is momentarily suspended from actual accountability for it. They’re just tortured to illness by their thoughts. As it turns out, that suspension of accountability is gripping. At least, I think so. What we do in those moments or what we think we would do or think is worth a bit more exploration.

Most songs aren’t quite so directly inspired by another particular work as this, but I know I’ve often taken songs I had that seem unfocused and I’ll back up and try to imagine a central character and maybe even plot out a bit of a storyline, thinking about the main conflict. When I do that, I think I’m always trying to conjure up some feeling of a subtle and human and well-developed character in a book. A novel does this thing of pulling you in close to a character by sustained familiarity and rich development. And a good song might do something similar, it’s just that maybe it’s presented as more of a puzzle box using all kinds of literary devices, meaning-laden language, and rhythm, etc. But if it’s like a puzzle box, then you as the writer still have to be intimate with the characters so that you can unfold them with precision. You have to have everything in its right place.

What’s your favorite memory of being on stage ?

The first year I started touring back in 2012, I was playing with the Claire Lynch Band at MerleFest. I think we had a mainstage afternoon set on Saturday, maybe. Russ Jordan was there and all the usual Wilkesboro crew and there was a decent crowd out in the old Lowe’s lawn chairs. So we finished our set and I walked off and was striking the stage for the next act, which was the Tony Rice Unit. Well at some point I start hearing rumblings that Tony didn’t have a fiddler with him. He had planned on getting king Stu [Stuart Duncan] over for the set, but MerleFest had booked the Nashville Bluegrass Band on like the Creekside Stage opposite Tony’s mainstage set. As it turned out, all the names of great fiddlers being thrown around were over there watching Stu, of course.

Anyway, I was there at the mainstage. Right place, right time. He didn’t know me from Adam, but Tony’s bass player was bending his ear giving me a good recommendation, because he was also the bass player for the Claire Lynch Band. Tony got up there and did the whole line check with the band and walked backstage as if they would play the set as a four-piece, but Mark Schatz must’ve been selling me hard, because five minutes before set time he pulls me back to their little green room and Tony walks up and sticks out his hand and says in his kind of broken-up voice, “How would you like to be a member of the Unit?” He seemed really frail even then and I remember consciously kind of being careful shaking his hand. I got up and did a quick mic check and the tech put a wash of the band in the monitors. Russ announced the Unit and I walked up and played the set with my stomach in my throat and looking fresh off the turnip truck.

I really hope Tony enjoyed it, or at least that he didn’t mind me much over there. He seemed to be having a good time, anyway. It’s the only time I ever got to play with or even speak with him, but his albums were probably the single biggest influence on my musicianship. I was going to Rice Unit concerts before I was born and had played his tapes until the pitch was all messed up and then switched to CDs and played them until they were all scratched to hell – and on and on. Sometime later I found out that Sierra Hull had decided to hire me based on that set with Tony (she was listening out in the VIP section) and then as a result I think I ended up getting a lot of good work with people down the road. I’ve had a lot of good memories on stage now and been able to sit in with many of my heroes, but that one still stands out.

Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do they impact your work?

I got really into section hiking during and before COVID, when I was back in Carolina and I ended up doing some of the Appalachian Trail up in Pennsylvania. At one point I could’ve walked out my front door and a mile up the road was a hundred miles of trails I could link up with that eventually led up to Mount Mitchell, the tallest peak east of the Mississippi. Such a great use of a week or weekend. Woods, mountains, and the quiet are my home. I hear the sweet decomposing forest floor smell is particularly good for mental health.

It doesn’t take long walking like that before everything I should be doing just falls into place. Musically, in life, with people. It all works itself out. I have an important line of a song come to me or a new crooked fiddle tune just falls out. There’s an old-timey tune I haven’t named yet that came to me like that. I think we all have much better versions of ourselves – our more authentic selves – that come back rising up once we get out from under the weight of these daily intrusions.

The sociologist Habermas called it a “colonization of the life world,” crept up slowly over the last 100 years with all the markets reaching their tendrils into our daily lives, encroaching on the time that we have to just be human and experience the world without dealing with being persuaded by something or someone. Going to the woods for me is just a remembering of yourself as a person and who you are in the world, which is the thing I think that modernity would like us most to forget.

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

I’m a big fan of Wayne Shorter’s Witch Hunt. I used to listen to that album incessantly back in the day. He’s one of my favorite musicians, generally, but there was some strange and good voodoo happening with the crew on that recording. Everyone was at their most tasteful. That music was greater than the sum of its parts, and the sum of its parts is no small sum if you look at the album personnel. Great writing, great playing.

If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?

If I didn’t work in music, I’d own a boutique cheese curds shop that’s word of mouth only and hard to find. I’d call it the Squeakeasy. Just need backers.

Photo Credit: Margarita Photography

Artist of the Month: Opry 100

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

This month, BGS is celebrating 100 years of the Grand Ole Opry! It would be hard to overstate the influence of the Opry on American roots music – hell, on music in general – over the past century.

From Earl Scruggs joining Bill Monroe to create the sound of bluegrass; to DeFord Bailey becoming the first Black Opry star and the first Black musician to break into the commercial music scene in Nashville; to the legendary meeting of Johnny Cash and June Carter; the Opry has been a catalyst for so many iconic moments. Below, we kick off our “Artist of the Month” celebration with our Opry 100 Essentials Playlist, which includes some of our favorite live recordings from the Opry, songs famously debuted on that legendary stage, and some of our favorite roots songs written about the Opry and its lore, too.

Did you know that Dolly Parton made her first Grand Ole Opry appearance in 1959 at the age of 13 and received three encores? To get a sense of how young Dolly might have sounded on that stage, we’ve included one of her very first singles, “Girl Left Alone,” (the B-side of the now well-known “Puppy Love”), recorded when she was just 11 years old and released the same year as her Opry debut.

