So turn it on, turn it up and sing along
This is real, this is your life in a song.
—BRAD PAISLEY, “This Is Country Music”
Country music was the soundtrack to the happiest moments of my childhood: mornings in the kitchen when Mom cooked me a hearty southern breakfast before sending me off to school. While she was frying up some eggs, she’d hum along to Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, John Conlee, Conway Twitty . . . whoever was coming through the speaker of our tiny kitchen clock radio, courtesy of our local country music station, “The Great 98,” WCOS-FM.
For some, it’s smells that bring back a rush of sensory memories. For me, it’s sounds and smells. Even now, I can’t hear “Jolene” without recalling those heavenly scents. The fine fragrance of bacon sizzling in the pan still transports me back to my mother’s kitchen. I remember well the sun pouring in through the white lace curtains, making patterns on the oak cupboards and beige Formica countertops (think eighties country chic).
These were the special times, when my baby sister, who is seven years younger than me, was still sleeping in her crib, and I had my mother all to myself. As a parent, we all feel the pressure to put something in our kids’ stomachs before they head off to school and, after plenty of negotiation, we’re lucky if we can get them to gulp down an Eggo waffle or a Pop-Tart, figuring something is better than nothing. But no one had to cajole this mamma’s boy into eating his first meal. I’d usually wake up with a smile, knowing she was fixing me something delicious. She’d get creative too. Fearing I’d get bored, my mom would switch up the eggs and bacon with a grilled cheese sandwich. Some mornings she’d even open a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. It just had to be hot—love on a plate—and I’d carry that maternal warmth with me for the rest of the day.
I’d also carry whatever tunes were playing on the radio in my head. You know how a few lines from certain songs tend to stick with you for hours, or days, whether you want them to or not? Well, country lyrics are real sticky. There’s nothing like one of these songs to transport you through storytelling, letting your imagination build on the plotlines to take you to all kinds of places.
A great country music song is about real life, plain and simple. Whether it’s about love, loss, or just having a good time drinking beer on a Saturday night, there is something in it that pulls an emotion out of you. It resonates with how we live and what we go through. Songs in other formats can do this, but country music does it consistently. There’s been some criticism lately that the production values in a lot of contemporary country songs are almost pop music, and I get that. But the voices and lyrics are still country, and that’s what Nashville does best. Great songs about real life. This stuff is timeless.
Country music, more than any other kind, taught me how to listen. When I hear a great country song, I pay attention to the words, and all the emotions behind them. I follow along and visualize, imagining myself as a bystander in the moment. I’m completely engaged in the story. I give that same level of focus to the people I am with. I want to be drawn in, to understand their whole message.
Country connected with me even as a little kid. The melodies got under my skin, and the lyrics held my attention. It wasn’t just music in the background. I was fully absorbed in the stories. After listening to these songs over and over again on the radio, the movie reel in my kid brain would kick in, pondering the reasons why Jolene couldn’t find her own man, picturing the showdown between Dolly and her love rival, and confused as to why she’d ever want a man back who cheated on her.
And my childish mind went into overdrive after listening to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” by the Charlie Daniels Band. The devil trying to tempt Johnny to bet his soul in a fiddling contest? Johnny accepts the bet and wins a golden fiddle! Are you kidding me?!
As a small-town kid with loving parents, a doting mother, and a relatively sheltered home life, maybe I couldn’t relate to all the heartache in some of those songs. The couple that stays together “Through the Years” (Kenny Rogers), the drifter always remembering the lost love who is “Gentle on My Mind” (Glen Campbell)—that was heady, grown-up stuff.
Sure, I had my not-so-innocent secrets. Mamma’s “little angel” had been slyly subscribing to men’s underwear catalogs the way other boys stockpile old issues of Playboy (more on that later). But so many of the great country music songs of my parents’ generation dealt with complex emotions far beyond anything I’d experienced. Still, all great art has something for the soul to cling to, and even as a little kid I could relate to that sense of longing when I heard Patsy Cline sing of unrequited love in “Sweet Dreams.” That’s the beauty of the genre. It speaks to the human condition no matter who we are, or where we happen to be in life.
