Bare Bones

by Bobby Bones

  With Chris, I kept inviting him into the studio, even though I got some heat for it. A show of our scope is only supposed to have guests with as much mass appeal as possible, and that means at minimum a record deal. But anytime we did some sort of feature with artists, we would always invite Chris in, because he was our first-ever guest and just a guy. Most important, though, he is a great musician. That’s an important element to our listeners’ loyalty; we don’t push bad music on our show for any agenda, so they know they can trust us.

  Anyway, one night Chris e-mailed me a song with the message “Hey, tell me what you think. I just put it up on iTunes myself.” I liked it and wanted to play it the next morning, so I e-mailed it to my producer, Ray, asking him to put it up on my screen in case I had time to play it.

  We ended up with about forty-five seconds to kill before a commercial break that morning in early 2015, so I said to our listeners, “I got an e-mail from our buddy Chris Janson . . .” Then I played just a snippet of the song “Buy Me a Boat.”

  I thought the song was good, but my tastes don’t always mix perfectly with everyone else’s. Well, this time they did, because “Buy Me a Boat” exploded. Within thirty minutes of me playing forty-five seconds of the song, it went from nonexistent to one of the top downloads on iTunes. So then I played the full song (again risking pissing off the higher-ups at iHeartRadio, because you’re taught not to play untested music on a national level), and by the end of the day, it was the No. 1 song in iTunes country and in the Top 10 on the pop chart, too!

  Of course, every record label was after Chris immediately then. Chris wound up signing with Warner Bros., which put out his debut album, named after “Buy Me a Boat,” its lead single, which went to No. 1 on the Billboard country charts. The album debuted at No. 4 on the Top Country Albums chart and No. 18 on the Billboard 200. The song, which sold more than 805,000 units, went gold, and Chris landed an opening spot on Toby Keith’s summer tour. The day his song climbed to No. 1, Chris sent me a note: “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you opening that e-mail, listening to my song, and playing it on the air. You got me a deal.”

  If “Buy Me a Boat” didn’t convince me of the power of our listeners and the show, then “Girl Crush” really nailed it for me. Little Big Town—the band featuring Karen Fairchild, Kimberly Schlapman, Jimi Westbrook, and Phillip Sweet, all on vocals—had released their sixth studio album, Pain Killer. The single they were pushing was a party song called “Day Drinking.” But as soon as I heard “Girl Crush,” which was a deep track, I knew that was the real single.

  It’s slow, and right now ballads are out of favor in country music, but I thought the song, with Karen on lead vocals, was different, in a good way, from anything else out there. So the next morning, I took to the airwaves to introduce the song to my listeners. I don’t want to sound like a broken record or a jerk, but “Girl Crush” instantly skyrocketed up the iTunes charts to the Top 5 that morning. Because of that segment, they put it out as the album’s second single after “Day Drinking.” And the rest is history. “Girl Crush,” with sales of nearly 1.5 million in the U.S., literally made Billboard history when it spent eleven weeks at No. 1.

  I should have gotten a shout-out by country music programmers everywhere, right? Nope. I created blowback. Apparently the song’s topic, one woman’s obsession with another, was too risqué for country radio. Playing lyrics like “I want to taste her lips / Yeah, ’cause they taste like you” were “promoting the gay agenda,” according to some angry listeners and station managers. Frightened program directors refused to play the song. Although so many country music fans downloaded the song that it was No. 4 on iTunes, it was only No. 33 in radio airplay rankings because DJs were afraid to play a song about lesbians. (Meanwhile the band says unequivocally that the song isn’t about lesbians. Who cares? I like lesbians.)

  When I had Little Big Town in the studio, I went on a rant. “Is it frustrating to you that here is your song—that is one of the top ten sellers for weeks and weeks and weeks—and people on the radio are still afraid to play it because they think it’s a ‘lesbian song’?” I asked. “It would drive me insane!”

  My bosses weren’t happy about me screaming on air at the country radio industry, which paid me my salary, for being small-minded hypocrites. But I wasn’t worried. I knew the listeners had my back.