Elvis famously made his Opry debut in 1954 at the age of 19, singing “Blue Moon of Kentucky” in a style that was so poorly received a manager told him to “go back to driving a truck,” or something of that nature. You can hear his rockabilly version on our playlist.

In 1969, Linda Martell was the first solo Black woman to perform on the Opry, singing “Color Him Father” for her debut. Although she faced rampant racism throughout her career, her first performance on the Opry was met with two standing ovations and she went on to perform there 12 times over the years.

The Opry has also been fodder for songwriting, inspiring many tracks over the years. Early Opry star David “Stringbean” Akeman met Bill Monroe while playing semi-professional baseball and went on to play clawhammer-style banjo in his band from 1943 to 1945. After parting ways with Monroe’s band, Stringbean became an Opry star in his own right and penned the song “Opry Time in Tennessee.”

Stringbean and his wife were tragically murdered in 1973 by thieves who had heard of him storing cash in his home. In 2009, Sam Bush released his song, “The Ballad of Stringbean and Estelle,” co-written with Guy Clark and Verlon Thompson. “The thieves laid in wait for hours/ But things didn’t go their way/ But he wouldn’t let go of his Opry pay,” sings Bush on his album, Circles Around Me.

 

@cmt #SabrinaCarpenter makes her #grandoleopry debut 💋✨🎙️ #opry100 #slimpickins #mansbesfriend ♬ original sound – CMT

Shortly before the Opry was moved from downtown Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium to the newly built Opry House in 1974, John Hartford released “Tear Down the Grand Ole Opry,” a scathing commentary on the commercialization of country music. “Right across from the wax museum/ They used to line up around the block/ From east Tennessee and back down home again … Broad Street will never be the same,” Hartford sings nostalgically on his legendary Aereo-Plain album.

While the Opry is known as a country music gold standard, over its 100 years as a live-broadcast radio show it has held clout across the genres and in popular culture – not just in country. This year, as part of the celebration of its 100th anniversary, the Opry has been featuring 100 Opry debuts and first-time performances. These special appearances have showcased the broad impact of the Opry, hosting the likes of pop star Sabrina Carpenter who said, “My mom raised me on the artists who have stood up here.”

Whether in country, bluegrass, Americana, or beyond, the Grand Ole Opry continues to be a musical powerhouse, 100 years after its barn dance birth. While we look ahead to the next century of Opry magic, we’re beyond excited to join the Grand Ole Opry family in celebrating Opry 100 for the entire month of November. Enjoy our Opry 100 Essentials Playlist below and relive the Opry 100: A Live Celebration television special on NBC from earlier this year here, too. You can read our primary feature on Opry 100 right here. Plus, stay tuned all month as we have brand new and archive articles, interviews, and features we’ll be sharing here and on socials all spotlighting the incredibly legacy and community of our beloved Grand Ole Opry as we countdown to November 28, 2025 – the Opry’s official 100th birthday!

Lead Image: Opening of the Grand Ole Opry House in 1974, courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

BGS 5+5: The Prickly Pair

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Artist: The Prickly Pair
Hometown: Santa Monica, California (Mason Summit), Berwyn, Pennsylvania (Irene Greene). Now Nashville, Tennessee
Latest Album: The Prickly Pair (EP)
Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): Sharktooth Necklace

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

Last year, we were honored to take part in a tribute to one of our songwriting heroes, Gene Clark, produced by Carla Olson at McCabe’s Guitar Shop, where Mason used to work. It was thrilling to perform alongside Gene’s family and collaborators.

What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?

We watch a lot of movies together – foreign films, ’40s and ’50s film noir, and horror. Often, we’ll be watching a movie and when a phrase or line of dialogue stands out to us, we turn to each other at the same time and say, “Write that down!”

We’ve also written songs based on true stories and real people. Our song “Wilderness” was partially inspired by Chris McCandless (Into the Wild) and our latest single, “Swamp Angel,” is about Helen Spence, also known as the Daughter of the White River.

Genre is dead (long live genre!), but how would you describe the genres and styles your music inhabits?

We like to call ourselves an “Angsty Americana” duo – twangy music with a dose of melancholy and fatalism. We also love the recently-popularized term “Y’allternative,” as Mason’s production on our records tends to have some lo-fi and psychedelic elements alongside more traditional country instrumentation. Gram Parsons conceptualized “Cosmic American Music” and that phrase resonates with us as well.

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

We love Amyl & the Sniffers and saw them put on a phenomenal show at Marathon Music Works in Nashville earlier this year.

What would a perfect day as an artist and creator look like to you?

It’s a great feeling to finish a song and perform it the very same night.

Photo Credit: Bridey Caramagno

These Days, Tommy Emmanuel is Living In The Light

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Last October, Tommy Emmanuel took a fall and busted a couple ribs at a concert in Toronto’s Massey Hall. While the injury led to some postponed concerts (although he performed the full show in Toronto), it also produced, in its own way, a very welcome result: Emmanuel’s first solo studio album in a decade.

From his home in Nashville the guitar master told BGS that he experienced a burst of creativity while recuperating at home. “I’m like, ‘Wow, I’ve got time to write and play and experiment.’ All of a sudden I’m a kid in a candy store again.” He also confided that he disregarded his doctor’s advice on how long to rest and was back on the road after “going into hibernation” for three weeks. “If I had taken my doctor’s advice, he’d have set me back 20 years. I’m a moving-forward guy,” he explains.

Emmanuel may not pass muster as a medical doctor, but he certainly qualifies as a doctor of guitar playing. In fact, an authority such as Chet “Mister Guitar” Atkins bestowed Emmanuel with his Certified Guitar Player honor, one of only four CGPs that he handed out during his lifetime. An Australian native who moved to Nashville in the early 2000s, over his long, exceptional career Emmanuel also has earned a GRAMMY, many various music awards in Australia, a Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Guitar Museum, and he is a Member of the Order of Australia.

