The two-lane road to Billy Ray Cyrus’s home wound through Tennessee countryside south of Nashville, past cornfields, round hay bales and clusters of tall trees. Eventually I reached his white two story mansion, fronted by antebellum pillars that supported an impressive second-story porch. In front of it all, next to what I assumed was one of his motorcycles, Cyrus grinned and waved. A handshake, a cordial exchange and we were inside.
The entryway led to a foyer whose ceiling stretched to the top of the second floor. Later he would give me a leisurely tour, which included a peek into daughter Miley’s bedroom upstairs. Its felt girlish, with pink walls and a high-school ambience.
“We haven’t changed anything in here since she left,” Cyrus confided. “She still stays in it when she visits, so we wanted to make her feel comfortable.”
There was a pool table and a Wurlitzer jukebox nearby. We lingered there for a while as he pulled out some LPs that his father Ron, a prominent Democratic politician from Kentucky, had recorded during his years as a gospel singer. Photos of Ron with Bill and Hillary Clinton hung amongst memorabilia from Billy’s career, which began in 1992 when his debut album Some Gave All, roared to the top of the charts, eventually achieving nine-times Platinum sales, on the wings of one of the biggest singles in country music history.
No doubt, “Achy Breaky Heart” made Cyrus a household name overnight. But even as it lured fans onto dance floors, members of the country music establishment responded less enthusiastically. As hard as the beefy young stud had hit the charts, some of his older peers anticipated that he would be a one-hit wonder, a honky-tonk version of the Knack. Sure enough, in 1998 Mercury Records would exile him to the world of smaller if not obscure imprints.
Miley also became an entertainment industry phenomenon, as star of the Disney Channel’s Hannah Montana program at age eleven. Playing a comic second-fiddle role as her sometimes clueless but always loving dad, Billy Ray recovered much of the fame he had enjoyed nearly twenty years earlier. But as her star rose further and her controversial musical career eclipsed the show, Billy Ray again faded from mainstream view.
Over the past few years, though, he has fought back into the spotlight, co-starring in a stage production of Annie Get Your Gun in 2005, co-hosting Nashville Star in 2008 and, in 2019. once again smashing records as a recording artist, as partner to rapper Lil Nas X on “Old Town Road.” That single would lodge at No. 1 for a record-setting nineteen weeks and earn Diamond certification for selling more than ten million copies just months after its release, faster than any other single in RIAA history.
All that lay ahead when Billy Ray and I settled at his round kitchen table. As we sat, he gestured toward a chair positioned between ours. “I never sit there,” he revealed. “When Waylon Jennings used to come by, that was always his. It still is.”
Over strong coffee, we spent the next several hours talking about upcoming album, Thin Line, and whatever other things popped up as we went along.
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You’ve had a unique career, Billy Ray: huge peaks followed by deep crevices, more hills, more valleys, music, acting … Take me back to before your wild ride began.
Well, I was homeless in the beginning of 1992. I lived in my car, a Chevy Beretta. When I cut Some Gave All in two weeks in 1991, [producer] Harold Shedd gave me a chance at Music Mill, so I lived in the Beretta in his parking lot. By 1994, my life had gotten so crazy, I just wanted to find a space where maybe I could just be that kid from Kentucky again. So I cut this album called Storm in the Heartland. I had gotten this land and this house but I wasn’t going to move here; I was going to refurbish it and sell it. So I came here and this old farmer was cutting hay. His name was Mr. Harris. Because I recorded Storm in the Heartland I asked him, “Hey, can I film you?” Lo and behold, Mr. Harris became my best friend. I filmed him and his family for the video of “Storm in the Heartland.” It was written about the Flood of 1993, so it kind of ties in.
Then one night during the CMAs [Country Music Association Awards], about 1995, I had felt very excluded. I’d realized they don’t want me in their club. Ain’t no sense in me going. But I said to myself, “You know what, Cyrus? You may not want to go, but this may be Mr. Harris’s only chance to go the CMAs.” So I went out there and got him off his tractor. He was in his overalls. I said, “You want to go to the CMAs tonight?” He said, “I’d love to!” So I took Mr. Harris to the CMAs. We were fashionably late but we did walk the carpet. I swear I was not gonna go but my spirit said, “Mr. Harris starred in the video. Why don’t you ask him if he wants to go?”
