Reaction: Church and Stones

By Marty Smith

Given my friendship with Eric Church, I've been innundated with requests for feedback regarding his comments in the Rolling Stone article. In this instance 140-character responses don't suffice. So I figured it best to simply write about it.

So... here are my thoughts ->

Having spoken with Eric, I have context on the matter most do not. And context in any debate is critical to truth, fairness and accuracy. A quote can be accurate verbatim, but contextually misleading.

Eric said what he said and he has to own it. And he does own it.

But that doesn't mean we have the true scope of how he said what -- and at what point of a much broader conversation the words were stated. I'm not saying the writer took him out of context. Not even. But any writer will tell you that there is potential during any story for the context of his or her keystrokes to change a bit during the editing process.

Oftentimes in my job we are handed sheets of paper with quotes from racecar drivers. They are words on paper. And when read they are at times eye-popping, seemingly condescending or controversial for those reporters that weren't present when they were said. It is important to see HOW they were said.

A comment said while laughing is taken completely differently by those present than it is by those reading it on a piece of paper. Yes, those exact words were stated. But body language and voice inflection say every bit as much as the words themselves.

Not that Eric was laughing about the Idol-driven fast-track-to-fame dynamic. Because he wasn't. He genuinely doesn't appreciate it. That is not debatable. But that sentiment is not about the people. It's about the process.

Oddly enough that's why, when he names Blake Shelton and CeeLo Green in the Rolling Stone piece, it's not necessarly about Blake Shelton or CeeLo Green. They -- unfortunately -- merely provided the motor in the magazine vehicle that delivered the larger message.

He shouldn't have named names. Period. That was a mistake, and also is not debatable.

Shelton and Green are livid. And given what they read, I can see why. From there it was a runaway freight train. In instances like this reactions are quick and sides form immediately, based on personal allegiences.

The reaction has been crazy. Some of Blake's closest friends are some of my closest friends. They've asked for answers and I've not responded until now.

But Eric is my best friend. He's a badass, genuinely. I know his heart and I support him.

Country Boy Q&A: Rodney Atkins

“They don’t consider me glitzy. They say it’s the flyover states that relate to me. I’ll take that any day of the week.”



Rodney Atkins signs autographs for fans at Richmond.
Credit: Getty Images for Crown Royal



By Marty Smith

Country Boy Casserole

I was driving down the highway one evening a couple years back, when Rodney Atkins’ ‘If You’re Going Through Hell,’ came upon the radio in my pickup truck. That’s where I best relate to most music, in my pickup truck. I generally don’t hear it until I listen to it in the seat of my Chevrolet.

Immediately I appreciated Atkins’ approach. It was country and it wasn’t pretentious. It had a blue collar feel to it. And I found myself pumping my fist, which for me is a decent-enough barometer for what’s legit and what gets tuned-out or turned off.

It wasn’t the least bit surprising that the song ultimately went to Number One on the country chart, either. It carried a hard-driving message to folks mired in a tough moment, a never-give-up anthem that the common man could grasp.

Atkins has since followed up that single with several more of similar ilk, songs regular folks hear and think, ‘Yep, that’s me.’ Again, I appreciate that.

So when I had the opportunity recently to hang out with Atkins just prior to a prerace concert at Richmond International Raceway, I figured I should take advantage. He’s a good ol’ boy. He looks you in the eye when he talks to you and shakes your hand like he means it. That goes a long way with me. It’s how my daddy taught me. And I’m aware when it happens and when it doesn’t.

So with that, here you go… Country Boy Q&A: Rodney Atkins.

CBC: How would you describe the challenge of trying to make it in Nashville for an aspiring artist?

RA: The best advice I’ve ever heard, which most people say about anything: Don’t quit. It’s very important in Nashville, because people get lost in the trend – what is the trend? – and start chasing what is on the radio.

