by Brad Paisley
Jimmy Dickens grew up the thirteenth child in a West Virginia farm family, and he was the smallest in his family—the runt of the litter, so to speak. He knew he would never reach even five feet, and that was just the hand that he was dealt. Yet he somehow used what God gave him, or rather withheld, to his advantage. Jimmy played that hand with great heart, great wit, and great success. What other options did he have? As far as I can tell, it was either professional jockey or totally legendary tiny country music singer and comedian. One or the other. He made the right choice.
One night, I went up to Little Jimmy at the Opry and said, “Would you like to go fishing with me someday?” Jimmy said, “Yes, sir.” And I said, “Really? Great!” I had always wanted to spend that kind of quality time with this crazy little character. Jimmy asked, “When you wanna go?” I said, “How about Monday morning?” And Jimmy said that sounded fine to him.
I told Jimmy about this pond that my friend Kelley Lovelace’s mother-in-law owned about two hours away where we could go catch forty or fifty bass in one day. He said, “Sounds good!” When I called him to confirm our fishing date, he said, “Can’t wait, sir!” I told Jimmy that I’d pick him up at seven in the morning that Monday, and he gave me his address and said, “I’ll be waiting by the mailbox.”
When I called Kelley to tell him that we were going fishing with Jimmy, he said, “Oh man, my in-laws are going to flip,” because they are serious Little Jimmy fans. I’m talkin’ serious. They’re great people who always cooked us a big dinner when we came to fish. Even without diminutive living legends. So we didn’t tell them who our new fishing buddy was, just that we were bringing a friend. Here they are in Sand Mountain, Alabama, with absolutely no idea that Little Jimmy Dickens himself is coming to dinner. Finally, it’s seven thirty A.M. Monday, and Kelley and I drive by to pick up Jimmy. There the man is with his two fishing poles and tackle box standing at the end of the driveway by the mailbox—looking exactly like a little lawn ornament. Or some sort of Opry garden gnome.
So we drove the two hours down to the pond and had the best time imaginable. We joked and laughed and heard great old stories. Halfway there we stopped at a tobacco shop, where I bought some cigars and also a nice butane lighter that I gave to Jimmy. He still carries it to this day as a memory of our first little trip together. As we pulled up to the property, you should have seen the look on Kelley’s in-laws’ faces when they saw Little Jimmy Dickens get out of the truck. I thought they were going to cry. Faye, Kelley’s mother-in-law, ran inside and started feverishly cooking every favorite recipe she knew of. We fished and ate like fishing and eating were going completely out of style. On the way back home, Jimmy fell asleep in the front seat. He snored all the way back to Brent-wood, Tennessee. This was the first day that I ever spent with Jimmy, and it was honestly one of the greatest days of my life. Jimmy’s whole philosophy of living has greatly influenced my own. He’s become a grandfather figure to my boys, who love him dearly. Recently, I was able to celebrate Jimmy’s ninetieth birthday with him, and I’ve valued every second I’ve been around this man. I can’t get enough of his influence. That may be why I’m always asking him to be in my videos or joking around with him in skits at the CMAs.
I love Little Jimmy Dickens with all my heart and I enjoy every chance I get to stand next to him, and not just because he makes me look taller. All of the on-camera fun that I’ve had with Jimmy began not long after that first fishing trip, when I asked Jimmy to play my fishing buddy in my video for “I’m Gonna Miss Her (The Fishin’ Song).” Our first on-screen adventure together.
So many others became my family at the Opry. Like Bill Anderson, a hero and true class act who I still can’t believe I get to pal around with—and just about the best country songwriter of all time. Jeannie Seely, Jim Ed Brown, John Conlee, Porter Wagoner, Connie Smith, Pete Fisher, Steve Buchanan, the list goes on and on. These people became my family. I spent every free weekend at the Opry House when I was new and single. All the stories I would hear backstage, the impromptu jam sessions that would break out in dressing rooms, the lasting friendships . . .