  They always do, which is why I can say what I believe—or maybe it’s the other way around. Because I say what I think, the listeners always have my back. Either way, I have enough strong support to take up the issues important to me.

  When it comes to the current country music industry, the biggest issue for me is the prevalence of what’s known as “bro country.” If you aren’t up on country music, that’s the kind of song where a male singer belts out lyrics along the lines of “Hey, girl, get up and dance on my truck; I want to watch you while I drink whiskey.” And I hate it, and I have since I started working in this format. By the time this book comes out, it could have gone the way of the boy band, but right now I am still praying for its death.

  In addition to being an epicenter of talent, Nashville is also a factory. With people who just write songs and others who just sing them, the whole thing can get pretty formulaic. There’s a particular songwriter voice, where everything sounds about the same, which is male dominated and really demeaning toward women. Plus, the radio industry is infiltrated with dudes while women are often pushed to the side.

  I speak to women daily. Not only was I raised surrounded by women—my mom, grandma, and sisters—but they are also a huge part of my audience. I might as well be a woman. So at a time when there are so few female artists getting to the top of the charts (unless you’re Miranda Lambert or Carrie Underwood), I’ve been focusing on really strong females inside of country music.

  For the last two years I’ve done a whole week devoted to great women in country music on the show. Each day of that week, we choose one or two different females to highlight and bring into the studio. We try to pick those who are less well known (which isn’t hard in today’s country climate). Instead of bringing in the superstars with tons of hits, we have invited great contemporary country artists like Lindsay Ell, Maddie and Tae, Jana Kramer, Cam, Ashley Monroe, and many others who aren’t getting their fair shake because they don’t have a ding-dong and sing about tapping kegs.

  In this arena, I might be proudest of Kelsea Ballerini, whose debut single, “Love Me Like You Mean It,” reached No. 1 on the Billboard Country Airplay chart in July 2015. That made her the first solo female country musician to have her first single hit No. 1 since Carrie Underwood. The craziest part is that the Raging Idiots were a tiny bit helpful in launching her career. The first-ever tour that she went on was with my band (I should confess that I use that term loosely; we’re really more like a bunch of buddies who get onstage and play). We took Kelsea out with us for a few months, and I had her on the radio show a ton, too. She was going to get there anyway; we just sped up the process a bit.

  I’ve only ever really been in a couple of feuds, but I regret them because in each I was the bigger jackass. One all started when Nashville Lifestyles put out an issue devoted to “Nashville’s 10 Most Beautiful People,” and—now don’t laugh—I was named one of those people! Nobody was more stunned by my inclusion than I was. But for a solid month while the magazine was on newsstands, every artist who came on the show made fun of me relentlessly.

  I didn’t mind the ribbing. I know I’m no Brad Pitt or Ryan Gosling, so I’d rather have someone make fun of me than congratulate me. Still, when Country Weekly released its list of “Country’s Sexiest Men of 2014,” I said on air, “I don’t care who they are. I’m making fun of every one of them, because I’ve been getting it like crazy.” Fair is fair.

  I went at it really hard on everyone in that list. But hard in the least malicious way possible. “Toby Keith! Who created this list? The Keith family?” I joked on air. To which the country superstar sent
me a signed picture of himself that read, “You wish you were this pretty.” I laughed about that for a month.

  It wasn’t meant to be malicious. I like Toby a lot. In fact, the Raging Idiots opened up for him during a tour date of his in Washington, D.C. We had been in Boston for a station event when he called to ask if we would do the gig. We were really surprised he wanted the Raging Idiots, and I had no idea what happened to his original opening act. But I didn’t ask any questions. With twenty thousand people at the venue, it was the biggest stage we’d ever been on. Toby even sent his plane to pick us up in Boston! After the Raging Idiots played, he called me out onstage and I played “Red Solo Cup” with him. (I held a Red Solo cup empty onstage while everyone else in the audience held theirs filled with beer.)

  I thought everyone would have a sense of humor like Toby Keith. Gary Allan thought it was funny when I skewered him as a sexy man of country. I even made fun of Luke Bryan. And I love Luke.