As I got older, I lost interest in what I considered to be my parents’ music. My high school years coincided with the heyday of late ’80s pop and rock, so all the cool kids were listening to the likes of Madonna, Prince, and Janet Jackson, and bands like U2, Depeche Mode, Erasure, and Duran Duran. I was a pop culture junkie. Country was nowhere to be heard during these years. As the nerdy kid who desperately wanted to fit in, knowing and playing the most popular music of the day as an aspiring DJ was my entry ticket. Even if I still secretly kinda loved it, as a teenager back then it wasn’t cool to admit you were a country music fan. But all that changed when I was eighteen and Garth Brooks exploded onto the scene with “Friends in Low Places,” a song that pricked up my ears and started a country music revolution.
It was around that time, right after my senior year of high school, that the radio station where I was working switched its format to country. I thought they were crazy until I started listening to it again. I mean really listening. Just like when I was a child listening to the radio with my mother, I was drawn right back into the stories.
Suddenly, there was a new generation of country artists breathing life into the music. Everyone knew the lyrics to Garth’s breakthrough hit. He was singing about partying. He was also blowing the top off what the perceptions were about country music, smashing guitars, and running around the stage. He brought show biz to country music, putting on a high-wire act above the audience.
Garth used to talk in interviews about loving the rock group Kiss. He’d also taken notes from the late, great Chris LeDoux, another renegade. Chris had been a bareback rodeo performer who paid tribute to life on the rodeo circuit in his songs and his stage performances, which featured mechanical bulls and fireworks. These guys were bringing back the youth and edge to country and opening the floodgates for a whole new generation of performers.
This happens every so often. There are cycles to country as it keeps getting reinvented by artists, then rediscovered by new generations of fans. As the old Barbara Mandrell song says, many of us were country when country wasn’t so cool. Today, it’s cool again with the millennial generation, which is going crazy for artists like Sam Hunt and Thomas Rhett, handsome young guys who blend their incredible country voices with a more modern sound. A female artist who represents this new wave is Miranda Lambert, a Texan with her own distinctive, wild edge. These voices, mixed in with traditionalists like Luke Combs and Jon Pardi, are what keep the format vibrant. And today’s country wouldn’t be the same without Carrie Underwood, whose vocal dominance among all genres is undeniable. Truly, there’s a little something for everybody in country music. Luke Bryan may have put it best when he sang, “We’re all a little different but we’re all the same. Just be proud of what makes you country.”
But, in my generation, Garth was the one who got me and so many others hooked. Then I started hearing all kinds of performers in a whole new way. Being open and listening without prejudice can take you to a new level of appreciation. I guess the love of country was always there, but since puberty it had been lying dormant. These guys woke me up. They reignited my passion for country music by making it cool and interesting for kids to love country again.
Garth could write a great party song. But he also had a softer side. Like all great lyricists, he was multidimensional, and could evoke a completely different mood with a ballad like “The River”: Choose to chance the rapids, and dare to dance the tide. It urges you to dive in and truly live your life to the fullest, despite the risks involved. It relates to my life in many abstract ways I am only just beginning to understand as a grown man.
That’s the other thing about a great country music song. It’s timeless, and you can grow with it. As you mature and go through your own experiences, you start to hear nuances that you would never have picked up with the innocent ears of childhood. That context gives new depth to the listening experience.
While I was working in Dallas, I got to meet Garth for the first time. I was doing morning drive radio and still finding my way as a DJ. He was there for a concert and I was invited backstage to meet him before the show. When I walked into his dressing room, he was hunched over the sink, brushing his teeth. I remember thinking, Man, he’s human! This big country rock star is just a regular guy! That was the first lesson a country artist ever taught me. That they are vulnerable and real, just like us.
Garth was incredibly humble, and gracious. He makes a point of knowing people’s names and, even though I was just starting out in my career, he knew exactly who I was.
“Good to see ya, Cody!” he said when he’d finished at the sink. “Have a seat.”
We spent a few minutes getting acquainted, then I filled him in on the pre-concert game plan. I was to take a handful of lucky radio listeners to meet him backstage. There were around ten of us, and Garth had spent about half an hour greeting the fans and taking pictures. I watched the way he talked to them, asking them where they were from, who they were here with, and what they did back home. I could tell it wasn’t just superficial niceties. Garth was really listening to their answers and fully engaged in the conversation. He was humble enough to understand that everyone is worthy of the time to listen and connect with, because you never know what you’ll learn, even or especially from a random stranger.
Soon his road manager came in and told us to wrap it up because another group was waiting to meet the star. Then the manager handed Garth a wad of cash, almost like a roll you’d see somebody pull out at a casino.
“What did y’all spend at the merch stand?” he asked my listeners.
Then he proceeded to go through each one of their bags to reimburse them for the money they’d spent on Garth Brooks T-shirts, hats, and CDs. He personally handed cash over to each one of the fans for everything they had just bought!