Never one to rest on his laurels, Emmanuel delivers perhaps his most eclectic album with Living In The Light. While it is definitely stocked with exquisite acoustic picking, the album also contains some more experimental tracks. On “Intuition #25,” for example, he uses some delay pedal wizardry to reimagine an old instrumental. He also handles lead voices on a trio of tunes, including his take on an ‘80s Australian new wave pop hit “Maxine,” the even older, yet still timely “Waiting For The Times To Get Better” – previously recorded by folks like Crystal Gayle and Doc Watson – and a funky, inspiring number, “Ya Gotta Do What Ya Gotta Do,” written by his buddy Michael “Mad Dog” McRae.

Emmanuel may have turned 70 this year, but he exhibits a perennially youthful passion for music. As he explains it: “Music is my blood. I love it.”

Living In The Light is your first solo studio album in around a decade – how did it come about?

Tommy Emmanuel: Well, after I broke my ribs [last year], I knew I had to surrender from touring, and so I was forced to come home and hibernate – try to get my ribs fixed or healed. When I got home, even though I was kind of slightly medicated because of the pain and everything, I was in a great place. I didn’t have to walk out the house and fly somewhere and go play shows. All I had to do was be here and get healed. … Probably the best thing to happen to me was falling, breaking my ribs, and then being poured into a break, because then I got the whole record together.

The first thing I wrote was “Black and White to Color.” It’s like full of energy, full of spark, it’s got everything. It’s completely adventurous and it just came out of nowhere. I started playing some of the guitars that I don’t take on the road, and all of a sudden I got this idea in the way it went. And that’s kind of like how it all came together.

How did you hook up with Vance Powell as your producer?

My great desire was to work with Vance Powell, who I had heard and discovered through Chris Stapleton, Jack White, and people like that. I just loved his work. It was so real and so pure. And I thought, “I’ve got to work with this guy.” He is so busy that last year when I tried to book him, he could only give me four days this whole year, right? That’s how busy he is. So, I booked him. And we cut the whole album, finished, [and] mixed it in four days. That’s it.

I got to tell you that Vance is my kind of guy. There’s no bullshit. There’s no wasting time. We start at 10, we finish at 6. That’s it. We didn’t work all night and wear ourselves out and labor over take after take after take after take. People are always surprised when you say, “Well, I just did it in one take.” They’re like: “What? That’s impossible.” No, it’s not. I have to do it every night when I walk on stage.

You sing on a couple songs on this album, which is more than you usually do.

I’ve worked with some great singers and I’m not one of them, but there’s an honesty about what I do. If you sing something because you really love it and you love to sing it, that’s a good enough reason, you know? I don’t have to prove that I’m the world’s best singer, because I’m not.

Where did the album title, Living In The Light, come from?

I’m glad you asked that. This is how it all started. I was out with my buddy, “Mad Dog.” Him and I are early morning walkers. We go down to an area called Percy Priest Lake here in Nashville and there’s a three-mile walk. We usually do that at like 6 a.m. We’ll meet there and we’ll walk the three miles and talk and laugh and carry on.

And he was amazed how well I looked. He said, “Brother, I’ve never seen you looking so well. You must be living in the light.” And when he said that, I went: “That’s it!” I just thought: “Living in the light. Wow, this is what it’s about.” We’ve all had enough darkness. Let’s get some light.

Can you talk a little about the guitars you use here?

They’re mostly my touring guitar, my Maton Traditional, it is called. When I did “Ready for the Times to Get Better,” I borrowed a Martin D28 because it was just the right sound for that track. When I played “Little Georgia,” I used my Larrivée, which was a different, Canadian guitar and it just sounded just right for that track.

Did you know which guitar you wanted for “Little Georgia” or did you try your Maton guitar and then go, “I don’t think it’s the right match”?

I went straight to the Larrivée because the guitar has a sweetness and it has great sustain. When you play it in a kind of close-to-the-microphone, intimate way, it’s like everything you need is right there, and it’s beautiful.

I’m a song player, I’m a song person, and so I need the right voice to tell the story.

And on instrumentals, your guitar is like your voice?

That’s right. I tell stories without words. That’s my job.

Bluegrass has been influential in your music, but on Living in The Light it seems less prominent than other albums.

I tend to not think about putting a label on it or a genre. Bluegrass music is to me as soulful as R&B or as in-your-face as rock and roll. So I never worry about someone saying “Oh, is this really bluegrass?” or whatever… I’m hardly bluegrass, but yet I am bluegrass in many ways. But I’m also R&B and I’m rock and roll, and I love pop music. I just like good songs and good music.

What American music did you first connect with growing up in Australia?

My first love was Jimmie Rodgers and Hank Williams. And then I heard Jim Reeves and Marty Robbins. Then, when I was about seven, I heard Chet Atkins and that galvanized me. That sent me on another path and changed my life completely. Because when I heard Chet Atkins, something changed inside me. I heard a sound that I’d never heard before and I just knew that’s what I wanted to do. “I want to do that – whatever that is.” I didn’t know how to play like him at all. But I worked it out myself.

And because, you got to remember, this is the early ‘60s. There were no music shops. There were no guitar teachers. There was no video. There was no TV in Australia that we could see live music on. It was all either on the radio or the record player. That was it.

To have Chet Atkins take you under his wing must have been an unbelievable dream come true.

Exactly! You said it, right on. When my dad died, I was 10, I kind of retreated into Chet’s records. That’s what got me through that terrible loss and that period. And I ended up writing a letter to him and he wrote back and we stayed in touch. We were like pen pals and he stayed in touch with me.