  When I busted on Keith Urban, he also got the humor in it. But then again Keith is one of the really great humans on the planet. As famous as he is, though, he’s just a normal dude. (His wife, Nicole Kidman, who’s just as nice, told me, “We listen to the show every morning.”) When he found out that I had never seen Dog Day Afternoon, the classic film starting Al Pacino, he sent it to me on iTunes. Even though he’s always saying, “Let me come sit in with the Raging Idiots,” I never let him, because I don’t ever want people to feel like they have to do anything for me. (Although I did sing a duet with Carrie Underwood during a Raging Idiots concert at the Ryman in Nashville. Volunteering to be a secret guest, she played with the house band, which someone of her magnitude just doesn’t do. But Carrie is so laid-back and cool. I don’t get intimidated performing with big stars, but when Carrie started singing, it was like a whole different thing. She was so good it was like an alien was singing or something.)

  Although I wouldn’t let Keith stoop down to Raging Idiots level, I did let him paint a picture for St. Jude’s, something that I did myself to raise money for the children’s hospital. Since then, a bunch of musicians have done the same, but Keith was the first artist to make one. If I need something, he’s always there. And he doesn’t have to do anything. ’Cause he’s Keith Urban. And he let me make fun of his looks.

  But back to my stupid feud. The one Sexiest Man of Country who didn’t find my particular brand of humor amusing was Chris Young (and I thought I went the lightest on him, because I really didn’t know him that well).

  “Here’s the thing about Chris Young,” I said, “He was an extremely good-looking dude about fifteen pounds ago. Like model good looking. If he’d drop fifteen . . .” I was probably even kinder, but you get it.

  A lot of people reacted a lot worse than I had ever expected. I wish I wouldn’t have said it in hindsight. I didn’t think what I said was that bad, but if it upset him that much, I wanted to apologize.

  I got my chance when I saw Chris at the end of a Brad Paisley concert. We were both backstage when I said to him, “Listen. I’m really sorry about what I said. That was me making a bad joke. And if it hurt your feelings, I’m really sorry. You should come back on the show. I hate that it happened.” His response was to roll his eyes.

  Maybe I hadn’t picked the right place and time. There were a lot of people milling around backstage in that moment. Maybe, I thought, he didn’t hear me. If I wasn’t sure about his dislike for me at Brad’s concert, he didn’t leave any doubt when I next saw him, at the Academy of Country Music Awards.

  Rachel and I were already dating by this point, so we went together to the annual award ceremony, where I sat with her and the rest of her band, Gloriana. When Chris came up to where we were sitting, I tried to apologize for the second time. “Hey, man,” I said. “I’m really sorry about what happened. I know we didn’t really get to talk about it. I hate that it happened. If you ever want to come back on the show . . . I’m really sorry . . . I was a total jackass.”

  He looked at me straight in the eyes, then looked away, and without saying anything, walked off. At least so it seemed to me. Maybe he didn’t hear me again. It was in a loud room. And I still felt like a big ol’ idiot.

  I didn’t know the first thing about Chris Young, but he didn’t know me either. He had no clue how hard it was for me to say sorry once, let alone twice. And I also had no idea how bad that joke went over with him. Yeah, you can’t joke on the air five hours a day, five days a week, and hit a home run every time. I had struck out. And hard.

  Here’s how I reacted to this whole thing; we stopped saying his name on the air for five months. Like a petty despot, I had an outright ban on those two words, “Chris Young.” I realize now it was really sophomoric of me, but if you’ve been reading this book, I suppose that’s not so surprising. I have done some really dumb stuff that I regret.

  Chris, if you’re reading this. I apologize. You don’t have to accept it. But at least we aren’t in a loud room. I am a big idiot. And will continue to be.

  I don’t react this way only to famous people either. Anyone can make me feel less than angry. I’ve been known to read mean Facebook posts from listeners out loud on air. It doesn’t matter if it is a journalist writing an article that says something negative about me or some random Internet post, I’m always taken right back to those childhood days of being bullied.