“Thank you so much for supporting me,” he told them.
That gesture really stuck with me. It was such a cool way to demonstrate how much he appreciated his fans.
I’m sure it can be this way with artists in other genres. If you are lucky enough to get close to them, you will probably see a glimpse of their humble and human side. But from the beginning of my career as a country music DJ, I have found that to be almost always the case whenever I have the privilege of getting to know a country artist. There are no pretensions. What you see is exactly what you get: regular, down-to-earth folks who are disarmingly warm and kind, and who match the personas they project onstage and in their music.
Dolly Parton is exactly the person you see on television. When the cameras aren’t rolling, she’s still that funny, bright, cheerful woman who has no problem telling you about her wigs and plastic surgery. She may be all fillers and fake eyelashes, but that girlish giggle is real. You don’t have to listen that hard to know when someone is sincere. The warmth in her voice and body language was unmistakable. She’s still that hicky hillbilly from the hills of Tennessee, and she owns it. Talk about authenticity! But when I met her, I still had to pinch myself. This was the woman I’d been listening to since birth. Being face-to-face with her felt like I was in another dimension. The double “D” dimension!
Taylor Swift is another genuine artist. I first knew her in 2006, when she was just a teenager and I was with a radio station called “The Wolf” in Dallas. This was long before she was the global superstar she is today, but I could see where she was headed. I thought she was the total package: a great singer and songwriter who could perform live, and adorable to boot. She had the goods and yet she was so humble, down-to-earth, and sweet. When I moved from Dallas to Salt Lake City to give my family a full Mormon experience, I was a little nervous about the impact it might have on my career. Sure, there are plenty of country music fans in Utah, but it’s not exactly a top-tier market. Then Taylor left me a voicemail I’ll never forget:
“Hey, Cody, it’s me, Taylor. Congrats! I am so happy and excited for you. I think you are making a move that is awesome for your career and I can’t wait to see you at your new station some time.”
I was standing in our kitchen when I played that message. It made me feel like it was all going to be okay. More than okay. I had no understanding of what was going to become of either of us, and neither did she, but the fact that she thought well enough of me to make that effort meant a lot.
A few years later, when I was in Nashville at CMT, I had the pleasure of announcing her first nomination for the CMA awards, and letting the world know how proud I was of Taylor. Back then she had a MySpace page, with millions of followers. (Yes, MySpace! It was a thing!) Anyway, she recorded a video of herself watching me make the announcement, and when I said she was among the nominees, she exclaimed: “Codeeee! I am so excited!”
That was a big deal for me. Here was Taylor, already a big country music star, watching me. It was one of those heart-stopping 360-degree moments.
Taylor took a lot of flak for being too gushy in her gratitude when accepting her many industry awards. She can be so over the top that people can’t believe her excitement is real. But I do, and here’s why:
When Taylor first moved out of her mom and dad’s house and into a condo in one of the high-rises in downtown Nashville, she told me how she was struggling to get used to living in a place all by herself. She felt weird going back to an empty apartment, and a little spooked by the fact that there were no lights on when she walked in the door. She was barely out of her teens, so it was a big transition, despite her very grown-up career success. So, to make her feel more settled, I bought her a Crock-Pot as a housewarming gift. I figured she could put something on slow cook before she went out, and then come home to the delicious smells when she got home at the end of a day in the recording studio. When Taylor opened the gift box, she went nuts.
“Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, Codeee! I’ve never had a Crock-Pot before! Thank you so, so much! I love, love, love this!”
Listening well to others has helped me deepen relationships with all kinds of folks. I pick up on things that others might miss, and when I can demonstrate that I was really paying attention with a thoughtful gesture, however small, it means so much to them.
That was the case with Taylor, anyway. You’d think I’d just handed her the keys to a brand-new car or something. It was almost too much. About a week later, Blake Shelton came on my show and mentioned it.
“Man, I heard you on the air giving Taylor Swift, an international superstar, a Crock-Pot. She was so grateful for that Crock-Pot. She loved that Crock-Pot!”
But the enthusiasm was real. That’s just who she is: a smiley, bubbly person who gets overwhelmed with gratitude for all the gifts and blessings she’s been given. So, if she gets that way about a Crock-Pot, of course she’s going to go crazy if you give her a Grammy!
