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10 Questions with ... Keith Urban
October 14, 2018
Have an opinion? Add your comment below. The balance for me is in trying to not lose sight of the thing I'm trying to do, but to not let dogmatism come in to play and handcuff me in to something that could have been more liberated if I allowed myself to go there. That's the balancing act, and I think that's why I love collaborating so much. And, time; I think time and sitting with something for a bit, which could be a blessing and a curse, too. You can sit on something so long that you redo it over and over again. But, there is something to be said to living with something for a little bit and making sure it still holds up and feels authentic to me. If it does, then that's going on the record
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BRIEF CAREER SYNOPSIS:
The Country music world was first exposed to Keith Urban in the mid 90s, when his band "The Ranch" started making noise, eventually playing the CRS New Faces of Country Music Show in 1998. Urban is the only artist to appear on that show twice, as he returned as a solo artist in 2000. His solo career quickly took off, with Urban taking home the 2001 Country Music Association Horizon Award. Additionally, he was the first Horizon Award winner in history to go on to win the CMA Male Vocalist of the Year award, a title he's captured three times (2004-2006). In 2005, Urban took home the coveted CMA Entertainer of the Year (2005). He's nominated in three categories for the 2018 CMA Awards coming up next month, vying for Entertainer, Male Vocalist, and Album Of The Year honors. Urban's reputation as a premier songwriter, vocalist, musician and virtuoso guitarist has afforded him the opportunity to collaborate with the likes of The Rolling Stones, John Mayer, Steven Tyler, Miranda Lambert, John Mellencamp, Alicia Keys, Tim McGraw and Taylor Swift, Vince Gill and Eric Church. His "All For The Hall" benefit concerts for the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum have raised over $2.6 million. Urban is the first Ambassador of the CMA Foundation, is an advisory board member at the St. Jude's Children's Hospital and is a longtime supporter of The Mr. Holland's Opus Fund and The Grammy Foundation.
1. Keith, thanks for taking time for "10 Questions." The last time you and I spoke at length was at CRS in 2015 with my colleague, Beverlee Brannigan. The topic was "Being Present," which is your personal philosophy. That resonated strongly with attendees, who always remind me how powerful that message was. For anyone reading this who wasn't there, can you briefly describe what "being present" means, and why it's so important to you?
First of all, because that's all there is, really, is just a moment. And, what is it they say? That life is just a series of moments. I don't know if I've always been that way, but it's definitely become more and more apparent to me, that I like being in the moment. That's a big part of it, too; you have to want to be in the moment, and it's probably hardest when you're standing in line at the DMV. It's certainly gotten harder and harder. We went and saw Florence & The Machine at the Hollywood Bowl, and there was great moment in the show where she asked everyone for, just a moment, to put their cell phones away. She said, "I know you feel very vulnerable doing that," and she got everyone to do it, then said, "Because, this moment is not to be saved, or shared, it's just for you." And, I thought, "Gosh, that's a beautiful trilogy of things to say right there." Even not to be saved is fantastic. Just saved in a memory is extraordinary. It's harder and harder for a lot of people; we think to capture something to share it with someone, but more to impress other people, and that impressing someone is more important than actually being associated with the actual thing itself.
2. As a performer, you're constantly looking in to the crowd, where people are holding up their phones to record and share the moment with others. When you see people recording a specific song, how does that impact you while onstage?
I guess it's just where we're at, evolutionary-wise, with technology right now. Like most new inventions, we don't have a clue on how to use it at first, and then it's excessive, and we start to feel enslaved to "this thing" now. I'm doing all of this for my phone; my phone wanted to see the concert, and it's making me pull it out of my pocket, so he can enjoy it, too, because he has no thumbs. At the same time, I also love that a concert can be enjoyed by twice as many people, or infinitely more people. I'll look out and see tons of screens that have people's faces on them, because people are Face-Timing, and they're there. It's such a 2018 moment to see people's faces on a screen. You can see them smiling and loving it, and it's an amazing feeling. Then, other people who are looking down at their phones are actually editing what they just filmed so that they can post it, because they're having a great time, and they want people to know about it immediately. It's the same as when you're at a kick-ass party, texting people to get there right away. That kind of passion is fantastic. So, I could never enforce a "no phone" policy at my show; for me, personally, that doesn't make any sense in 2018. I want people to enjoy the concert however they wanna enjoy it, because if they go home and say, "Geez, I spent more time on my damn phone," then that's a good lesson learned, and maybe they'll amend that.