Did anybody ask him for his autograph?
Wynonna Judd, right off the bat. Wynonna was standing up and going, “That’s the guy from the video!” Then later I’m waiting for him outside the restroom. He comes out smiling. “What the hell went on in there?” He says, “I just had a conversation with George Jones!” Mr. Harris could not believe he was in the bathroom, washing his hands, and “George Jones was so nice to me!”
That night must have made his life.
It made mine! It might have done me more good than it did for him. But anyway, a couple more years go by. Jones becomes my friend. He would come out here to the house all the time. Waylon Jennings becomes my best friend. We met on The Carl P. Mayfield Show. Carl just kept saying, “Man, the only thing about Waylon is, he just doesn’t know you. He only knows what Nashville thinks is your image. But he doesn’t know you as a man. Would you come in and meet Waylon on the air on a Waylon Wednesday?” I said, “I’ll roll the dice to have my chance to meet Waylon Jennings. Let’s see where it goes.”
I flew in from Toronto to do it — I was filming Doc there at the time. Waylon was in there. Right off the bat, we took a caller, early in the morning. This caller her grandmother is on life support and they’re going to unplug her. The lady asked if I would sing her “Amazing Grace.” Waylon looked at me like, “What are you going to do? My guitar was sitting there, so I picked it up and I started plucking “Amazing Grace.” I sing: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound …” Waylon comes in with that big baritone: “ … that saved a wretch like me.” Pretty soon Carl P. Mayfield is joining in. By the second verse we’ve got four or five grown men in there with tears coming down their face. We’re finishing “Amazing Grace.” The song is over. It’s completely silent. And Carl P. said, “We’ll be back, folks.” And Waylon reaches over and shakes my hand and says, “Hoss, why don’t you come by the house and let’s have a cup of coffee?” I said, “When?” He said, “How about when we get done?” I said, “Perfect.” So I followed him to his house on Old Hickory. As soon as we stepped through the front door, he said, “I’m gonna put some coffee on. While it’s perking, I’d like for you to hear my son Shooter. Now, it’s kind of rock ’n’ roll, but he does his own thing.” I said, “Great, man!”
So Waylon put on the coffee, then we stood by Buddy Holly’s motorcycle and he put Shooter into this big-ass stereo. It came out just blistering. I’m going, “Man, this is full-fledged rock ’n’ roll here!” I really didn’t know it then, but I like to think that maybe Waylon knew that somewhere along the line he would check me out and, in a full circle, I would show up in Shooter’s life.
Waylon and Shooter
I did that two different times. First, they were making the movie Walk the Line. I was going through an airport and I saw Shooter Jennings. This was right after his dad died. I said, “Man, I’m sorry. You know how much I loved your dad.” He was like, “Man, my dad loved you.” I said, “You know, they’re making a movie and they need someone to play your dad.” He said, “I’ve never done any acting.” I said, “Aw, hell, man, you can do it! Go tell them you want to play your dad.” You know he did? He went and got in that movie.
And he’s on your upcoming album, Thin Line.
I will say there’s something special about those two tracks [with Shooter]. I started with Shooter on “Killing the Blues.” He sent me this crazy email that he wanted to do a record of me and him together and what did I think of “Killing the Blues”? He sent me a little MP3 and I loved it. So he said, “Okay, I’ve got a studio set up and a band next week down in L.A.” I said, “Shit, man, I never leave the house at Toluca Lake.” Now, at that same time, I was in a very dark spot. Tish and I were coming out of some tough times and not exactly sure how things were going to go. But Shooter invited me to do this song, so I go down there thinking it’s gonna be a nice studio. Dude, it was a meat locker. I’m not making that up: It was an old butcher place where they used to gut cows in the 1800s. It was dirty and dark. But all the facilities were there. The fiddle player’s fiddle reminded me exactly of my Pa-Paw Casto’s because it was just a little bit out of tune. I said, “Dude, you can’t teach people to play like my grandfather in West Russell, Kentucky!”