On a side note, since Taylor’s Crock-Pot, giving slow cookers as housewarming gifts to young country music stars seems to have become my thing. They sort of expect it now. An up-and-coming artist and friend of mine, Kelsea Ballerini, was another recipient. Kelsea was living in my apartment complex for a while, so I introduced her to the joys of Crock-Pot cuisine. She and Taylor also happen to be pals.
I’ll keep the Crock-Pot tradition going, but I don’t know who will be getting one next. I’ll just keep observing and listening until I sense who might need a six-quart slow-cooking oval.
By now, you’ve probably figured out that I am a country music Superfan. And it’s not just a love I have for the music. It’s the individuals. Each personal encounter I’ve had with one of these artists has only served to deepen the affection and respect I have for them. More than anything, it’s the generosity. You’d think that legends with a string of career accolades would have the odd diva moment. You’d expect someone who gets so many demands for their time and attention might lapse into a jaded attitude. Well, I’m not saying these folks are perfect, but I’ve never once felt like these stars think of themselves as “stars.” No one has tried to put me in my place or keep me at a distance. Instead, they’ve gone out of their way to support me and lift me up, whether I was a young rookie DJ in local radio, or the TV guy doing the broadcast from backstage at some huge country music festival. They’ve accepted me as one of their own. Maybe it’s just that country music is indeed like family.
Even before I got to know these artists individually, I knew that curating and presenting country music to the world was my vocation. Well before earning my spot on The Wolf in Dallas–Fort Worth, way back when I was working my first full-time radio job at Columbia, South Carolina’s WCOS, I became obsessed. “The Great 98,” the station I listened to at that carved pine kitchen table with Mom, was like home to me. But, when I was just about to turn twenty-two, they removed me from the 7:00 p.m. to midnight slot at the station and replaced me with a new syndicated show. It was the only time in my career I’d been “fired,” although technically I suppose I could have stayed at the station and done a weekend show. Not that it would ever have been enough to satisfy my insatiable ambition. I took it as a sign it was time to move on.
Soon after, I was at a Tim McGraw concert. This was in 1995, after the debut of his third album, All I Want, at number one. I was already a fan after hearing his first top country single, “Don’t Take the Girl.” This guy had it all: good looks, engaging personality, and stage presence. Years later, I wasn’t surprised when he launched a successful acting career, because he had a way of connecting with an audience, putting it all out there. But I guess he had to put out a couple of albums before the world really knew who he was. It happens that way sometimes. Success takes hard work and persistence, and even the greatest artists don’t always get it right out of the gate. Then Tim started a crossover country explosion with “I Like It, I Love It,” and went on to do a major headlining tour. The next day, I wanted to talk on the radio about what I’d seen, to share with my listeners the experience of being in the audience and watching that electric performance. Not being able to do so killed me.
After all, for me, a live country music performance is the whole point. It’s everything, because it brings the energy and emotion behind the lyrics directly to the ears of the folks the music was meant for. Any concert or award event where I get to witness an artist do his or her thing with my own eyes is a full-circle moment. I am giving my listeners a dimension of it on my radio and TV show, and even social media these days, but there is no comparison to the full effect onstage where the band plays live, in front of a mic. It’s the difference between watching a baseball game on television or going to the ballpark where you can smell the hot dogs and hear the organ playing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”
It’s almost like an escape, where I get to go on an adventure with the lyrics, the music, and the artist. This act of listening is a full-bodied experience. It’s about bringing your whole self and all your senses into the moment. You turn off your phone, look up and around you, and soak it all up, feeling the music on a visceral level.
On a smaller scale, I can do this when I am listening to country music in my car, driving on the open road with my windows down. All you do is drive and listen. You’re not distracted by other things because you are fully present, letting the music wash over you. And it’s that feeling that drives me. Whenever I get lost in the “Ryan Seacrest” grind of doing promos, writing scripts, and prepping for interviews, I take myself to a concert to see live music. It always reminds me why I am doing this; why I care about the music so much.
Even though I was a devout Mormon, I have to confess that breathing the same air as my idols and watching them sing in front of me was as much a spiritual experience as any I ever had in a church. So that frustration I felt at not being able to go on the radio the next day and spread the gospel about that Tim McGraw concert motivated me to find a bigger country music radio market. I put together my tapes and resume and scatter-gunned them to every radio station advertising an on-air opening.