3. Your latest album, "Graffiti U," is a daring, somewhat experimental project, featuring all kinds of sounds and themes, and it follows the equally daring - yet very different - albums, "Ripcord" and "Fuse," that, to me, represent almost a musical journey that is a trilogy. I've asked you privately if you feel any connective tissue with these projects, and you've said no - that after each one, you move on to the next journey. Can you describe your process of leaving one album project behind and jumping to the next musical discovery?
It may be a similar thing, and I think that's the truth about all my albums: some are similar to the ones before it, and some are completely different than the ones before it in certain ways. I use the analogy of taking a photo of yourself each year. If you look back at the past ten years of your life, and if you took a photo each year or every few months, there would be some years where you don't look too different. Then, maybe one year, you had a radical makeover with a different haircut, or you have a big beard. Then, the next year, you may look like you did a few years ago, when the beard's gone. So, for me, they're just snapshots; they're very, very accurate snapshots of who I am, what music I'm listening to, what comes out when I get in to the studio, when I get on the canvas and start painting. The balance for me is in trying to not lose sight of the thing I'm trying to do, but to not let dogmatism come in to play and handcuff me in to something that could have been more liberated if I allowed myself to go there. That's the balancing act, and I think that's why I love collaborating so much. And, time; I think time and sitting with something for a bit, which could be a blessing and a curse, too. You can sit on something so long that you redo it over and over again. But, there is something to be said to living with something for a little bit and making sure it still holds up and feels authentic to me. If it does, then that's going on the record.
4. Is evolution something you intentionally think of, or is it something that happens naturally for an artist? You can't keep doing the same music.
I think it just kinda happens. It's like being onstage; it's a mix of being completely present and being completely lost in the moment - all simultaneously. I go in with an idea of what I wanna do, but then something else happens. I'll give you an example: when I did "Fuse," it was the first time I used outside producers since really starting to work with Dann Huff. I felt that I needed to try some different things. Dan was on that record, as well, but not exclusively. It was such a strange trial and error journey for me - lots of starts and stops, lots of things that didn't work. It was expensive, too, because I was flying all around to New York and LA, and flying to places to work with different people, using different studios. I fund all my own records, so it was starting to become a very expensive R&D project. I remember getting to the end of "Fuse" and feeling really happy about the whole album. I distinctly remember thinking the great part about this is that it's gonna be so much easier to make the next record. So, I started the next record, and I went in the studio, worked with a producer, and we cut two songs. I thought, "Fantastic. This sounds like 'Fuse.'" And, my very next feeling was, "Oh, shit." It wasn't that I didn't want it to sound like "Fuse," I realized that I didn't believe it. It didn't excite or inspire me. I remember, in that moment, being so doubted, because I knew it was back to the drawing board. I thought the next record would be much easier, but apparently it's not. I wish I would have been satiated with that result, because I would have made a record much quicker, it would have been very consistent with "Fuse," and it would have been true, but I couldn't silence the voice inside me that was dissatisfied with it, so I went on to the next journey to make "Ripcord." It wasn't that I can't make a record that doesn't sound like the last one, it was how I felt listening to the music, and it didn't inspire me like it did the last time I made that kind of music. And, I wish it would have, because it might; I might make a record that sounds exactly like "Graffiti U," and I may love it, and the next record might sound like it. I think I found that with "Be Here" and "Golden Road." Those records are very similar to each other; they're almost kind of bookend records, and I was very satiated with "Be Here." I remember distinctly thinking, "Oh, my gosh, this sounds like a companion piece to 'Golden Road,'" and I was thrilled with that. So, it's just sort of cyclical in the nature of how I reacted to something. I may be happy that it sounds like something or dissatisfied that it sounds like something, but I have an immediate reaction to it.