Then somebody sent him a tape of me playing when I was about 18 and I get this letter out of the blue. It’s from Chet saying, “I heard your tape and when you come to Nashville, you call me and here’s the number.” He gave me his office number. I came to Nashville to meet him in 1980 and we were like family when we got together. He was my daddy, you know.

You’ve hosted a guitar camp for several years. Is that a way for you to mentor the next generation of musicians, similar to what Chet Atkins did for you?

It’s not just my camp. It’s nearly every night of my life, wherever I am. I meet young players and people and I try to be a positive force for them in their life. I try to show them that if you’re willing to put the work in, this is what’s possible, because I came from nothing and from nowhere, and this is what you can do. You’ve just got to stick at it. Do not quit. You know, stuff like that. But also, my camps give me a chance to talk to people from the perspective of: “I’m an example to you of someone who makes a living playing the guitar. I don’t do anything else.”

Most of the teachers that I employ are much better teachers than I am, but I have fun talking about what I do and demonstrating stuff that shows people behind the wizardry that they’re seeing with their eyes. I can open the window on it and say, “Look in here, this is what I’m actually doing.”

Congratulations on turning 70 earlier this year. I was wondering how your playing style has evolved. Have you had to make any adjustments to the way you play guitar?

Here’s the truth. I’m pushing harder than ever. I’m getting out there like a kid having the time of my life. I’m bulldozing the shit out of everything. I’m having a great time. And I feel energized, inspired, and I just feel like I don’t have that anxiety of, “Oh I’ve got to get out and prove myself.” I just get out and play because I love to play and take people with me. It’s as simple as that.

Of course, there are certain things, like some songs that I try to play that I struggle with now, because my skills in some areas are not what they used to be. I can hear myself playing a song 30 years ago and I go, “Holy shit, I can’t play anywhere at all like that now.”

But I can do other stuff that’s more meaningful to me now, you know. So, my focus has changed. I know that I don’t have the skills in some areas that I used to have but I’ve been there and done that, so now I’ve got this. And I’ll try to do my best with whatever I’ve got to give the people right now at this time in my life.

It certainly seems like you also now have the freedom to make the music that you want to make.

That’s exactly right. And I don’t labor over stuff and I’m not a perfectionist. It’s about telling the story and capturing the feeling of the whole thing, even if it has a few rough edges. If this is the one that has all the feeling, [then] that’s the one I’m going to live with. I’m not going to try and polish it up.

I’m just going to say, “This is it and here’s the story,” and that’s it. … It’s only the people who are willing to be true to their art [who] are the ones that the public actually really likes – all the other stuff is contrived.

Photo Credit: Simone Cecchetti

Guitarist Ben Garnett’s New Album Transcends the Instrument

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

My conversation with Ben Garnett finds him at about a decade in Music City and in the swing of an album cycle for Kite’s Keep, the guitarist-composer’s second full-length solo record. Our discussion centers around the ethos of modern string band music, what the guitar has to say about it, and the potential for folk music’s inherent narrative quality to uplift and move past tradition itself.

Garnett’s perspective on these topics is one that is quite underrepresented: A graduate of the University of North Texas’s famously rigorous jazz guitar program, he spent his early years in Texas developing the skills needed as a pop-oriented sideman and session player, while making ripples in the experimentally disposed Denton, Texas, before heading east. As we’ll find out, he has made disparate musical worlds come together, informing each other along the singular path he leads.

Upon arriving in Nashville, Garnett was quickly recruited as trailblazer Missy Raines’ go-to guitarist, while contributing his compositions and musicianship to progressive acoustic ensemble Circus No. 9. Though his path wasn’t entirely certain at first, his dedicated, open-minded approach to musicianship quickly yielded success both creatively and professionally. Now touring his original music while balancing responsibilities as a band member, the new album Kite’s Keep was made in collaboration with today’s top-of-the-heap acoustic guard: Darol Anger, Chris Eldridge, Brittany Haas, Ethan Jodziewicz, Paul Kowert and experimental pianist-composer Matt Glassmeyer.

I was surprised to hear Ben describe this project as a “guitar” record; being a guitarist myself, and with kindred reference points, I am conditioned to hear six string-born music through the instrument’s highly subjective – yet unendingly capable – lens, though Ben manages to disrupt this. His distinct transcendence of the instrument comes from embracing its format and stepping past folks’ conception of it, while explosively celebrating the guitar as a compositional tool.

Garnett’s ability to write for the room, so to speak, enables him to accommodate many players’ perspectives while balancing high precision with casualness. This is a blend of skill sets and priorities that are rare in ecosystems historically dominated by performative virtuosity. At every turn, Ben Garnett is courteous and grateful, crediting his achievements to friends, linchpins, and heroes within his scene – ones that he now orates his compelling tale alongside.

Is it safe to say that your new record, Kite’s Keep, portrays a narrative? Was that built into your approach as you wrote and recorded it?

Ben Garnett: Absolutely. Poetically speaking, the album title Kite’s Keep loosely refers to this idea of a child’s inner world – a dreamscape where each song represents a different vignette of imagination. The broader narrative has to do with using the acoustic guitar as a world-building tool. This idea that guitar records can be more expansive than just, “here’s my solo arrangement of such and such a tune.”

My goal was to make a record that celebrates the power of what an acoustic guitar can do as an ensemble instrument – like bringing out what other instruments are capable of. The guitar can act as this stage, or world, that other instruments can then inhabit.

So, in that way, would you say that this is a guitar record?

Definitely.

Interesting, because when I listen to it, it doesn’t necessarily feel that way, which is an aspect I’m quite partial to.

I’m curious why this feels like a guitar record to you. I know you’re facilitating these exchanges and you’re world-building with them, you’re obviously pushing past what the guitar is conceived of, but it sounds like you’re not trying to push past the guitar itself.

