Editor’s note:
This series on Billy Ray Cyrus appeared several years ago in The Greenup Beacon. It was a work provided by Gregg Davidson a frequent contributor to the paper. This series has been revised with some new information ad restructuring by its author. The content presented is of his work and we have protected his poetic license. Any content or opinion in this series is his work and doesn’t express the paper’s stance or opinion.
If you have followed my chronicle of Billy Ray’s career thus far, you are now aware of some of my personal and professional involvements with him. You may also realize that I truly felt concern for his state of mind, as sudden fame has a tendency to change one’s life in ways previously undreamt of, and not always for the better.
Once you have attained it, it’s nearly impossible to ever return to a “normal” life. Although I’m not one who is easily star-struck, I’ve always been interested in reading biographies of certain celebrities. I’ll even study the life of people that I don’t necessarily have any other interest in just to better understand how it was that they got to where they did, and the effect that their struggles may have had on them and their psyches. I suppose it stems from my life-long fascination with human psychology and certainly from my love of the liberal arts. One thing I’ve noticed in my observations is that most public figures have one thing in common: the burning desire to set lofty goals and achieve them, whether personal or career oriented. Everyone has dreams, but few of us are willing to make the sort of sacrifices that are sometimes necessary to remain focused on our pursuits. Billy certainly had to make hard decisions in his quest for a professional music career, and I’m sure he has some regrets, but in the end, he proved to his family, friends, and even his hometown that it was possible to escape the limited career opportunities that living in a small Midwestern town presents.
With the unimagined success of his 1992 debut album Some Gave All, there was a lot of pressure to prove that he could maintain the momentum of such an achievement. While the sold-out tour began to make more and more demands on his time, he and Sly Dog were barely able to take a breath before being herded back into the recording studio for more sessions that would result in their next album, defiantly named “It Won’t Be The Last.” Everything concerning the remaining tour was quickly evolving. What was initially launched as a small low-budget venture was now evolving into a major state-of-the-art production. More equipment equaled more transportation and more personnel. When I first signed on as a driver there was only Billy and his bodyguard, the five members of Sly Dog, sound engineer John Griffiths, stage manager Roger Cordle, a road manager, a second driver, and me. A dozen people in total were the entirety of the team, but soon others began coming onboard as the show grew. The first of them was a guy I’ll call "Calvin" who just rubbed me the wrong way. A New Jersey native, he was all urban, big city attitude- cocky and pushy, the sort of personality that clashed with a bunch of laidback Southern and Midwestern boys who were having the times of their lives.
Right out of the starting gate he exhibited his disregard for authority when he broke a rule by smoking in the cab of the equipment truck, an action that I had to answer to. He was also a constant complainer and never-do-well who found fault in everything everyone else did, but only stated his disdain behind their backs. The problem was, I was the only one to at first see this side of him because he was notoriously two-faced when it came to facing his superiors. I loathed having to allow him to ride with me, but the new trucks were still weeks away from joining the million-dollar convoy. Another annoying fact is that he always griped until he got full control of the radio dial, but luckily, I soon discovered that despite whatever music he might choose, he fell asleep easily when I avoided all conversation with him. New equipment was another development. On a rare day off after a show in the deep South, I drove across town to a dealership in order to pick up some free Randall amplifiers (which were never actually used onstage) and a case of drum sticks for the band, but also walked out with some cool promotional posters that I had talked the manager into removing from the wall and giving to me. It was my first swag of the tour.(Swag is a term for such complementary items amassed from time spent on the road, probably derived from the word swagger, which is what happens to one’s gait while carrying an armful of such goodies.)
The light and sound shows were growing too, and I spent as much time as possible befriending and watching the operations of the light men as they controlled the mood of each song by employing certain colors to provide the appropriate colorful atmosphere. As a drummer, I realized that the best man to operate the lights is a one who has a natural sense of rhythm and timing, but it also really helps to know the material. While understanding that nothing lasts forever, I was already thinking ahead and soaking in all that I could glean from my time on a pro tour. This knowledge would later serve me well in the business. As the tour rolled on, Billy and the band were encountering other celebrities left and right. It seemed that even they were awestruck by Billy’s domination of the top of the charts and the swift proliferation of the “Cyrus Virus”. Many of them were so interested in meeting him that they would offer the band free tickets and VIP passes to their own shows. Within a year, Billy would even be approached by Dolly Parton with whom he would record the song (and video) “Romeo”. As time went by, I was beginning to see that the music business is really about the business of music, and free time was becoming more of a memory than anything else. We were going further from home on each jaunt and staying out longer to do so. Everything was becoming more rushed with added emphasis on detail as the label began upgrading and adding more expensive elements to the show.
Just as things were getting really intense and there were fewer and fewer days off, I was thrown for a loop as I got word that my mother had suffered a series of mild heart attacks. It was like being on a carousel ride when someone pulls the plug. Suddenly all of the music slowly ground to a halt and I was left reeling with vertigo, and feeling sick to my soul. All of the glamour was suddenly sucked out of it for me. Working with friends and socializing with hip and notable personalities is cool, but they couldn’t hold a candle to my own mother’s company. I did get home in time to find that she was alive, if worse for wear, and then during one last highway trip, I began to plan on how I was to bow out gracefully. There were other factors involved that I won’t get into here, but it was obvious what I had to do. When I did exit the tour, I left confident in knowing that even if I was never again to take part of anything so enormous, my recollections would last a lifetime. They are the kind of memories that no amount of money could hope to purchase, the type of experiences that most people can only dream about. If I may paraphrase the pitch of a certain self-promoting show business iconoclast, I was a part of the greatest show on earth.
That show, of course, went on without me and as Billy Ray continued to make history, I returned to Greenup County and tried to deal with the challenging task of being an attentive son to my cherished Mom. As her only male offspring, she continuously told me all of my life that I was special and how dearly she loved me. It was now my turn to return the favor and I reminded her daily of what a wonderful upbringing she had blessed me with as I went about seriously internalizing the fact that the day was going to come when I would lose her. Luckily, she began to recover and continued to enjoy a relatively healthy existence until finally succumbing to death in 2008; just nine days shy of reaching her 80th birthday, a milestone that she had confessed to me she that wasn’t all that thrilled about acknowledging. I am at peace with it though, it was her time and as heartbreaking as such events always are, I sleep soundly knowing that she was ready. She was tired and had suffered the indignity of having to give up her mobility for the security of a wheelchair for her last three years, but I am content in the fact that she got to see all of her grand-children and great-grand-children one final time in her remaining few years.
Looking back, I have no regrets about my decisions. In regard to my passion for music, I still was able to work in and around the business in one manner or another. Some of the contacts I made during my time with BRC and Mercury Records led to me encountering and/or working with many other acts like my teenage heroes KISS. As for Billy, he faced the monumental endeavor of trying to match the success of the first album. The follow-up did sell a respectable three million units, an impressive feat by any standards, but record label executives always expect each effort to outdo any prior achievement. They examine pie charts and line graphs, and study the sales projections of so-called business experts, while always expecting the numbers to magically add up to large profits in a bid to defy the law of diminishing returns. If a new artist sells three million copies, there is much fanfare and congratulatory back slapping in an atmosphere of celebration. But selling three million units of a sophomore effort after moving twenty million the first time around becomes a grim disappointment in the eyes of the ever-hungry businessman. All financial pursuits aside, that’s not to say that Billy Ray didn’t remain successful. He did continue to create music that was insightful and heartfelt.
The conclusion of the series next week….