5. You've been consistent in collaborating with and fostering careers of many females via your teaming with Carrie and Miranda, bringing rising stars like Maren Morris and Kelsea Ballerini on your tour, and writing/performing with Julia Michaels. You made a powerful statement with the release of the single, "Female." Based on that, and your 20-plus years as a major artist, what's YOUR perspective on the current challenges female artists face in breaking through with airplay and acceptability?
I can't speak to the platform itself, because I'm not in radio or streaming, and I don't work at any of these places. I can only speak to my own love for all kinds of artists, and a lot of them happen to be female, like Julia, Carrie, Maren - all the ones I've collaborated with. And, even on this record alone - Kassi Ashton, and somebody like MoZella, who's a great songwriter that actually sang the original chorus of "Drop Top" before we found Kassi, because MoZella was a songwriter on it. Lindsay Ell, too, of course. I don't know what it takes to change all of that; I don't know the answer.
6. I mentioned your long success, and -sorry - but as we get closer to 2019, it's 20 years since "It's A Love Thing" arrived at Country radio. The biz has changed, and new artist cycles are really sped up. Is career longevity like you've enjoyed possible for today's new artists?
That's a great question. I guess we don't know the answer to it, because the whole paradigm is shifting, where even the power of stats hold little to no meaning to a new breed coming through. It's like someone saying, "Madonna sold 300 million albums," then someone else going, "But, it's nothing. Drake has one billion streams." And, you literally are trying to compare the two differences, but all they're saying is numbers. Status stuff is changing so fast. I mean, what artists envision a long career anyway? Mick Jagger wasn't sure if they were gonna get past ten years in the 60s. Do artists expect to be around in 20 years? I don't know if I've ever used words like "20-year" or "30-year career." It's always just the next record and the next tour, and before I knew it, boom, I'm here. I had no long-term plan at all besides knowing that I wanted to make records, and I'd hoped radio would play them, and I hoped people would like them and come see me live. That's as basic as it gets, and it's really never changed. I feel exactly the same as I did in 1999 when I go in to the studio. I'm like, "I love this song; I hope we can wrangle it in the studio and make a record that excites me, and I hope people like it, and I hope radio plays it, and I hope it streams, and I hope people come see it live." I feel zero difference between now and then.
7. You're nominated for three CMA Awards next month. Are industry awards important to you?
If you win, they are (laughs)! First of all, the nomination is the first reward you are given, because there are only so many of them. So, that's the first award. I think artists are starting to realize that means something - it really does, and it should be celebrated. I'm glad that the nominations dinner is happening, where the nominees can be celebrated, because that's the first accomplishment. [Industry rewards] are fantastic for a matter of things; like winning Best Movie increases the chance of people going out and seeing it. So, in the case of somebody like me, who particularly loves playing live, I love making records and playing live, and any chance I get to connect to any audience or have someone give it a listen, those awards can help that happen. For the curious people in the fringes, and people who think they know who you are and what you do - they can come back for another look and go, "This sounds like it's a bit different. Let's go and see that." At the end of the day, it's about connecting - my music, live, as many people as we can connect to. I feel like I have a good message, and I'm trying to put some good in to the world, so I want as many people as possible. I want their ears and their hearts for a couple of hours if I can get them.
8. Is the Album Of The Year award a super significant recognition of artistry?
Absolutely. And, the same with Entertainer. Those are the two areas in my professional life that are everything to me - making records, whether that's a recording of one song, because that to me is a record, as well, and performing live to bring the songs to life and put on a show. I've always loved entertaining. I take that word very, very seriously. I always thought the Entertainer category was based on the kind of shows you do, and I've since come to learn that it's a combination of all sorts of career progress and so forth in that given year. I've always thought that title really does speak to the ability to perform onstage and entertain and connect with people, which I take really seriously. I take a lot of care putting on our shows. Even when I was playing to two people, I was playing to thousands in my head.
9. You kind of shocked the world when you were named CMA Entertainer Of The Year in 2005 - although, it was in the middle of a three-year run as Male Vocalist - and since then, you've been nominated multiple times, and - never your words, but in the opinion of others - have been snubbed. Does winning or not winning an honor like that in any way shape your approach to what you do live?