I guess the idea is that, in addition to world-building, a lot of the compositional material was guitar-born. I’m thinking of the fiddle and bass as extensions of what I would otherwise play. They’re bringing guitar-born ideas into this other register, carrying them to places where the guitar can only point.

Do you have a compositional process? Would you consider it more passive, or do you sit down to compose in a more dutiful way?

Sometimes it’s dutiful, but a lot of the time it’s passive, like when I’m at the airport. Thoughts come to me and I’ll write them down in my notes app. From there, it’s more like script or scene writing. For instance, I’ll want the tunes to arrive at a certain point and I’ll figure out how to get there in reverse. When I’m being more dutiful, I’ll realize a piece in a program like Ableton or Finale, or just by recording myself.

I wrote one tune in a weird way: I improvised freely for 15 minutes, mostly with long tones. The only directive was to play a note and whatever note I heard after that, I would immediately try to play. I chased my tail for 15 minutes and recorded myself. Then I sped up the recording by 400%. I chopped up the transients, warped it, and put the transients on different parts of the metric grid. I had a groove in mind – a half-time, kind of bluegrass-funky tempo. Since it was my melodic sensibility and the way I heard the notes flowing into each other, there was a certain intention and trajectory there.

So, you were kind of sampling yourself – that must get you out of your own head and off the instrument.

Yes. It gave me rhythms and phrasing that I never would have come across otherwise.

And then you learn it from yourself.

Exactly. … It’s the second track, with Darol Anger, “Tell Me About You.”

For something like that, which is more thoroughly composed, how do you make it sound so fluid in the studio while recording?

The process for that tune involved getting the basic elements assembled in Ableton, but then there was the process of arranging the material. Then after arranging, came “breaking in” the tune, so to speak.

Once I had a basic arrangement, I brought it to Darol. We probably got together four or so times. I remember asking him what would make it more idiosyncratic to his instrument and playing. He’d suggest adding a double stop somewhere or doing something rhythmically a little differently. Basically, it was all about massaging it so it didn’t feel clunky. It had to pass all these “tests” before we even got into the studio.

What are these tests that it must pass?

They have to do with the flow. Even if the compositional material comes from using a computer or another unusual place, the music still has to have this casualness. String band music tends to sound its strongest when the parts rely on each other in a certain way. I generally will “test” my music by playing it with as many people as I can, to make sure it has an inherent interpretive quality. Making sure the ideas are robust enough to hold water no matter who’s playing them.

For people who don’t know, you come from Dallas, you went through UNT’s jazz guitar program, and then you moved to Nashville. I’m curious how you found Nashville with your sensibilities, growing of musical age in an environment that is uniquely experimental, yet highly rigorous. Did you come here with the aspirations of doing the things that you’re doing now?

Not at all. At the time, it was much more open-ended than that. I was mostly driven by wanting to get out of Texas. But I had also just gone to the Acoustic Music Seminar with Mike Marshall, Julian Lage, Bryan Sutton, and Aoife O’Donovan, which was a hugely formative experience. I think it was Sutton who offhandedly mentioned, “You should think about moving to Nashville.” I knew there were acoustic musicians here I looked up to – the whole Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas generation of players and I knew Critter [Chris Eldridge] and Sutton were here, too.

At that time, I was also in a phase of wanting to be an electric guitar player. The idea of being a session musician or side-person appealed to me. I had an electric background playing all kinds of music back in Texas – jazz, rock, country, pop, etc. I remember my cousin and my first guitar hero, Andy Timmons, telling me, “Nashville is definitely where I would be if I were your age.” It just seemed like the most open-ended place for the variety of interests I had.

Did you feel like you could do what you wanted to do at first?

It took a while to figure that out. I got a job with bluegrass bassist Missy Raines two weeks after arriving, which was a great first touring experience. I had the idea of making a solo record in my head for a long time, but I always thought I’d wait until I was 30 or so to make it. However, at one point, I distinctly remember Missy telling me, “You definitely need to make a record before you’re 30,” which was amazing advice.

I also got a job with progressive bluegrass band Circus No. 9, a year or so after moving, and was expected to bring in original music to build out our repertoire. The more engrossed I got in the progressive bluegrass world, the more I realized how rare my perspective on it was. It felt isolating at first, but being on the road with Missy and Circus was like being in a second family where I got to realize my position and perspective.

Fast forward a few years, and my hero Chris Eldridge agreed to produce my first solo record, Imitation Fields.

I’m always fascinated by the Dennis Hopper quote where he says one day an actor wakes up and they decide they’re a producer. I’m wondering if you feel similarly in regard to pursuing your voice as a bandleader, composer, artist. I feel like in the current state of the music industry, with how comically hard it is to do anything, it’s almost like a fatalistic, “Why not?”

I’m curious if you could speak to the process of finding yourself in a record of your own stuff and what advice you might give to somebody trying to figure it out.

It goes back to the validation thing. I probably wouldn’t have made a record without all the help and encouragement from those around me. I hate to even frame it this way, but I just have to count my blessings. In some ways, I feel like I walked into something that was waiting for me.

You could have stayed in Texas and made records, but you wouldn’t have made the records you’re making here in town.

Absolutely. Who knows what those Texas records would’ve sounded like.

Going back to your question on what advice I’d give to somebody figuring it out. If you’re an aspiring musician who wants to make your own music, I’d advise not to be too career-oriented at first. Obviously, you need to do what it takes to pay the bills. But there’s a lot of music out there that, to me, sounds born from a certain careerist mentality, which I frankly find to be taking up space.

All the stuff I’m doing now – booking my own tours, stocking merchandise, making promo graphics, being my own publicist (essentially being a small-business owner) – is all really new to me. I moved to Nashville just to see what would happen. I had no real objective. Even if it at times felt meandering or directionless, I’m grateful for the space I inadvertently gave myself to try things. You find yourself in that process, and I think your art becomes more meaningful as a result.