It worked. I landed in Orlando, at WWKA, “K-92.” This was my big step on my radio career path. At just twenty-two, I’d broken through to a large country music market. That’s when I started meeting and interviewing the artists whose music I lived and breathed. Around that time, I’d become a huge fan of the “King of Country Music,” George Strait. George was the first mainstream country artist to push back from the crossover pop/country music of the ’80s and go “pure” country. But by going back to his roots he had become an innovator. King George evidently felt country had gone too far mainstream. But that didn’t mean his retro country style didn’t have universal appeal. If someone who knew nothing about the genre were to ask me which artist was most representative, I’d play one of his songs, like “The Chair” or “All My Ex’s Live in Texas.” The only problem is, I’d have trouble choosing which one. Over the course of his career, he has had sixty number-one hits. That’s more number-one songs than any other country artist. With more than one hundred million records sold worldwide, he’s one of the bestselling artists of all time, whether in country, pop, rock, or any other category.
But the only way to fully appreciate his greatness is to see him in concert. George designed an “in the round” configuration for his stage, to increase the capacity of the crowds who could see him perform, and he was among the first country artists to do festival-style tours. That dude fully understood the concept of a multilevel listening experience. In fact, he invented it!
On a side note, his June 2014 concert in Arlington, Texas, broke records for the largest indoor concert in North America, with 104,793 people. He’s living proof that you don’t have to change who you are to have crossover appeal. That’s been another big life lesson for me: be authentic, and they will embrace you. King George built it, and they came!
I’d already been to many concerts by the time I met my future wife, Terresa, in Dallas, a little more than a year after my first mind-blowing moment onstage with George in Orlando. She almost had me beat and could recite every single lyric in every single George Strait song word for word. On our second date, I took her to a concert I was covering for KPLX, and it was at that moment I realized I’d found my best friend. I didn’t think I’d ever meet a bigger fan than I was. Our throats were raw from singing along, and we were giddy from the thrill of witnessing George live onstage. There’s an energy to these concerts. You don’t just watch passively. You are actively participating in the experience. And finding someone who shared my passion doubled the joy.
After the concert, I took Terresa backstage. George greeted me like an old friend, then turned his attention to the petite blonde beauty who was standing beside me.
“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked her.
Terresa went blank for a minute.
She turned to me and asked, “What’s my name?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, as did George.
Then, before I could answer, she turned back to George and said, “I know you’re George Strait and I’m, I’m . . . Terresa.” She broke into an embarrassed grin.
She was so excited, and nervous, to meet her longtime music idol that she momentarily forgot her own name! George couldn’t have been more gracious. I probably should have popped the question that night, because there is no way she would have said no.
I met a bunch of my idols while working in Texas. My time at The Wolf brought me into contact with the biggest names in country music, often from the earliest stages of their careers. They knew the station as a powerful influencer on the country music market and loved the fact that we didn’t just rely on some chart list out of Nashville. We had our ears to the ground, and we really listened for talent, whether it was some kid with star potential selling out in the honky-tonks of Fort Worth, or artists already at the top of their game, enjoying the full support of a record label. We didn’t care where a great country record came from. It just had to be authentic.
Maybe that’s why I became good friends with Dierks Bentley. He was still a newbie to the country music scene, but he wanted to be pals early on. After our first conversation, he gave me his number and told me to text him anytime. Dierks was just a regular, easygoing guy, and we hit it off on a purely human level.
“I love that you’re willing to take chances on new artists,” he once told me.
Dierks understood my genuine passion for the music, and the fact that we could have deep conversations about the meaning of the songs we both loved so much. He was a fellow listener who always loved a deep dive into great lyrics.
When I first got the job at CMT several years later, I requested Dierks for my first interview. I knew he’d show up for me, and that he’d do everything he could to make me feel comfortable for my big Nashville debut.
Well, maybe he doesn’t always try to make me feel comfortable. Dierks likes to take ice baths. It started with his annual polar bear lake jump on New Year’s Day and has since morphed into an extreme pre-performance ritual he takes with him on the road. At every tour stop, he fills a sixty-five-gallon garbage can with ice and water, strips down to his skivvies, and jumps in. He stays in there for a minimum of twenty minutes, taking deep meditative breaths to withstand the frigid water.
Dierks was inspired by the Wim Hof method, named after the Dutch daredevil who has trained himself to stay submerged in frozen waters for as long as two hours! Known as the “Iceman,” Wim Hof claims health benefits like a boost to the immune system, better sleep, and an endorphin rush.
“It’s something I try to do daily, actually,” Dierks told me. “This is where I get all my energy for the show. You come in here, you do this for twenty minutes, and you walk out onstage ready to rock.”