I've always done it. It's very, very organic. It's the thrust that's underneath it all, the fuel that's actually on the fire is just trying to make a better connection. That's what all the production is for - for making a connection, heightening an emotional moment in the show, heightening an intimate moment in the show, firing everybody back up with a feeling that's celebratory... Anything. All the production is just about helping me make that connection. My thing has always been this: I'm not there to impress, I'm there to inspire. It's the same thing I want when I go to a concert; I'm not interested in you impressing me, because impressing is for the person who's doing it. Inspiring is, to me, the person who's receiving it in the audience, and that, to me, is far more powerful.
10. Speaking of your live show, you're playing arenas, filled with 18,000 fans, and yet, you are able to make personal connections every night - the signs, bringing fans onstage, gifting guitars. These are intimate moments that transform an arena in to more like a living room experience, which you further with the social media presence. It seems like that's mandatory these days vs. maybe back in the day when getting on a stage and cranking out the hits was enough for the fans, agreed?
You've gotta be who you are. Certain artists can do that and do it well; I've been to certain concerts where they just get up and sing and not much more, and it's incredibly satiating. Look at Chris Stapleton; I don't need him running around the stage, some witty banter, some flashy production - I just need the voice, musicianship, and the songs, and that's good. He's authentic to himself, and I'm authentic to myself. It's the want to make the person in the furthest seats feel like they're right there in the front and the full place to feel like playing in a small club. I came up playing in small clubs. My career came up so slowly. Yes, I've been doing it for 20 years, but nobody saw the 15 that preceded that, before I even got to America. I quit school at 15, and I was immediately playing five nights a week, four hours a night in a band, learning my craft and learning how to handle people throwing shit at me, yelling at me, and standing in front of me with their fingers in their ears - rough crowds that didn't like the song you were doing. I had to figure out how to flip it and get them and bring the room together. Because I got to do it slowly and steadily, it went from two to 20 to 50 to 100, and it kept building slowly. We were lucky to get in to theaters with 1,000, then a couple thousand, then, suddenly, we're in a small arena with 5,000 people - it just grew and grew, and I'm really grateful I was given that path, because even if we do an outdoor festival with a hundred thousand people there, it still feels like a club to me, because every one of those people to me is a person. It's not a sea of faces; it's a huge amount of singular people that have a story. And, I mention that every night I play. I think about the logistics that it takes to go to a concert now - not just the cost, but everything you gotta go through - finding hotel rooms, getting people to cover your work, getting a car and babysitters - the list goes on and on. These people have to choose really carefully which concert they wanna see, because they can't go see every one of them. And, it means the world to me that they do that, and that's every person, not just the one in VIP; it's the one that's way up in the back that would kill to be up in the VIP, but they can't afford it. Everybody should get the exact same show. That's the way I'm wired.
Bonus Questions
1. I always like to ask guitar players: how many are in your collection? AND, tell us the story of how you ended up with Waylon Jennings' guitar, which you started and ended the Nashville show playing. Also, I'm guessing the free guitar giveaways are NOT from your personal collection. Was it from the home shopping network collection?
Maybe 100, something like that. The Waylon guitar was given to Reggie Young by Waylon. [Reggie] was touring as a guitar player, and his account was that he was in his hotel room one day, and Waylon walked in and said, "I wanna give this to you," and gave him the guitar. It's extremely heavy; it's hands-down the heaviest guitar. I don't know what it weighs, maybe 14 pounds or something, but it's ridiculously heavy. It's a 1950 Broadcaster, preceding the Telecaster. It was the first model that Fender made. People ask me why it's so heavy, and I say, "History." It's an amazing thing. The oldest guitar I have is a 1946 Martin D-28 acoustic guitar - that's definitely the oldest. I only use it in the studio for recording. I've used it a couple of times live, but acoustics are tricky live. They're meant to be mic'd up - that's when they sound the best - but mic'ing anything on a stage is [difficult], unless you're in Alison Krauss' band, then it's really hard to mic things up onstage and have it work. So, you've gotta resort to have it electrified, and those Martins aren't great for that, and I don't want to get in and butcher it. The ones we give away are from my Urban guitars that we make. Everything is so organic how things happen. I used to run out and play at a little satellite pop-up stage we would do. The problem with YouTube when it exploded was that everyone knew every gag you were doing in concert, and I thought about how we could do a gag that was different every night without anyone knowing. And, I thought about a little pop-up stage being set up within a minute over a couple of chairs, and I could run to it, and we could change the position of it every night, so no one would know where it is, and we'll decide before the show. So, I would run out to wherever the tiny little stage was each night, and because it was different, you'd catch the audience off-guard each night. I'd play a song, but then the problem was I'd have to get back to the stage and walk through the crowd, but of course now they know I'm coming back to the stage, so it was a nightmare. My guitar was getting banged up and out of tune, and I said to my guitar tech that I wish I could just leave my guitar out there, and he joked, "give it away." I said, "Well, I'm not gonna give my guitar away," and he suggest getting a giveaway guitar. So, the very next night on that tour, we went to a guitar store and bought a $100 guitar, and I played it for the songs out there, signed it, and gave it away. So, we just continued that, but at some point, Fender started giving us guitars to do it with, so we didn't have to keep buying them. But, the whole first tour, I was buying one every night to give it away.