* * *
Johnny looked right at me, started to tear up, and said, “I had a ball. I loved life. You make the most of yours too, boy.”
* * *
And then there was Johnny Russell. The hilarious larger-than-life Opry stalwart who allowed me into his life in such a big way. We really made a connection. And a year or two after I became a member of the Opry, Johnny would start the decline in health that eventually cost him his life. But I relished our time together. After he had been admitted into hospice care from complications due to diabetes, he lost both his legs. I went to see him around this time, and his sense of humor was still safely intact. I walked in the room, and he was lying back in the bed. He waved me over and whispered very weakly, “Come closer . . . closer . . .” I leaned over and said, “What is it, Johnny . . . ?” He then raised up, grabbed my collar full force, and with complete strength said, “When ya gonna cut one of my songs?!” His family in the room cracked up. That was Johnny.
While I was there, holding his hand, he asked his son John, “Am I dyin’? Be honest.” I tried to leave the room and give them privacy, but he held firm and said to stay. John nodded. “Yes, Dad, it won’t be long now.” Johnny looked right at me, started to tear up, and said, “I had a ball. I loved life. You make the most of yours too, boy.”
I walked out of the room and Jeannie Seely was standing in the hall. She said, “Bet you weren’t ready for all this when you signed up for this little family. But that’s what the Opry is.” I said, “I’m ready, Jeannie. I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”
Years later, after the Nashville flood when I lost all my guitars, John Russell Jr. came out to the farm. He handed me his dad’s old Telecaster and a hat he always wore. He said, “Dad would have wanted you to have this. Let’s get that collection started again.”
Guitar Tips from Brad
LESSON # 7
Don’t just read the music. Be the music. Or write the music—it pays better.
8
WAITIN’ ON A WOMAN
Yeah she’ll take her time but I don’t mind Waitin’ on a woman
—“Waitin’ on a Woman,” written by Don Sampson and Wynn Varble
When you’re talking about something as life-changing as waiting on a woman, you can’t rush it. Try as you may, life will unfold around you at its own pace. All you can do is watch the road and wait on the signs.
Around the time I was promoting Part II, my second album, little did I know my life was about to become an, um . . . actual life.
Having come through a bunch of less-than-successful relationships in the years since my old girlfriend didn’t show up at the movie, it suddenly struck me what I was missing. One morning that fall, either from a dream I’d had the night before that I couldn’t remember or just some strange hunch, I woke with the clearest thought: The person I’m supposed to be with isn’t the girl I took to those movies. It’s the girl in those movies.
I know it may sound psychotic, but I really had this sense that this was the woman for me. I really was sure of it. It was that simple.
In concert, I used to share my painful and amusing story of that night I bought tickets twice to Father of the Bride Part II before I would play the song “Part Two.” I also told the story countless times on air promoting the album. I remembered once talking about it to my friend Peter Tilden on KZLA in Los Angeles when he was doing the morning show and he’d said, “You know, I’ve met the girl from the movie. She seems like a real sweetheart.”
It had been an hour or two since I woke up with the “revelation” of who I should be dating. So I called Peter that morning and said, “You think you could get me in touch with Kimberly Williams from Father of the Bride? I’d like to talk to her about being in a video.” She could have been a married or divorced chain-smoking crack addict—but as far as I could tell, there was only one way to find out. Being plu
gged into Hollywood, Peter didn’t hesitate. Accepting the challenge, he just said, “Give me ten minutes.” Just a few minutes later, the phone rang and it was Kim’s manager at the time calling me about this alleged video.
I proceeded to tell this wonderful woman named Tammy Chase the charming story of writing the song “Part Two” and how the FOTB movies had influenced my life—intentionally leaving out the part about my being interested in her client for anything other than an appearance in a music video. She was so nice and said, “You know, Kim was just saying she thought it might be fun to be in a music video sometime. Great story! I’ll get back to you.”
