Moonshine and Melodies or How A City Slicker Became A Country Music Fan

The long dusty road to somewhere special

There I was, wearing my new Johnny Cash t-shirt and cowboy boots, holding a glass of moonshine, and singing along to Zac Bryan in a poorly attempted southern drawl. The unlikely transformation was complete. I was a Country Music convert — and damn proud of it.

"Coz the haters, gonna hate, hate, hate." Taylor Swift

Growing up in the 80s and 90s in Melbourne, Australia, there was no country music. It was all about pub bands — beer, bands, and sticky floors. Rock, grunge, punk, alternative — any music you could drink beer and enthusiastically mosh to. It was played out in smoke-filled venues where your shoes occasionally stuck to the floor, and conversing over the noise was impossible. And I loved it all.

To me, country music was considered hick music — listened to by rural bumpkins who married their cousins and had never been to the big smoke. Whenever someone mentioned country, I pictured Cletus, the Slack Jawed Yokel character in the Simpsons. It was a racist and inaccurate stereotype, but I was a fancy city boy who knew no better.

Sure, the occasional song filtered through the cracks, broke into the mainstream, and made it to my airwaves. The Gambler by Kenny Rogers was the first country music song I heard and didn't immediately switch off. I tapped my toes to a few Dolly Parton hits. I even sang along to so bad it's actually good, Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus.

But they were the exception.

"I had a barbecue stain on my white t-shirt; she was killing me in that mini-skirt." Tim McGraw

It was like a line from a Tim McGraw song — exhibit A above. I was in Austin, Texas, when I met Cecilia. She impacted me in two ways; she would eventually become my wife, but perhaps more importantly, she would change my stance on country music.

Cecilia had grown up on a diet of Tex-Mex food and country music. The Chicks, Garth Brooks, Faith Hill, and the aforementioned Mr McGraw. She was surprised by my stance on her favorite genre, but thankfully, instead of dismissing it, she decided to help educate me. After a year of long-distance dating, she moved to Australia, capturing my heart — and my Spotify playlist.

"Rock me, momma, like a wagon wheel." Old Crow Medicine Show

Reeducation started slowly but soon picked up steam as I realized I had been wrong in my views. The assimilation between country music and me continued on long road trips, on longer plane rides, and during backyard barbecues.

Cecilia introduced me to her favorites — country legends, one-hit wonders, and obscure local performers. My only suggestion was Keith Urban, a rare Aussie who had made it big abroad, a suggestion which was heaped with scorn — sorry, Keith.

My studies continued, sans Keith, and I began finding new country artists to showcase to Cecilia. I found a little-known digital country music radio station in Melbourne, started using y'all, and bought my first pair of cowboy boots.

I did wear them with skinny jeans, earning the wrath of Cecilia and losing me points. It's a scenario I have learned not to repeat.

Wagon Wheel, originally by Old Crow Medicine Show but popularized by Darius Rucker, became my go-to karaoke song. It also became my running song, my late-night party tune, and the song I would play to my nonloving country music friends — aka heathens. It was on repeat constantly.

The moment I realized I was fully converted was when I heard my sons singing along in the car one day. It appeared on their "Singing With Friends" shared playlist a week later. I was now educating a new generation — the student had become the teacher.

(I do know cover bands hate playing Wagon Wheel. Sorry, not sorry).

"I was on my way to Nashville. I just couldn't hardly wait. 'Till I could sing my songs. To the folks on Music Row." Dolly Parton

There was one last step needed for my complete conversion. I needed to visit the Mecca of Country Music — Nashville.

Many aspiring songwriters and musicians had come to Music City hoping to make it. I, too, was coming to achieve a dream and immerse myself entirely in the country music scene. It was like my Bar Mitzvah — the day I would finally become a man…of country.

Over the next few days, I went full country.

There was no better way to start my religious experience than the Ryman Auditorium, dubbed the Mother Church of Country Music. Walking through the hallowed halls felt almost cathartic. I closed my eyes and imagined the heroes that had graced the stage there, hearing legends such as Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, and Dolly Parton to modern-day idols like Taylor Swift on the stage.

The next few days were like stumbling into paradise. I spent hours at the Country Music Hall of Fame, toured the famous RCA Music Studio, and the Johnny Cash Museum.

I hit the Honky Tonks along Broadway, where aspiring musicians were playing from early morning to… well, early morning. There were tunes I hadn't heard and many I had, and I sang along enthusiastically, if not melodically, to every one of them.

Dancing in what would best be described as 'middle-aged male shuffle,' I made new friends bonding over our love of music. As I took a swig of moonshine, I couldn't help but think back to those pub days of the 90s and reflect on how far I had come.

On our last night in Nashville, we made it to a show at the Grand Ole Opry — a weekly live country-music radio broadcast running since 1925. With a broad smile, I sat down amongst my fellow brethren. I may have come the furthest to be there, both in physical distance and mental mindset, but we were one.

Each Opry show has eight or so different performers, and on this night, one of them was Don Schlitz — a name few people, even newly found experts like me, would recognize. Schlitz took to the stage and sang a song he had written at 23 for another musician.

"On a warm summer's evenin' on a train bound for nowhere. I met up with a gambler; we were both too tired to sleep."

I had come full circle.

The first country music song I had ever heard. The one that initially made me pause and think country music wasn't all bad was now being performed by the writer on one of the world's most revered stages just feet away from me. It was like a line from a country music song. The redemption of the non-believer.

It had taken a few decades, but I had found my true love. I'm sorry it took so long; I have much to catch up on, y'all.