  Here I was with the biggest radio show in country music, working with my best friends every day, getting to ask famous musicians whatever questions I wanted, dating a pretty country music star, making more money than I ever dreamed of, and yet I still carried that old chip on my shoulder. I was so worried of going back to my old way of life—basically not having anything or anyone—that I overreacted when I felt threatened in any way. In a funny kind of knee-jerk reaction, I stood up for myself too much.

  I know people liked me, as an entertainer, because of the raw quality of emotion I brought to the air in what is typically such a phony medium. It was good radio, but was it good for me?

  A TOTAL NIGHTMARE

  I am never late. Ever. To anything. If I am late, that’s because something is wrong—like I’ve-been-hit-by-a-car wrong. But that’s never happened, so as I said, I’m never late.

  I wish I could say the same thing about the rest of the people on my show.

  Although I come in anytime between 3 and 4 A.M., depending on what’s happening that day, the official start time for everyone else is 4:30 A.M. so that we have a half hour to organize ourselves before the show starts at 5 A.M. Central.

  Lateness is one of my biggest pet peeves. I get so mad when someone is not on time. I’m even madder at myself if for some reason I can’t be somewhere when I said I would. It’s the most disrespectful thing I can think of; if people are late, it’s as if they’re saying their time is more important than whomever they’ve kept waiting. So when people on the show started to consistently come in late, I called a meeting with my staff and gave it to them straight.

  “Okay, this being late stuff is out of control,” I said. “It’s totally inconsiderate to the rest of the team. Over and over and over again?”

  If that wasn’t clear enough, I made a new rule.

  “If you’re one second late, you’re going home.”

  After I gave the “be here or be sent home” speech, some of them still couldn’t be on time for more than a couple of days. Three days after our meeting, two people who shall remain nameless showed up late. By only a few minutes, but it was still late. And this was after we HAD JUST TALKED ABOUT LATENESS NOT BEING TOLERATED. I was so pissed.

  “I told you, you have to be there at four thirty, not four thirty-one,” I said. “I can’t make a rule and not enforce it. So, go home.”

  They couldn’t believe it when it happened, but I sent two people home from the show.

  I know that was a hard-ass thing to do, but I don’t know any other way to be. It’s how I am with myself. I’ve got to be effective with time management if I’m going to manage al
l the projects I juggle—from radio to my band to writing this book! (At the time I was only speaking to a couple of people who couldn’t make it into work on time. But actually, as I write this, everyone except Ray has had an incident of being late within the last thirty days. And it still makes me mad.)

  Getting everything done for The Bobby Bones Show takes laser focus and a constant vigilance when it comes to time. Cutting commercials for sponsors in all the cities we are in; doing liners for each of our ninety affiliate stations where I read the name of each station and anything else sent in to localize the show; and recording the weekend countdown is all in a day’s work for me. So everything with me is about what can I shoehorn into my time in the studio so that I’m not there for ten hours a day, while still completing it all at a high level?

  I’ve found a pattern where in the early hours before the show, I start rattling off station liners for all the affiliates. When I’m done with that, I’ll do some local segments for certain cities. Then it’s usually time to hop on the air and start the show. At the first break, I start recording the countdown for Country Top 30, my four-hour weekend country music program. Then we’re back on live. Do the show. Break. Do some commercials. Break. More countdown. Back on.

  It just doesn’t stop. From 5 A.M. to 10 A.M., I literally don’t stop. I can’t even go to the bathroom. There isn’t a single forty-five-second window for me to get up and pee. And that’s how I like it. For as many hours a day and years of my life as I’ve been doing this, it is still a rush. This is my comfort zone. When I’m sitting behind a console board, controlling all those buttons, I feel my best. That’s why even though most people in my world don’t run their own board, push their own buttons, I still do. Most personalities just have their microphone and producers who run everything for them. Not me. I want to be able to control every slide, every commercial, every single song that comes through. I’m not bragging or showing off; it’s actually the opposite. I should be able to let it go, at least a little bit. And I try. But I feel like it won’t get done right unless I do it myself.