He recently invited me to join him in one of these ice baths when we were backstage in Cincinnati on his “What the Hell” tour. I could hardly say no, but I sure as heck didn’t relish the idea. Growing up, I never was the guy who enjoyed strutting around by the pool with my shirt off. I was always the pipsqueak in gym class who felt slightly inferior and struggled with body image. But years later, after discovering a passion for fitness and lifting weights regularly, I finally had a body I was proud of. So there I was, about to take the frigid leap, shedding some vulnerabilities while the cameras were rolling.
This had been a year of pushing myself well past my comfort zone, and Dierks knew it. There was almost a twinkle in his eye when he threw down the challenge. So, I gamely took off my clothes and stepped into a pair of swimming trunks while they prepared a “bath” that looked more like a giant slushy, only much less inviting.
“We have EMTs standing by, because you never know,” Dierks said. He was dead serious.
How reassuring, I thought. Then, appropriately, I understood better why Dierks named his tour “What the Hell.”
There was a quick photo op. Dierks and I were standing behind the buckets, and his manager asked us to stand beside them because you could only see us from the waist up and we looked, well, naked.
“People might get the wrong idea after my recent big news,” I quipped, wisecracking in a way I never would have dared before I’d come out of the closet. Everyone laughed, especially Dierks.
“Okay now, on the count of three,” Dierks said. “One, two, three!”
I took a deep breath and plunged myself into a giant bucket of ice cubes, only to shriek, “Holy shit, that’s cold!” and leap out nanoseconds later. I tried again, this time a little more mentally prepared.
“You’ve got to breathe your way through it,” Dierks coaxed. “Don’t fight it. Invite it.”
I took his advice. I breathed through it. Well, more like gasped at first. Then I focused on the here and now, listening to the voice in my head that said you can do this, and pushed through the pain. By minute seven, it felt like my skin was going to melt off. I’m pretty sure my nipples had frozen off at that point. But then I went into the zone and made it all the way to minute thirteen, which I was told was impressive for a first timer. By the time I slipped out of that bucket, wrapped myself in a towel, and slowed down the violent shivering, I felt exhilarated. The experience made me realize that I don’t have to be afraid. I can do anything. It’s not so much that I am invincible, but I can endure. I can come out the other side stronger, wiser, better.
Being a lifelong listener of country music has taught me that much. Or I should say, the country artists themselves were my teachers. I’ve been blessed to be surrounded by so many talented, compassionate, and inspiring folks over the years. It seems like members of the Nashville community have been there at all the major inflection points of my life, urging me on with their lyrics, their examples, their kind gestures and words to propel me on my personal and professional path. These are my people. This is where I belong.
Earlier, I talked about the spiritual experience of attending a concert or cranking up the car stereo with the windows rolled down. It’s exactly like the Maren Morris song “My Church” says:
When I play the highway FM / I find my soul revival . . .
And the artists and fans are my congregation. That’s one of many reasons why the 2017 shooting at the Route 91 Harvest music festival in Las Vegas, killing 58 and injuring 869, hurt so much. It was such a violation.
In the past, I had covered the event for CMT, but not that year. I would have been standing right up front and in the crosshairs when that shooter opened fire. I could picture myself as a part of that crowd. These were the faces of the country music fans I see every day. Nashville is still in mourning, because these were our fans, our family.
As I went through the names on my radio and television shows, talking about each individual who had passed, it hit me hard. There were boyfriends and girlfriends on first dates, gay couples, young men drinking beer, husbands and wives celebrating their anniversaries. This broad cross section of people—“All Kinds of Kinds” as Miranda Lambert sings—is what country music, and America, is all about: folks who are different but still belong, like me. In fact, two of the largest mass shootings in our country’s history have involved my two most beloved tribes: country fans in Vegas and members of the LGBTQ+ community at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando a year earlier.
Since the Vegas tragedy, I have interviewed several of these survivors individually, and each time it has reinforced something I’ve kind of always known: listening can be one of the greatest acts of compassion. You shut up and let them speak. You simply let them tell the story of their loved one who has passed, interjecting just enough to let them know you understand.
Their actions also showed that, in the face of evil, there is an overwhelming amount of good in the world. Country fans rose up and risked gunfire to help each other on that tragic night. And, despite the gun-toting stereotypes, many spoke up afterwards about ways to make the world a safer place. Vegas, and what happened in the aftermath, demonstrates how the country music family is continually evolving to become more inclusive, hearing each other and hopefully becoming more compassionate.
These are my people, and I love them with all my heart.