4:15–5:00 PM– Panel: “Tradition vs. Trend”
5:00–6:45 PM– Showcase (VIP Only)
7:00 PM– Dinner Break
8:30 PM– Evening Artists Mixer
I sigh at how much I still have left to go. After this panel, I’ll have to do quick interviews (like three to four minutes long) with small media outlets like blogs, radio stations, podcasters, etc. Then, thankfully, I’m not doing much talking on the “Branding Yourself Without Losing Yourself” session; I just have to say some words and introduce the actual speaker (because I’m probably the worst person to present a topic like that). The VIP meet-and-greet will be tough to get through, since all those attendees will have paid extra to talk to me for up to two minutes and I’m sure some will ask me about Harmony. But I don’t mind doing roundtables (aspiring songwriters rotate sitting at different tables with me and other known artists to get personal feedback and share ideas). Then I’ll only have to perform one song at the showcase, although the conference begged me to do “In Harm’s Way,” so keeping my mind off the inspiration is going to be difficult.
I can tell Harmony’s been avoiding me, and I can’t really blame her. I made things weird—as if they weren’t already weird enough before. And we said any physical displays were for the cameras, not for giving me closure with Mikayla. Except that I didn’t do it to make Mikayla jealous; I did it because I wanted to show Mikayla where I stand.
Apparently where I stand is at the edge of a cliff, looking down into the dark, way-too-deep waters of my complicated feelings.
Corbin Crawford leans up to his table mic and clears his throat, which reminds me where I am and that I’ll need to come up with my own answer, since the moderator has addressed all of us. I’m at the end of the table, so I’ll get to go last—a mercy on my soul today.
Corbin’s in his early twenties but he wears a mustache like he’s middle aged. His brown hair nearly touches his shoulders, but most of it’s under his ridge-top cowboy hat at the moment. I think he flew in from Alabama, and I’ve never once seen him without a denim shirt on.
“Story’s king,” he says. “Plain language, everyday life, somethin’ that resonates. If you’re not telling a story that listeners can relate to, with a good hook, you’ll lose ‘em.”
Tansy Beaumont answers next. She’s got long, straight auburn hair and blunt-cut bangs across her forehead. When she reaches for her mic, she puts her forearm tattoos on display—roses on vines that wrap all the way around and disappear into the three-quarter sleeves of her blouse. “Specificity. Hundred percent. Details. That’s what makes people feel something. When they feel something, they keep coming back to listen. While I agree with Corbin on the plain language—we’re not trying to be pretentious here—I think you also can’t have lyrics that just say too plainly, ‘Yeah, we broke up, I miss him.’ It’s gotta be more like, ‘His jacket’s still in my closet, I can’t get rid of it,’ or ‘The other side of the bed is cold.’ Or if you’re going for summer vibes, you have to talk about the cold beer cans sweating in the heat, the creak of the tailgate, the smell of hot asphalt.”
“I also think the lyrics ought to be conversational,” says Timber Jack, the true epitome of bro country. When he wears a shirt at all, it bares his overworked arms (like now, he’s in a black muscle tank), and I don’t think he’s written a single song that doesn’t mention some part of a woman’s body. “Like if you consider Florida Georgia Line’s ‘How We Roll’ and phrases like ‘Holla at your boy if you need a ride,’ or Jason Aldean’s ‘She’s Country’ where he goes, ‘You boys ever met a real country girl?’ I feel like that stuff brings people into your circle, ya know? Makes ‘em feel part of your world.”
The moderator gestures at the man next to me, whom I only had about thirty seconds to introduce myself to before the panel started (because I arrived late), although I’m well aware of who he is and his music.
ACKER, one name, all caps. He’s a Black man about my age, high-fade haircut, chambray button-down, diamond stud in each earlobe. A single glance at him would make you think he doesn’t belong here, but he’s won multiple country music awards in the past two years, including Best New Artist, Breakthrough Male Video, and Most Original Song. All his work is country-trap fusion—complex hi-hat patterns paired with a banjo, or guitar plucking on top of a synth beat. He does some more traditionally country songs here and there too, especially if he collaborates with other country artists, but everything he puts out is excellent, unique, and addictive to listen to.
I zone in on his response, curious what his take will be.