If something different comes along… for example, when we had the ‘Going’ Through Hell’ album, I remember folks coming up and asking for those kinds of songs, songs that sounded like that. My goal is to not do what I’ve done before, but to figure out what that is, that territory, stick your flag in it and own it.

And I want people to come to hear my music because they know they can’t get that specific kind of music anywhere else. The biggest thing is figuring out who you are and owning it.

CBC: How hard is that to do, though? Because I understand that various labels tend to make artists who they aren’t a lot of times, in the effort to get to radio. How hard is it to stick to your guns?

RA: I’ve had that photo shoot. I’ve recorded those songs, where I’m going, ‘What in the hell am I signing? This is not me. I can’t relate to this.’

I think it really comes down to finding that song, or songs. You can’t have just one song. It’s got to be more than one. But if it says what you want it to say, and it has that criteria, then put your heart and soul into that and make sure it knocks them out, and they’ll get it. They’ll buy into that and support that.

CBC: You discussed sticking your flag into something… Seems to me your flag is stuck into the blue collar working man theme. It permeates what you do…

RA: It kind of is. But I really think it comes down to being human. And I know that’s vague. But when I say that, it’s songs about not being perfect, about real-life, real-marriage. It’s not all blue skies and no bills, man. It’s get down in the ditches and let that septic tank back up a few times, and have to dig it up yourself in the middle of the rain, and figure out where the sump pump is. That’s real-life.

The single we have out right now is called ‘Take a Back Road.’ The first time I heard that song I thought it was a just a summertime jam. But then I realized it was a much deeper thing, almost a spiritual thing, about coming back down to Earth, getting grounded, getting to where you can relax and be yourself. That’s what a lot of my songs are.

‘These Are My People,’ is one of those songs, and has a line that says, ‘It ain’t always pretty, but it’s real.’ When you’re good with yourself, it doesn’t have to be perfect. That’s the bottom line on the songs. Whatever you do, you’ve got to be all-in. And it’s okay if you make a mistake. That’s what I’m looking for in a song.

CBC: You described your work as real people and real life. I’m sure, then, you must have fantastic stories from your fans about how your work has impacted them. Does any particular story stand out more than others?

RA: Oh yeah. I get so many stories. I get a lot of the, ‘Cleanin’ my gun, man, that’s me! That’s me and my daughter!’ or, ‘Watching’ You! That’s me and my son!’ Your song made me realize that they really are paying attention’. Obviously, ‘Going Through Hell,’ so many military men and women have said that they crank that song up…

CBC: That must mean the world to you. That is validation.

RA: That’s it, man. ‘These Are My People.’ I got sent a video of a graduating class from high school, and that’s what they sung together, over and over again. That’s why I have a career. That’s why I’m here. ‘Going Through Hell’ came out in 2006, in January, it’s hard to turn the radio on and hear a song from an artist from five or six years ago. It’s always the best and the newest – or, the newest is the best. Well, that’s not true.

And I’m fortunate to turn on the radio and still hear those songs. People still play them. That’s why we can still come out on the road and do this.

CBC: What artist most-influenced you coming up?

RA: Different ones in different ways, honestly. I loved Charlie Daniels and Alabama. The first country record I ever heard was buried in my parents’ collection, ‘Modern Sounds of Country & Western Music,’ by Ray Charles. I didn’t know who was signing it. I just loved the songs. Through the 80s, I had some Foreigner, some rock albums. And Garth (Brooks) was a guy that not only influenced people, but Garth inspired people. No matter what you did in your walk of life he inspired you to chase that dream.

CBC: Who do you look at right now that’s influential in country music, and is doing it the right way, the way country music is supposed to be?

(Points at himself. We share a laugh).

RA: Well, everybody veers off a little bit sometimes…

CBC: Sure. Gotta take chances sometimes…

RA: Finding incredible songs is so hard. I love Brad Paisley. He’s a great guy and incredibly talented. I like what a lot of people do. Aldean rocks. They’re bringing that excitement to the format. That’s important. I love having Darius (Rucker) in the format. That’s fun. We’ve done some guitar pulls and had a blast, and are actually talking about touring together this fall.