Later, I found out that Kim’s manager ended our very pleasant conversation and immediately called Kim. “I just hung up the phone with the greatest guy,” she told my future wife. “I just looked him up—he’s legit and he’s cute. And I know he says he’s calling about a video, but you’re going to date him.” Being very reasonable and extremely humble, Kim said to her manager, “Why would you think that?” The manager told Kim, “Trust me, he’s interested.” And of course I was. Women have us all figured out before we even meet.
She called back before an hour had passed and said, “Kim loved your story. She’s going to call you tonight.”
So the very same day that I had woken up with this epiphany, my phone rang. “Hello? Is this Brad? This is Kim Williams.” Now, this could have been awkward, but it wasn’t in the least. We talked for an hour. And despite my worst fears, she was not married, divorced, crazy, or a crack addict. I’ve never known an actress who isn’t at least a few of those things.
We talked on the phone almost every day after that first call, and the time was fast approaching when we would need to meet in person. Around that time she began to ask when I could get away and we could meet and go to dinner in L.A. Hollywood Squares made me an offer to come out and film a few shows, so I decided to take them up on a free trip from Nashville to L.A. This was the perfect excuse to get to Los Angeles, where Kim was filming the sitcom she was on at the time, According to Jim.
So I boarded a plane and went off into the great unknown.
* * *
So the very same daythat I had woken up with this epiphany, my phone rang. “Hello? Is this Brad? This is Kim Williams.”
* * *
We went out the first night and it went fine, but I had one more night free while I was there. So we got back together for a second dinner. On that second night, I was scheduled to go on After MidNite, a syndicated late-night radio show hosted by a great guy named Blair Garner. So I invited Kim to come along with me and hang out. On that night, she got to see me do what I do best. Which is definitely not dinner conversation. She watched as I sat in front of a microphone with my secret weapon, my equivalent of the magic Green Lantern superpowers ring: my guitar. And the only prayer I ever had of winning her heart—anyone’s heart, for that matter.
So as we began to date, in keeping with the guise of why I called her in the first place, I figured I needed to have Kim appear in a music video.
The “I’m Gonna Miss Her” video was a great way to break the ice together because not only was it fun, but she also became part of something that was an important turning point in my career. A change of direction that was much needed for me.
In this case, the first step toward this turning point was getting my record company to release the song as a single in the first place. Even though this was the same song that helped get me a recording deal, there was some serious resistance at my record company against putting the song out as a single. When I went to Arista to discuss this matter, I was already ticked off because of a recent mishap—I’d recorded a song called “Too Country” with George Jones, Buck Owens, and Bill Anderson that won the CMA Award for Musical Event, and I think it could very well have won a Grammy too. The only problem was someone at the label forgot to submit our record for Grammy consideration. And songs have to be submitted in a certain manner to qualify. So that was that. Pretty embarrassing for my label, and I was furious—not so much for myself but for the genuine country legends on the track; I really wanted to help those guys get a Grammy, which most of them had never won.
So I went into my label with a little attitude that day, and my righteous rage allowed me to sit there with Joe Galante and say, “Well, I think you’re about to make another mistake and release the wrong song next.” I wanted “I’m Gonna Miss Her” out, but the company was worried that the song was going to offend women. I think they figured they had a pretty good thing going by then with me singing nice, romantic ballads, and they didn’t want to risk upsetting the apple cart.
Sometimes I only think I know better, but this time I actually knew it in my bones. I’d been playing “I’m Gonna Miss Her” live, and I knew the song was a road-tested crowd favorite with men and women. It had never failed to bring the house down. This was one of those times in a music career when you’re not just pushing for a single; you’re ultimately pushing for a little freedom to be yourself and to let people know who you are in a more honest way. Even though I was on a bit of a roll on country radio, I felt the need to show the world I was not just another guy with a hat and a few romantic hits—that I had a personality and possibly even a functioning sense of humor. Lord knows getting a laugh or two never held back my heroes, like Little Jimmy Dickens, Buck Owens, and Vince Gill.