“Well if we’re going to talk about music as a story,” ACKER says, “then I think we have to talk about the importance of a good plot twist. If you can set up a phrase to have one meaning, then hit listeners with a second meaning later, you’ll keep their attention. Same thing with melody; start with patterns the brain recognizes, then switch to an unexpected chord, or delay the resolution—keep people on their toes. All that creates a sort of rush, and that’s exactly what we want. Although that applies to any genre, not just country. For country specifically, which is so story focused, you can play with expectations and subvert them. Take, for example, ‘Buy Dirt’ by Jordan Davis and Luke Bryan, which tells the story of a man ‘chasing a dollar’ and talking to an old man who advises him to buy dirt—ironically enough—because of the life you can build on land, and how that has so much more value than anything else. It catches the listener off guard a bit, while hitting all the right emotions too.”
Fantastic answer.
How am I supposed to add to that?
“Riff,” says the moderator. “What do you think?”
I sit up straighter and drag the mic toward myself. Even though I don’t quite have all my thoughts together, I guess this question isn’t that hard for me. Being someone who never wanted to get into country music to begin with, I’ve had to break down what makes a song work for country listeners, and put those elements to work. It’s the only way I’ve gotten where I am, how I’ve had any hits when my heart’s not completely in it.
“It depends on what you’re going for,” I say. “If you’re like me, or like Timber Jack over here”—Timber Jack does a little Jeep wave at the audience—“then you’re probably going to want to keep things sort of humorous, taking advantage of stereotypes, using double entendres. That’s how I wrote ‘Grind My Gears,’ because it’s got the double meaning, the tractor trope, a pretty lady in short shorts. People recognize those elements, they understand that I’m joking, and they get a laugh while they sing along to a catchy chorus. But if you’re going for the more sentimental angle, then you’ll want to focus on highlighting values like family, hometown, staying true to yourself, but still using that ‘plot twist’ and irony ACKER mentioned, like, ‘You wanna be a rich man? Buy dirt,’ but also being specific and evocative like Tansy said, not just outright stating ‘family is more valuable than money.’ So rather than saying, ‘get married,’ the song says ‘find the one you can’t live without, buy a ring, let your knee hit the ground.’ Same meaning, better imagery, tugs your heartstrings. Then of course no matter what subgenre or type of song, you usually need a steady backbeat, groove-oriented drums, and simple driving patterns that support the storytelling aspect.”
We move on to questions like, “What role does chord progression play in creating the country feel of a song?” and“How do you make traditional country themes feel modern and relevant?”
ACKER then takes the lead on “How do you incorporate modern influences like hip-hop or pop into country without losing the true country essence?” He explains that country is all about roots, and there isn’t a single type of person—no matter their race, economic background, sexuality, etc.—that doesn’t have roots in the country. “We all started there,” ACKER says, “or at least our ancestors did, before technology, when music told and preserved and passed on stories that couldn’t easily be written down. But more importantly, so many of us havemixedroots. I’m from Georgia, so I grew up around country music, but I also grew up in Atlanta where my local community is big on trap. For me, I write what comes natural, and that includes both of those influences. As far as keeping the ‘essence’ of country, sure, you could talk about certain instruments or chord progressions or how much twang to use, but really if you’ve got that earthy country spirit in any capacity, I think it shines through. That doesn’t mean you can’t create the ‘sound’ by focusing on tropes and musical technicalities, but we’re certainly not limited to that.”
The moderator finishes by asking us what advice we’d each give to our younger selves, and instead of saying what I should say, which is, “Hold out for what you really want,” I lie and say, “I’d tell myself: ‘Throw away the distressed jeans, you look like a jackass.’” Everybody laughs.
The rest of the day goes by more quickly than I expected, which I appreciate. I spot Daisy Malloy at the Artist Luncheon and I consider heading over to her table, since she’s been hanging out with Harmony so much lately and might have some insights,but I remember this isn’t high school and I’m a grown-ass man who can talk to Harmony myself, so I eat with the guys from a band called Steer Clear instead. Later, I meet some promising young songwriters at the Roundtable Chats, do my second panel, perform “In Harm’s Way” with a pang in my chest, ignore some emails from Braden (based on the truncated subject line preview, I think it’s something to do with booking an interview), eat a western cheeseburger alone in my Bronco Raptor and—even though I think about skipping it—head over to the evening mixer.
There’s an open bar, and it’s basically the same people from the conference standing around chatting. I order myself a tequila neat and while I’m waiting, ACKER appears in my periphery.
“Those were some wise words you had this morning,” he tells me before ordering a bourbon and Coke for himself.
While the bartender works on our drinks, I reply, “I don’t really remember what I said, but … thanks.”
“About the distressed jeans.”
I chuckle. “Oh right.” We shake hands and I add, “It was an honor to be on the same panel with you. Love your stuff. Especially that snappy snare in ‘Live It Up.’ I must’ve had that song on repeat for two days straight.”