CBC: Last question. What, exactly, is country music to you?

RA: Country music is about being real. But you’re asking a guy who … Okay, awards shows are based in New York and LA, and I have some of the greatest fans that listen to what I do in New York and LA. But the decisions for those shows are made by other people. And they don’t consider me glitzy, or whatever it might be.

I remember writing with Ben Hayslip, doing ‘Farmer’s Daughter’, and Ben had a cut on Josh Turner, Blake Shelton at the same time – the Blake song was ‘All About Tonight’. And Ben was looking at spins. You can see who plays what. And he said, ‘Man, these guys are ahead of you on the charts – they both wound up having Number Ones with those songs. ‘Farmer’s Daughter’ never went Number One. But it outsold those.

They say it’s the flyover states that relate to me. I’ll take that any day of the week. I think that country music is about relating to the real world, not a manufactured world. It’s about a sense of community, being together. That’s what I love. That’s what country music comes down to, is relating to real people.

Thank You, Country Music

By Marty Smith

Country Boy Casserole

Most every respectable country music song fits my life in some fashion or other.

From my earliest memories of song, great southern music always seemed to apply well to personal convictions reared on a beef cattle farm in southwest Virginia by a no-nonsense daddy and a God-fearing momma, built bail-by-bail throughout adolescence in dusty hayfields and solidified by more than a decade spent on a relentless road between Charlotte and San Francisco and back again.

The City of New Orleans. The Gambler. Highwayman. All the Gold in California. Angel of the Morning. Who’s Gonna Fill Their Shoes. Seven Spanish Angels. Roll On 18-wheeler. These are songs about love and life and hard work, yarn spun from empty whiskey bottles and the road less traveled.

They're about strife and struggle, and triumph over both. They chronicle life's fundamental truths. They aren't frivolous.

There is plenty of frivolity in modern country music, but several of today’s stars are upholding the standard set by the legends, guys like today’s Outlaw Quartet -- Jamey Johnson, Randy Houser, Josh Thompson and my buddy Eric Church. Zac Brown deserves mention in that group, too. He ain't outlaw, but he sure as sugar did it his own way.

Brad Paisley gets it. Dierks, too. Tim McGraw and Jason Aldean cut good songs by good writers.

As I write this I’m somewhere over Georgia at 38,000 feet, ear buds hammering Houser’s “Whistlin’ Dixie” loud enough to block the scream of the engines. With this song, Houser added well to the catalogue of country anthems for the what-you-see-is-what-you-get crowd, unafraid to get its hands dirty; those that appreciate a foundation and ancestry rooted in simple-man self-confidence.

Listening to it reminds me why I love country music -- and why I'm so thankful for it.

As far as I’m concerned, though, nobody says it like Church says it. Eventually, country radio and whomever it is that votes on these random awards shows will cast aside political gain, wake up and appreciate his excellence. The wave is coming. Trust me. He is, from my perspective, unparalleled as a songwriter and performer.

I’ve learned much from him about self-confidence and intuition. No one will ever convince me that Sinners Like Me isn’t the greatest album ever recorded in any genre in any era. I have my reasons. That record was there when I needed it.

That’s the beauty of music. When you need it it’s there. Even if everyone else deserts you, music is staunch. It is your voice when you don’t know what to say. It is your sounding board when you need to vent. It is comfort. It is solace. It is inspiration. It is revelation.

I can be fury. It can be rage.

The same song can carry completely different meanings for different people.

Knowing who you are takes serious guts. Accepting it is an admission. It is tearing down vulnerabilities and accepting quirks. It is the willingness to forgive those that question your particulars. It takes most folks decades. Those that know quickly in life are truly blessed. With that admission comes unshakable confidence.

