Dear Nashville,
I don’t know if you remember me. I’m a huge fan and love to listen to you on our local country stations here in west Georgia. Myself (and the rest of your target demographic- middle class women from ages 35-50) just wanted to drop you a line to say hello. During this virus time, I’ve been listening to a lot of your music and feel like we’ve been friends for a long time, so I think I can be honest with you.
Your middle-aged women fans know that you’re trying your best to please us – you just want to get to know us better (it shows in the money you spend on demographic studies and market surveys). And we don’t blame you one bit for wanting us to buy your music. It’s how you butter your biscuit – we understand how important that is to you.
So in the spirit of helpfulness, your demographic target (at least this one in particular) would like to make a few suggestions.
Nashville, we don’t know how to say it, but you’ve gotten a little predictable. In fact, when we hear a new song, we know we can expect to find a Gravel Road, Dirt Road, Tractor, Tail Gate, lately Back Seat (guess the girls got tired of tailgates), Sweet Tea, Whiskey and the ubiquitous Neon. We love rural-themed subject matter, just as much as anybody does, but maybe dig a little deeper into the country experience and widen your perspective. For a start, look into Crawdaddies. They are pretty popular in these parts.
Also, call us by our names. When you sing about us, you’ve created a shorthand (“Baby, Honey, etc.”). We do we understand that you’re using neutral language to try and make songs more broadly appealing but we really like to hear songs about real women with real names. Like Amanda, or Lucille. We promise we will still love the songs when they are about someone else. However, we understand if you feel you need to stick to the name-neutral strategy, so consider mixing it up a little bit – maybe something like “Sweet Pea” or “Sugar Foot.”
We know you try to keep our spirits up. After all, it’s a hard to be a middle class woman – divorces are up and incomes are down. No better way to get us out of a reality-induced funk than immerse ourselves in a fairytale fantasy. Don’t worry about health insurance, just get you some cute “daisy dukes” and take that bar by storm. Driving your kids to school on slick tires because you can’t afford new ones? Just close your eyes and imagine a handsome, shirtless farmhand, taking you on a ride on his big green tractor. Instead, Nashville, you might try writing in a little reality. I promise your listening audience can handle it and hearing the stories of other people overcoming obstacles might inspire us to do the same.
You know how we ladies love to hear about LOVE and you try not to disappoint us. You do write songs about love. About love stolen, love faded, and that special kind of love that happens when Jack Daniels Lemonade shots are consumed beneath the glow of a Pabst Blue Ribbon sign. In addition to those kinds of love songs, we’d like to put in a request for a different kind of song – about an abiding love that burns stronger, even after the intoxicant of first love has subsided. We’d like to hear about the love of a man for the mother of his children. About a love that survives a battle breast cancer and the shaving of a head. Love that is stronger than distance or time or hardship.
Nashville, we know that you’re trying to keep up with the times. You’re trying to create a new sound to maybe get some crossover action on the charts. Maybe increase your fan base. We know the older generation of music makers have always felt discomfort when the younger, shiner, less wrinkled musicians took over their stages (case in point- when Elvis the Pelvis sang his own version of Blue Moon of Kentucky and Bill Monroe almost had a stroke). But our advice to you is this. Be yourself. That’s why we love you. Be honest with your art. Tell real stories in your songs. And please, please please keep using that sweet steel guitar.
We understand. You hit your mid-life crisis. We know you tried to figure out a way to appeal to a younger demographic (ages 18-37) so you started putting together this little thing you called “Bro-Country.” Like a hip/hop/rap/surfer combo. It flashed for a minute (like a new gold necklace on a recently-divorced granddaddy) but it quickly started a downhill slide on the charts. We hate to tell you, Nashville, but the Bro-mance is over.
That brings you back to us, your faithful listeners (middle class women from ages 35-50). And you’re back on our doorstep with a bouquet of grocery store flowers and a box of Russell Stover’s assorted crèmes, hoping we’ll take you back. And we will, but you’re going to have to make some changes. And give us what we really want.