Remembering Keith Whitley

It's mind-blowing to see reminders all over social media this week that Keith Whitley died 29 years ago – May 9th, 1989, to be exact. Perhaps it makes more sense to mark this occasion in more traditional benchmark years, as next year will be the 30th anniversary, but honestly, when I read KUAD/Ft. Collins, CO MD/morning co-host Brian Gary's recollection of being on the air when the news broke, it rocked my world.

I had a similar experience that day.

Let me back up a second, because some people reading this may be wondering, "who's Keith Whitley?" My first reaction to that query would be an indignant "Shame on you for not knowing! It's Keith-Freakin'-Whitley!" But, it's a fair question. I mean, 29 years is considered a full generation. At the time of his sudden, untimely passing due to an alcohol overdose at 33, Whitley wasn't a music superstar even in his own genre, which of course, was Country. But, he was in the midst of a steady rise, seemingly poised for stardom, after earning three consecutive #1 singles in the nine months leading up to his death.

Because he was so young, and so on the verge, many of us who knew Whitley and played his songs have always played the "what if" game when considering Whitley's potential impact on the format. He died just as Country music's famous "Class Of '89" was blooming – Clint Black got a head start with his "Killin' Time" album that spring, and Garth Brooks, while initially slow out of the gate, soon lapped everybody and carried the torch for the 90s boom. I've always believed had Whitley lived – and lived up to the potential that was bearing fruit in May of 1989 – he'd have been a prominent member of that 90s movement. Despite his way-too-early demise – or, maybe because of it – he became somewhat of a legend anyway.

A Kentucky native with a strong background in Bluegrass – as a teen, he and 2018 Country Music Hall Of Fame inductee Ricky Skaggs played together in Ralph Stanley's band – Whitley moved to Nashville in 1983 and signed to RCA Records. He started to make waves in 1985 with "Miami, My Amy;" "10 Feet Away;" and "Homecoming '63;" which peaked at #14, #9, and #9, respectively. All three came off Whitley's very strong "LA To Miami" album, which – fun fact – also contained his version of "On The Other Hand" and "Nobody In His Right Mind Would've Left Her," two songs that later hit #1 for a pair of other guys with real potential: Randy Travis ("On The Other Hand") and George Strait ("Nobody In His Right Mind"). I'm willing to bet you've never sat and listened to the entire "LA To Miami" album. You probably should.

Whitley's sudden death rocked my world back in 1989, too, for several reasons. Like Brian Gary, I was also on the air when the news broke, and will never forget my OM at KNIX, Larry Daniels, walking into the control room with a solemn look on his face, saying calmly, "Keith Whitley has died." Remember, this was 1989, so we had (gasp!) an actual news department at KNIX, which we utilized to air a "breaking news" update about Whitley's passing. We then played several Whitley songs, one of them being "I'm No Stranger To The Rain," his current single at the time – and still to this day, my favorite all-time Keith Whitley record.

Whitley's death also hit me hard, because he was the first artist I had become friends with, and I don't say that naively. Now, I realize all of us who've been MDs and PDs think some artists are our friends, but – sorry to throw cold water on some of your hopes and dreams – part of today's media training often includes artists becoming, or appearing to become, buddies with programmers. And, to be fair, I also know some artists and radio pros DO become genuine friends. I had met Whitley while still in Los Angeles during my first tour of duty at KZLA and early in his time with RCA. I was an automatic fan of his music (that was easy), and we hit it off well on other levels, too. We were about the same age; our respective careers were just beginning; we'd each recently married, and our spouses had the same name – Whitley married fellow artist Lorrie Morgan, who he adored. I got hitched to fellow San Fernando Valley native, non-singer, and math whiz, Lori Gregg, who I still adore.

When I moved to Phoenix in 1987 to take the gig at KNIX, Whitley and I stayed in touch, and he often initiated that. This was before cell phones, remember, so calling a radio guy took a concerted effort. He played the market, of course, but called occasionally just to say hello. Today, radio guys airdrop contact info with artists – back then, we scribbled them a studio hotline number. I found Whitley to be a truly good dude, with a spiritual side, who was always gracious and welcoming. Saying hello on his bus or backstage never seemed routine or a chore to him. My RCA label rep back then, Carson Schrieber, and Keith's road manager, Carson Chamberlin, always had to interrupt us and move things along.

Anybody who has been on the radio can tell you about important news events that happened during their show. I was also on the air (in Los Angeles) the moment of the Challenger space shuttle explosion in January of 1986. In October of '89, five months after Whitley's death, I was doing afternoons on KNIX when the San Francisco earthquake struck during the World Series pre-game.

This news of Whitley's death had tragic and sad layers to it, though. I was reporting on the passing of someone I knew well and considered a friend. Since I've been in the trade publication business for most of the past 12 years, I've had the dubious task of writing stories about friends who have passed away; it's never fun. When Whitley died, I felt the impact immediately on a larger scale, considering it a profound loss for Country music, because his career was really taking off.

I was aware that Whitley had some personal issues, but not to the extent we all later learned about. He had a history of alcoholism. He'd lost his dad two years prior and a brother four years earlier. Whitley battled depression; he was a binge drinker, who drank alone. In the times I spent with him – admittedly, never for hours on end, and not in any of his personal space – I never once saw him drink and certainly never imagined he had a problem. Keith Whitley always looked healthy, alert, and focused. That was part of the shock after his cause of death was revealed.

I've always found it satisfying when meeting young artists who, unsolicited, cite Whitley as a musical influence. Though they've never mentioned it to me directly, I have read and heard that among contemporary artists who claim an affinity for Whitley are Dierks Bentley, Dustin Lynch, Tim McGraw, and Chris Young. That's pretty strong company. When I hear some of the newer, traditional artists, I sometimes detect a whiff of Whitley – Mo Pitney and some of Luke Combs’ music, for example.

In addition to "I'm No Stranger To The Rain," other Keith Whitley favorites of mine include "Would These Arms Be In Your Way" and "When You Say Nothing At All," his second career #1, from 1988, later covered by Allison Krauss in 1995. Like many other programmers, I created a mash-up of the two versions that we played on the air and had terrific callout results with. I have no hard data on this, but I'd venture a guess that the most covered Keith Whitley song from younger artists is "Don't Close Your Eyes," Whitley's first career #1 from the album of the same title. That seems to be one that artists seek to play as a way of establishing old-school credibility.

Rarely, if ever, do I hear Whitley's music on the radio. He and his music will forever be in a time capsule dated 1989; it is specific to that era, which certainly doesn't match what Country music is in 2018. But, whenever I hear his songs, be it a cover or one of his records, while I love hearing it, a sense of sadness and loss comes over me, too. After his death, RCA released his album and eventual #1 single "I Wonder Do You Think Of Me." The answer, Keith, is yes – and often.