Country music is helping cultivate that admission in me.

I went through the rock stage and the rap stage and the alternative stage, and I still appreciate greatly each of those genres of music. I still go bananas at weddings when Poison and Jovi and Vanilla Ice and John Denver hit the speaker. I consider Ice Cube and Eminem and Chuck D and Metallica and Justin Timberlake and Usher among the world’s most talented musicians.

But country is different, probably because it’s where I’m from and who I am and what I’ve lived. And as I age, and engage in each new life experience, there’s a song that speaks directly to my life in that moment.

It may buoy me when I’m treading water. It may embrace me when I’m alone. It may be a mirror of reflection on a rich, blessed past. It may be the fuse to ignite a hell of a party.

And for that, I am thankful.

The Boomerang Effect

By Marty Smith
Country Boy Casserole


It is a common theme among jaded corporate types, stuck in a rut, staring down the cold reality of middle-age: "When I was younger, I couldn't wait to get out of there. Now, all I want to do is get back home."


I'm not sure it's as much about location as it is the prospect of simplicity, the foggy recollection of a wistful youth bursting with promise and devoid of professional or financial stress.


It's about recapturing a moment when a smile from a girl buckled your knees and nearly bowled you over with butterflies. It's about rolling down the highway with your daddy in that ol' blue Ford pickup truck at dusk, windows down, the cab brimming with the smell of fresh-cut hay and a fresh-lit Marlboro Light.


It's about following an old John Deere down a rural route at 20 mph, and being just fine with it. It's about the sweet disappointment that accompanied the conclusion of the Dukes of Hazzard, and the dreaded Dallas theme song that signaled bedtime.


I think about that life often. For 22 years I lived it.


I was raised in rural Southwest Virginia, deep in the New River Valley in a farm town called Pearisburg. Just outside my front door was a respite-leg of the Appalachian Trail, where just up the hill and around the bend weary hikers found a bed and a meal at the Catholic church.


Pearisburg in the late 80's and early 90's was the simple life. There is tremendous richness in simplicity. We had it made. But like most kids we had no concept of our blessings. Brad Paisley sang it well in "Letter to Me" -- "at 17 it's hard to see past Friday night."


In small towns all over this country, fall Friday nights are magical, the social event. Pearisburg is no different. In fact, if a robber rolled into Pearisburg on a Friday night in October, he'd have it pretty good. The place is a ghost town. Every former and current Giles High Spartan from Newport to Eggleston to White Gate to Staffordsville filled Ragsdale Field for the Fellowship of the Vicarious Ones.


And most of the participants left their front doors unlocked.


We had a stop light and a Pizza Hut, and the two-mile middle-school-to-Hardee's-and-back loop around town was the track we cruised for hours on-end in search of entertainment, by way of prayers that any cute girl as bored as we were would pay us mind.

My momma cooked dinner every day, positioned the place-settings at 5 p.m., and we sat as a family every night at 6. We ate pot roast and fried okra and corn-on-the-cob as Dan Rather told us what was going on in places we couldn't find on a map.


Speaking of Rather, he may as well be a member of my family. I saw him every day of my life for as far back as I can remember, weekends not withstanding. On Saturday and Sunday we welcomed Bob Scheiffer into the house. Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson and the Oak Ridge Boys and The Judds and Reba were all part of the family, too.


I was oblivious, couldn't see past the stop sign 100 yards from my driveway, literally or figuratively. Sure, I had big dreams. But in the midst of the small town life, big dreams seem unachievable. They're not. I'm living proof. I always wanted to be involved in professional sports, and here I am.

I am blessed beyond belief, and remember daily to appreciate the faith and experiences and relationships that built this life.

But as I ease through airport security checkpoints from coast-to-coast each week, I often think back to those Friday nights in Pearisburg, after a win and down on the riverbank with my buddies, when the biggest question facing me was whether that smile in the hallway would lead to a kiss.