Another factor worth considering in finding myself was the impact of COVID. Critter and I were in the middle of editing Imitation Fields during this time and I think if it weren’t for COVID, it could have easily been, “Okay, we’ve recorded now – let’s edit, mix, master, then done.” All the sudden, it became a whole process of, “What if we tried this? What if we did that?”

It’s like being in a block of molasses. You’re not thinking, “I have three days in the studio, and we have to figure it out.”

Exactly. We had all this time. No corners were cut. … It was kind of insane. I didn’t quite realize it at the time. I’m just really grateful, even if it ultimately drove me a little crazy.

As someone who puts a lot of meticulous work into the visuals which accompany your music, how do you feel that film informs music and vice versa?

First and foremost, the two seem inseparable. For those of us who can see and hear, we’re always looking at something while we’re listening and we’re always listening while we’re looking. That connection is inherent, so my argument is, why not have a say in both realms of sensory experience?

On top of that, I think there’s something cinematically interesting with the traditions of jazz and folk music. A lot of folk music tends to have this quality of wanting to tell a story, albeit in a fairly literal way. Listening to a song, there can be this mini-movie playing in the listener’s mind. Maybe they’re imagining a character, or their own life experiences – whatever the case may be, it largely seems to be about evoking imagery on some level.

In contrast, that kind of storytelling seems less of an objective in jazz. Jazz tends to revolve around this more abstract, spontaneous kind of communication. Which feels equally as cinematic, but the goal of that storytelling feels distinctly different than with folk music.

Of course these are generalizations and I don’t mean to be reductive with either music. This is all to say – the way these traditions interact with our “cinematic” experience of music is something I find deeply fascinating and is a huge source of inspiration for my writing and playing.

It’s the same phenomenon with a song like “Nine Pound Hammer” that has lyrics and semantic content, but is also a vehicle for instrumental virtuosity. I feel like you’re meeting in the middle there.

Absolutely. This is where bluegrass, in some ways, has the best of both worlds.

What I think initially drew me to folk music, in general, was the cinematic quality I didn’t get playing jazz standards. Obviously, there’s the storytelling you get listening to the great singer-songwriters, but there’s also listening to bands like Strength in Numbers. It feels like cinematic stories are being told in those compositions.

Do you feel like a more approachable rhythmic foundation provides a shoo-in for listeners to more quickly imagine a world?

It certainly can. But I also think it’s this general narrative quality in folk music that provides this. For instance, when I play a tune with Brittany [Haas], there’s almost this unspoken objective between us to build the tune in a certain way. In a way that’s very different from playing a jazz tune.

As an aside, I think that’s why people sometimes misunderstand jazz or say they can’t connect with it. Most of the time, jazz isn’t trying to do what most pop or folk music is doing. It’s not trying to conjure a story in this literal way. What makes jazz work is how it centers around this more abstract, colloquial communication.

Perhaps in that way, music school’s training isn’t always “backwards compatible.” Is that fair to say?

I grew up being taught a certain set of rules about how to make good music from going to jazz school. Then, when I moved to Nashville and started working with string band musicians, I realized what I was working with was quite different from the rules they had grown up with.

I think this intersection is what makes someone like Edgar Meyer a powerful force. In some ways, he’s able to pull out all these things in people like Jerry Douglas, Russ Barenberg, Béla Fleck, Mike Marshall, and Sam Bush by bringing in this other perspective from his classical background.

He also realized that the same rules did not apply.

Exactly. He’s able to take what those musicians are giving him, see what they’re good at, harness it, and arrive at a perspective that none of them would have had otherwise.

Photo Credit: Natia Cinco

How “Guidelines” Made Madison Cunningham’s Ace Feel Totally Free

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It is no news that Madison Cunningham is among the top tier of artists and musicians doggedly pursuing their craft; her newest record, Ace, casually echoes this. Soberly confronting a mountain of grief at home and transmuting its impressions through her open-minded, mature songcraft, the record encourages listeners through a seamless track list whose performances take on the form of open letters to its subjects. She treats an album as the dignified platform it once was and should be and this stance feels radical in today’s streaming-focused world.

A most striking feature of Ace (released on October 10, 2025) is the presentation of her vocals in a more expansive and spacious light, putting aside her much-associated – and anticipated – guitar for the piano, a more than suitable vehicle for this new terrain. Cunningham returns to her native instrument, the keys, as a “lost sojourner,” using it to strip away all but the most critical aspects of the record’s narrative, while highlighting its grooves and timbres.

All the songs played on piano started on guitar and later migrated to it. This practice seemingly grew out of her fascination with embracing the uncomfortable, like the open tunings she is known to use in her celebrated approach to the guitar as an instrument to be challenged and played with. From a new-to-her tuning, to the piano, and then to her band, this game of telephone still allowed Cunningham to sound more like herself.

The game doesn’t stop there. At a lair in Woodstock, New York, in the fall of 2024, Madison and her band committed themselves to a few simple principles: No demos. No vocal comps. “Do the thing that feels most musically true and curious.” And, “Don’t give a shit about what people have known you for.” These rules, in many ways, allow the anthropology of the moment in time during which this record was made to speak loudest. It goes without saying that this path is impossible to tread without a rigorous knowledge of oneself, trust in the folks around you, and, most centrally, the chops to back it up. The consequence of these choices is a record with a narrative “spine” throughout, animating what Cunningham likens to a ballet in its transitions – something she has been working toward both in the studio and on the road since her triumphant, full-length debut in 2019, Who Are You Now.

