Those of you who saw my performance at the Riverfront Stage on Saturday may have noticed I got a little choked up during the first verse of "Twenty-One." Although I'm always emotional on stage, I'm rarely sentimental, so I was as surprised as anyone when my voice started breaking up while belting out "a baseball cap and a fake I.D. would get me in the clubs." Let's face it. Of all the lines I've written, that's probably among the least likely to jerk a tear to a guy's eye.
Nonetheless, for a few moments I thought I was going to have a crybaby meltdown right there in the middle of CMA Fest. "Rein this shit in!" I said to myself. "Now is not the time. Man up and pull yourself together."
Fortunately, I regained my composure and cruised on through the rest of the song. However, my feminine display didn't go unnoticed. The question I had to answer to the guys in the band, my manager, and my wife was, "Dude? What happened during 'Twenty-One'?"
Here is my response.
For the past six months I've been visiting country radio stations around the U.S. in hopes of getting my music played on the air. Although we've made tremendous progress, it has not come easy. For every programmer who has shown enthusiasm and been eager to help get my music heard, there are countless others who have dismissed me entirely. Some days have felt like a repeated kick in the nuts.
"I'm just not sure your music is what our listeners want to hear." "This doesn't seem like country to me." "It's too slow." "It's too edgy." Or my personal favorite, "You write great songs. Have you thought of letting a country star sing them?"
Rejection takes a toll after a while and I must admit that I've almost lost the faith on several occasions. Maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree? Maybe I'm not country? Maybe I don't belong here?
Those doubts were certainly running through my mind at the CMT Awards the other night. Most of my friends and acquaintances were seated across the arena under a huge spotlight in the Glamour 1 Artist Section. They were performing, presenting or nominated for awards. I felt like the kid who wasn't invited to play in the sandbox. What am I doing here?
Throughout the week, as country fans from all over the world poured into Nashville, I couldn't help but wonder if any of them cared about the 30 minute set I'd be performing on Saturday. It was easy to see these were some of country music's most devoted fans, tuned-in to every artist and all their radio hits. How many of them could possible be familiar with me?
The three and a half hours of autograph signing on Friday gave me some hope. I met Corey Smith fans from all over the country. (Forgive me for referring to myself in the 3rd person.) They talked about their favorite songs, their live show experiences and their friends back home who first turned them onto my music. For the first time all week, I felt like I belonged and began to understand what CMA Fest is all about - connecting with fans.
Of course, it takes a lot more than a few hours of mingling to heal a good old-fashioned radio tour beat down and I still had serious doubts heading into Saturday's show.
By the time I began picking the intro to "Twenty-One," all my concerns had evaporated into the hot summer air. The turnout was tremendous. Even in the 100 degree heat, the crowd was full of energy. They roared when I walked on stage and commenced to singing enthusiastically along to every song in the set. They danced, they screamed and I heard one Georgia girl even flashed her boobs. My fans were there in full force and made their presence known. They gave me courage, strength and energy, willing me to perform one of the best shows of my life. I couldn't have been happier.
So why did I get choked up? It's simple. Six months worth of drama coalesced into a few brief moments of song. A few thousand country music fans joined together by the Cumberland River and gave me the most beautiful gift they could give - their approval. When they sang "When I was only seventeen…" their voices echoed along the riverbanks like a mighty chorus of trusted old friends. I felt vindicated, I felt redeemed and I felt like giving the middle finger to all the naysayers who told me I don't belong. Yes. I cried like a baby and almost wrecked the ensemble, but I couldn't help it. I was moved, damn it.