2. You do a lot of philanthropic initiatives but don't brag about them - music education is a big one, All For The Hall has been a passion - why is giving back so important to you?
When I was 10, our family's house burned down, and we lost everything. I remember a couple things happened; the first was the Red Cross, and I believe it was Goodwill, both stepped up and gave us some clothing. It had some personal effects and got us back on our feet. The other big thing that happened was that we were members of this Country music club, and they put on this fundraiser for us at somebody's house. I remember they couldn't sell beer, because they would've needed a license, so the beer was free with suggested donations of $2 a bottle. They raised a bunch of money to help us, and I saw that real community spirit in action at a very young age, and it's always stayed with me. The struggle for All For The Hall has been finding people to come play it, because it seems everybody's got events on these days and endless amounts of charity concerts that people are being asked to play. And, because I wanted a theme for each year, I started putting us in to a bit of a corner, I think, where it was hard to fulfill the people required with a theme in mind. So, we had to put it on pause and think about how we could continue it so that it stays impactful. Vince and I both had a blast doing it, and hopefully, we can keep doing it, because I love doing it. I hope we can figure out a way to keep doing it, or do something similar to it.
3. You and I talked about Glen Campbell in 2013, when CRS awarded him the Career Achievement, and you shared what an influence he was. He's been gone for a year now. What do you miss most about Glen Campbell?
For me, the records. Those records were a big part of my growing up, and the ones in to the 80s with Jimmy Bowen - those, too. These things have influenced me for a long time, and when you think of Pop Country, there is one of the main leading guys right there. When I look back on all the Country artists that did influence me, the thing I started realizing one day is that not one of them wore a hat, except for Don Williams. But, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Glen Campbell, Charley Price, Ronnie Milsap, Alabama - the list went on and on - and there were no hats anywhere. Vince Gill. Early, when I moved to Nashville, people were like, "You don't wear a hat," and I was like, "I don't think you have to."
4. The Ranch was music ahead of its time for Country in 1996. What happens to that band if it comes around in 2018?
Well, Jay Joyce would produce us - that's the first thing. That's a good question. I've never thought about that. It's funny; I was looking through some photo my mom had asked me for, and I found old clippings from my early days in Nashville. I had done some interview when I was with The Ranch, somewhere around 1997, and I had mentioned in the interview, "I hope we can get to the point where someone asks what kind of music we play, and we could say 'Country,' without them saying they don't like Country. Hopefully, they can say, 'Oh, really? What kind?'" It's going back 21 years now, but maybe we're there. Even back then to me, Country was a huge genre and had all kinds of stuff in it. It's a massive palette of colors that can't be defined by one thing. We may be there now. Asking someone what kind of Country they play - that's a much better answer than "I don't like Country." Even back then, people would tell me they don't like Country when I was in The Ranch, and I would ask, "Well, do you like so-and-so," and they'd say yes, and I'd tell them, "That's Country," and they'd say, "Well, I like some Country." The listener is always gonna define the genre. I love doing the thing now when I like a song, I'm going to Wikipedia and looking at who wrote it, who produced it, I wanna see who mixed it, and who played on it. I'm such a geek for all that stuff. The thing I really look at now is where it says genre; I'll often go to Wikipedia to see what genre they'd call a song now.
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