The song “Wake,” a duet with Robin Pecknold of Fleet Foxes, evokes the kaleidoscopic nexus of Alison Krauss & Robert Plant’s Raising Sand, the orchestration of Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, and the cinematic flair of Gustavo Santaolalla on top. More stripped-down performances, such as “Take Two” and “My Full Name,” demonstrate Madison’s subtle confidence as both a devoted curator and a fearless innovator. Woodwinds underscore and bookmark this collection’s ethereal climate, thanks to the work of Jesse Chandler. Taken as a whole, Ace brings the listener into the same trenches Madison found herself in and onward toward truth in the face of its hardships.

BGS reached Madison Cunningham via Zoom in mid-September to discuss Ace, its making, and the guidelines and rules by which she brought these songs into the world.

I noticed that you described the record as “light” when making it, despite its sober depiction of difficult subject matter. Which aspects were light to you?

Madison Cunningham: That’s a great question. The mission for making the record was really clear and all the “guidelines” were set up well in advance, which was something I had never done before. In the past, my process has been more about figuring it out as we go. This time, my band and I were very prepared. I used the touring band that I’ve been with for the last five years, and the deep collaboration and shared language we’ve developed over that time made everything feel so fluid.

We were all “cracked open” in this special way and we laughed the whole time. That’s probably what I mean the most about the record being “light,” how joyful it felt. I didn’t feel much fear while we were making it. I just had a picture of how I wanted it to sound, and it already was sounding like that. That felt like a relief.

Did you feel like you had less to prove in a superficial sense?

I guess there’s always something to prove. I don’t mean to erase the feeling that I had, which was, of course, a certain amount of pressure or wanting it to level up in some way. But, in light of being quite devastated in my personal life, everything else felt so small compared to the mountain I felt like I was climbing at home.

And maybe that was the gift and that’s why everything felt like it. For whatever reason, everything felt like green lights. It just couldn’t have been easier. Also, I’d never had a more fluid relationship with my label; there was no argument about how this was going to happen. It just was like, “Go. Do it.”

How would you describe the guidelines you had in place for this record and how did they differ from your usual process? Also, did playing the piano more for this record affect your writing style, perhaps making it more expansive in some ways?

I started as a kid on piano first and it had a resurgence in my life in the last three years. I fell back in love with it and I enjoyed the feeling of being a lost sojourner on it, just being like, “Oh, I’m finding all these things that I now am – I found a style here that I’m injecting into my guitar playing.” I wanted to play guitar more like a pianist.

One of my guidelines was, “Just don’t give a shit about what people have known you for, what they might expect. Do the thing that feels most musically true and curious.” And that sounds a lot like permission, but it was also a guideline. Another guideline was, “Make sure that there’s emotional delivery over anything that sounds too perfect. And don’t compromise on that.”

The other set of guidelines were between me and my band: we did a lot of rehearsal beforehand, but we didn’t record anything, so there were no demos. That was a huge rule. I also said, “I don’t want to do any vocal comps. I just want to sing the songs live.” That was helpful. It was another way of being like, “Okay, focus, and be in the room for the moment that these songs are being captured.” So, yeah, there was no previous, “Ah, but shit, we gotta out-beat that one demo we made.” Because that slate was so clean, I think everything was clearer.

During the recording process, do you listen to other music for comfort or do you stay entirely within the feedback loop of your own project? I’m also curious if the recording period was a continuous block of time, which would obviously influence your ability to listen to music.

We did record it continuously, and I don’t usually listen to music while I’m making a record. Honestly, destination recordings help so much with that, because you’re just immersed in the physical and spiritual environment of the whole thing. We were up at a lair and it was fall – it was this time last year – and there’s this beautiful hike that allowed you to look over the reservoir and the golden, brown, red leaves. I felt so romantic that whole time. Even if there was something that wasn’t working, I just had such faith it was going to get there.

We also had a crazy sort of work cycle, which was [that] we would start the skeleton of the song in the morning and then we would record until 2:00 AM and finish it. Again, I think because we all had the guidelines, we were like, “We want every song to have woodwinds pretty much, unless it doesn’t call for it, so we’re going to try and flesh it all out in the same day.”

Jesse Chandler did all that. He’s a genius. We would both talk through things we were both hearing, and then he would just play it all. It was like building a puzzle in real time, and it felt so wonderful to be able to see it all and to feel moved by it. We barely did any overdubs. We did another session in LA a month later after those two weeks up at Woodstock and did a few little overdubs, but we had mainly done everything while we were there.

Ace feels like a return to the “record” as a dignified format. In the lead-up to making it, did you think about the songs as individual tracks – as it relates to streaming culture – or did you focus on creating a cohesive narrative for the entire album?

There are so many examples of records that feel like a full statement and we’ve lost that. That feels radical now. I feel like I’ve made records that have been molded to the current format and I was so disinterested in that this time. I am so over the, “Hey, let’s just do what everyone else is doing,” and, “It’s guaranteed to work.” I really mistrust people when they say that to me, and that mistrust has usually been right.

Even if I see the “format” working for someone else, I’m like, “But that’s not me. That’s not my music, so we can’t say that’s the target, that’s the answer.” I was so interested in making the record feel like a ballet and feeling like the transitions were seamless. It was the first record I felt like I made that had a spine that connected the whole thing and I still find such value in that.

To be honest, we also made efforts to make sure that the songs were not too long. They were separated from their instrumental tracks so that it could work for playlisting. We weren’t, like, fully in protest.

When working on a song like “Wake,” where did that start? How different does it look from when you’re playing it on the couch, versus sitting down with Robin [Pecknold] to record it? Could you walk me through how that song got made? I love how active the guitar parts are, the closeness of the vocal harmonies, and how relaxed everything feels in the recording.

MC: I love that. I really appreciate that it comes across that way. That was the goal and the way that it was written. I wrote it with another songwriter named Will Taylor and we were both just playing these counterparts. And that’s where the seamlessness of it kind of took place; on the recording, that’s the direction I wanted it to go in. Then I just added some different flavors.