Perhaps wisely, I didn’t try to argue that point. What I said to my record company was “I’m Gonna Miss Her” would sell well for a very basic reason—people responded to it. To close the deal, I went off the cuff and pitched my crazy concept for a video for the song. Imagine, I told them, Dan Patrick as the sportscaster officiating the fishing tournament, and me as a guy whose significant other didn’t want him to go fishing with his band and a bunch of other fishing buddies, like Little Jimmy Dickens. And then to represent all sides, we would go on The Jerry Springer Show with Jerry Springer in the video playing himself—and a big battle of the sexes would ensue about this very important issue. The big boss, Joe Galante—now the most powerful man on Music Row—took this idea all in and said, “Can you really pull that all off?” I told Joe, “I think so”—even though I hadn’t ever even spoken to any of these people. He said, “Okay. We believe in you. Make it happen.”
So I hit the phones and started to call upon the kindness of strangers. I asked my agent, Rob Beckham at William Morris, to get a number for Dan Patrick, who I knew had said a few nice things about me on his radio show. When I got ahold of Dan, he said he was in. Next I called Jerry Springer. I think I caught Jerry in the middle of a show taping, but he couldn’t have been nicer and told me he was a country music fan. And of course, there was no woman I wanted to abuse me on camera more than Kim.
The next thing I knew, this whole crazy gang was coming together to make this video, and thankfully, it became absolutely everything I dreamed it would be. With a lot of help from that video, “I’m Gonna Miss Her (The Fishin’ Song)”—the third single from Part II—took my album and shot it way up the charts. The single went to number one for two weeks in a row, turned the album into a much bigger hit, and gave my fans the first large-scale glimpse at that other side of my personality. The success of “I’m Gonna Miss Her (The Fishin’ Song)” gave me a lifetime fishing license to just be myself.
One day when it was clear the song was a smash, the head of promotion for Arista Nashville, a great man named Bobby Kraig, who had strongly resisted releasing it as a single, phoned me. “Brad,” he said, “I’ve never been more surprised and happy to be wrong. This one is going down as one of my favorite achievements.” Trust me, I was happier than he was. Somehow the very same goofy fishing song that helped me land my record deal had come back into my life and helped me regain my creative freedom.
By now, the team that had helped me make my first two albums had gone from wannabe writers, players, and producers to full-blown pros. So when I began work on my third album, I used the same cast of characters who’d helped me get this
far. For the first time, I felt like I could focus on the ground I wanted to cover. “Mud on the Tires”—which I wrote with Chris DuBois—set the tone for the whole third album: more earthy, rootsy, and even outdoorsy. Some of the songs were written while I was dating Kim, like “Little Moments,” another one I wrote with Chris. I remember playing Kim the song over the phone while we were dating long-distance and the effect it had on her. Things were really clicking.
My music started feeling more grounded in the reality of life. There are so many songs I love on Mud on the Tires. My favorite might be “Celebrity,” because it started me down a path of not being limited to traditional country themes. It was my first attempt at depicting the world outside of country music, all the while keeping the style of country. Up until then, I had sung about fishing and dating and family—the sorts of subjects that lend themselves to country music so easily. Now I began to think—what if I wrote a country song about the whole insane pop culture phenomenon that was becoming more and more a part of my life? It turned out to be a major turning point because it opened up my world as a songwriter and as an artist.
The fact that “Celebrity” did so well gave me the license to write about anything I saw around me and still have it feel like a real country song. That opened things up so that I could write “Alcohol” and “Online” and “Ticks” and so many other songs that would follow. I felt I could say what I wanted to say and even nudge the listener in the ribs a little bit.
I think my fans began to get a sense that I’m not just a guy picking songs to be my next hit—that these songs are more meaningful than that to me. Hit songs are great, but now I felt like I’d opened up the lines of communication and could actually comment on life and this world we share. And people were listening. The fact that country music fans and country music radio gave me that freedom meant the world to me.