As soon as we started rolling, I go, “Oh, my God. I don’t care where I’m at. It just feels really nice.” It went so well that we decided to do one more so we would have an A side and a B side. Waylon had sat right here in his chair and told me that he had a dream that I recorded “I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane.” … Shooter mentioned that Lee Roy Parnell was coming to town, so I said, “Let’s bring Lee Roy in and complete your daddy’s dream.” We did “I’ve Always Been Crazy” at that dark little studio with the same band. There was something a little spooky about it.
“Before everybody got drunk and started fist-fighting, we did one take of ‘Walk the Line’.”
You record these songs as both a tribute to your musical heroes and as a way of grounding yourself in a difficult time. Was it intimidating to put your own stamp onto songs that so many people already knew so well from their original versions?
It was. I approached each one with so much respect. You’ve just got to do it with that respect of doing it in your own style. I once did a cover of “Walk the Line.” When I met Johnny Cash, he said, “I heard what you did to ‘Walk the Line.’ I think it’s so cool that you didn’t just cop the record. Anybody could just cop what I did. You took it to a whole different place.” I had some Southern rock guys on it: Ed King, who co-wrote “Sweet Home Alabama.” Allen Woody from Gov’t Mule was on the bass, rest his soul. Mike Estes [from Skinny Molly] was there. We were in Johnny Mills’ basement; he was not only the keyboard player but also the engineer. He’s also blind. He’s running the console and he’s blind! There are bottles of whiskey and so much pot smoke you couldn’t see each other. Before everybody got drunk and started fist-fighting, we did one take of “Walk the Line.” By then people were cussing each other and it just went to shit. I took my master tape and then years later added that track to my Brother Clyde album.
…
This kind of goes with the Johnny story. I want to show you this. [He asks me to follow him into another room.] This is my real studio. And look at this: Johnny sent me this letter during 1992. A lot of people were coming at me from different directions, but Johnny took the time to write this. So George Jones came here and said, “Man, did you ever thank Johnny for that?” I said, “No, I never got to meet Johnny Cash.” George says, “Hey, Peanut [presumably his wife Nancy]! Isn’t Cash down in Franklin tonight, signing books?” Peanut is like, “Yeah, he’s down there.” He goes, “You want to go meet him?” I said, “Yes, sir, I would love to.” So George Jones puts me in a car and drives to meet Johnny Cash to thank him for writing this letter. You can’t make that up!
“I’m a 55-year-old man who dresses like Elvis Presley for a living.”
One of my other good buddies who came around a lot during that time period was Vern Gosdin. I always liked that name Vernon. People go, did you name that character Vernon Brown because of Elvis’s daddy?” [‘Burnin’ Vernon Brown’ was a comic character, a hard-drinking Elvis impersonator and country preacher, invented by Cyrus.] And I go, “No, I call him that because of Vern Gosdin!” How weird that I’m a 55-year-old man who dresses like Elvis Presley for a living [laughs]!
We’re heading upstairs now and … Whoa! You’ve framed an old copy of The Tennessean, a story about you with the headline: “is This Man The Next Elvis?” That seems kind prescient.
Well, guess what? They were right [laughs]! It just 25 years to make it happen. Now I pretend to be Elvis Presley!
You also have a beautiful round carving on the wall up here.
Yeah, because everything is round. You know, part of my Cherokee religion is that everything is round. I didn’t know when that kitchen table table came here that I would end up learning this as I studied the Trail of Tears. The Earth is round. The sky is round, the stars are round. The wind at its greatest fury, a hurricane or a tornado, goes around. A bird builds its nest in a circle because theirs is the same religion as ours. Trust me, Tish has tried to throw this table out a thousand times. I’m like, “Anything but this table. It has to stay.”
Where did you get it?