All those guitar parts you hear were added and layered, but I didn’t do very many takes of them, so that’s how it might feel live. I didn’t get in there and try to overly correct things. I wanted it to breathe. That has to be one of my favorite songs on the record because we wrote it in a Nashville blizzard and it sounds like that. The guitar part sounds like snowflakes falling in different directions to me, and Robin’s voice is just like a warm fire.

Did you record that in Nashville, or did you just write it in Nashville?

Wrote it in Nashville, recorded it in Los Angeles a year later, and we did all of that, everything that you hear, in one day. I recorded the main guitar and sang at the same time and then Robin sang in the other room. And once we figured that out, we added all the guitars, then Daniel Rhine added upright bass, and then we did the foot stomps at the end. And that was the song.

For the guitar-centric people, is “Wake” in an open tuning, and do you mind sharing what that is?

No, I always forget it, but I’m going to pull it up on my “favorite tunings” column.

It is C-G-D-F-A-C, from low to high. It’s basically an open suspended chord and it’s so tricky. At first, you’re like, “There’s no possible way through this tuning.” And that’s the tuning I wrote all the record on. Every guitar here, it’s in that tuning.

Your music contains rhythmic feels that seem to be informed by drums or percussion, outside of the guitar. I know you’ve played percussion – does your drumming experience influence your songwriting on other instruments? Do you workshop things back and forth with your drummer, Kyle [Crane] in this way?

I feel like if I were to show you the original demos of these songs, there was already such a strong, informed rhythmic thing, more than in the past for me. And Kyle, I think he was playing into, “How do I make this feel like we thought of this at the same time? Or, “How can it feel like that?” For example, “Break the Jaw” came out of a band jam. I wrote the lyrics to it, but the feel of the song wasn’t something Kyle tried to figure out after the fact. We were figuring it out in real time and I think that’s why it came out so cool. Everybody put their stamp on it.

The whole process was us trying to figure out the skeleton of rhythm and how to make it feel like it wasn’t fighting with itself.

I’m wondering how you approach sequencing an album. When you consider the interludes, the streaming world, live performance, and recording, are there specific ideas, people, or records that have helped you learn how to think about the flow and energy of a record from start to finish?

Ooh, yeah, I’m sure. Radiohead is a big one for me. I think the sequencing of their records is so specific. Their opening track is always perfect to me and their closing track is always perfect. From the beginning of making this record, before all the songs were written, I knew which was going to be the first and which was going to be the last. And then Robbie Lackritz – who made the record with me – and I spent a lot of time delineating over sequencing.

The story of the record is important. Obviously, the tempo arc, and the keys melded together. The story has a plot, so that was a big thing. I wasn’t trying to write it like that, but from an aerial view, I was like, “Oh yeah, this is how it connects.”

In the song “Take Two,” you mention a fear of writing simple songs. Did this perceived fear influence the guidelines you set for yourself when writing the album? Also, were the initial ideas for the songs primarily written on guitar or piano?

For every song that ended up on piano, it actually started on guitar – with the exception of the instrumental pieces, which were formed from the piano.

For example, “Shore” started on guitar and so did “My Full Name,” but they felt like piano songs to me because I was doing a lot of transposing between instruments to see if the song was good. I would transfer it between instruments and say, “Yeah, it still has a message.” In doing that, I fell in love with “My Full Name” on the piano.

“Take Two” also started on guitar, and I was like, “I don’t like this song very much. I love what it’s saying, but I find it to be so boring.” It was a song that everybody on my team was attached to. When we got to Woodstock, the song came together on the piano before we were going to record it and I was like, “I love this song.” Something made me say, “Hell yeah.”

On a more technical note, I’m curious about the guitar sound for “Skeletree.” It sounds like a low-tuned nylon string guitar with a contact mic. What was it?

Killed it. That’s exactly what it is. There was this big bedroom with a tall ceiling and that’s where we stored the amp. The contact mic was also sitting in a really big room, which contributed to the fairy dust.

Very cool. Were there any other notable guitars on the record that were new to you or were just lying around the studio?

I used a hollow body for the bridge of “Break the Jaw.” I think it might have been a 330 or something. I really love that you can hear a crunchy, kind of reverb thing just break out for a second. I also used my Collings acoustic. I know I had that for a few, but mainly it was just that nylon string that I stuck with. A little bit of the Collings, and then that electric guitar once, for one section of a song, and then all piano after that.

I did play electric bass for “Golden Gate” and “Mummy” too.

Do you ever write on bass or play along with records on bass?

I do, and I wrote “Golden Gate” on bass. That line that you hear at the beginning, it started with that.

Do you have any advice for people who want to feel like they don’t have anything to prove, especially if they are working toward a platform in the process?

I feel like the thing that I’ve learned the most from is, even if you don’t fully have your sound yet, make it a mission to just make music you like the sound of. Even if you haven’t fully found yours yet, you will, by way of learning what it is that you love and what you like coming out of your own body and mouth and fingers.

I think the things that have spoken the most to people is going, “I can tell that you love what you’re doing.” And even though in my earlier years, you could definitely see a lot of comparisons, I needed those because those were the things that made me believe in music and what I was doing. And then I think those faded away and now this record is the first time I’ve ever been like, “This is what I’ve always wanted to make. This sounds like me.” It just took a minute, but I enjoyed the whole ride.

I also feel like I was never not myself. Everything that I did, I felt was a risk in some way or stretched me as an artist. … What I loved the most about making this record was that all of it felt in balance. Finally, my voice was the loudest.

That’s just because I finally, like you said, trusted myself, trusted the process. I knew enough to know that even if something isn’t working the first time, there’s always a second, third, or fourth to try. So, trust your curiosity and do whatever it takes to make sure your curiosity is above the fearful, negative self-talk.

Photo Credit: Sean Stout