I don’t know! It’s just been here since we in back in ’94. Waylon sat right there when Miley came through, this little thing carrying her first guitar, and asked, “Will you show me the chords to ‘Good-Hearted Woman’?” Waylon takes the little guitar and Jessie [Colter, Waylon’s wife] and Miley sing “Good-Hearted Woman.”
“This Woman Needed A Hug”
[We continue looking at framed photos on the wall.] There’s George. There’s a note from Buck Owens. Here’s a letter from Dolly when I was opening up for her. These probably mean the most to me. Now, this is interesting: When Bill Clinton was running for his second [presidential] election, a lot of times I would open for him especially through Kentucky, Ohio and West Virginia. I’d come out and maybe sing the national anthem and a few other things. Obviously I’d sing, “Tell your maw I’ve moved to Arkansas.” Look at his face; he’s laughing. That’s little Chelsea. Me and my dad, we rode this train with Bill Clinton; it was called the Freedom Train. We’d go from town to town.
Well, Bill won the election, so I was playing the inaugural ball. I’ve been debating whether I should tell you this story, but I’m gonna tell it. I had never met Hillary Clinton. I’d been around Bill and Chelsea a lot but Hillary was never there. I was behind the stage and they were getting ready to call me out. Al Gore would come out and dance with me! So here comes the Secret Service and in the middle of them is Hillary Clinton. It’s the first time I’m gonna meet her. The seas part ways and she kind of opened up her arms for a hug. I opened mine and we hugged. It was one of those moments where time stood still for a second because I remember thinking, “Cyrus, you’re gonna get shot. You’d better let go of her.” I kind of let go but she kept hugging, so I hugged her back. I don’t know if it was two seconds or five seconds but I remember thinking, ‘This woman needed a hug.” A week or two later, it might have even been a month, and all this stuff [about Monica Lewinsky] hit about Bill. I look back now and I think, “Yeah, that was a woman that needed a hug.”
So time goes by. George Bush ends up using “We the People” [as covered by Cyrus on Southern Rain]. Well, as we know, that election ended up in a tie between him and that man [pointing to shot of Al Gore]. It seemed like it ended coming down to something about “my brother is the governor of Florida.” I’m going, “Wait a minute! ‘We the People’ was about the power of the people!’” Now, my dad comes from a long line of Democrats and all of a sudden George Bush is using “We the People”? My dad was like, “Who let George Bush use your song?” It became a family controversy for a second.
Now, here we are, all these years later. Donald Trump and Hillary: One of them is gonna be president. I’m kind of hoping that we might have a little bit of focus back on the thought of “We the People.” Because it is about the power of the people. America has found itself in a heck of a spot where, because of our veterans, we’ve got the right to go out and vote. That’s where the power lies. “We the People” was right back then, when Waylon did the preamble. He was right in what he said about the Constitution.
The Singing Hills
You live in a beautiful spot of the country. Do you do any active farming out here?
Just the hay. It’s called Singing Hills. there’s been so much music coming through here. When I think about this house and how many of those legends came in and sat around that table, when I cam up that driveway, only two years after I was Homeless Jimmy, I was just coming to look at this place because it was two hundred acres. I thought, “Man, I need some country.” I never even came into the house. I just came up the driveway and the land said, “You’re home. You belong here.”
Later on, 1995, I would study the land and realize that my ancestors walked through that field. These Indian mounds back here from the Chickasaw were part of the land I saved from subdivision. It’s a nature refuge now.
What animals do you see there?
Deer and turkey. A little fox lives out in the back.
I notice that you’re alone in the house today. If I may, it’s public knowledge that you and she have had some difficult times. Twice you filed for divorce, though you’ve elected to stay together. So how are things going?
We’re great, probably the best we’ve ever been. [Cyrus and his second wife, Leticia “Tish” Finley, divorced in 2022 after thirty years of marriage.]
The Dark Side of Stardom
When “Achy Breaky Heart” exploded and changed the face of country music, that was obviously a good thing for you. But did you pay a price for it? Is there anything you kind of regret about those early years? Would you have done things differently to get to where you are now?
Man, I don’t think I could. If I could, there might be some things. But I wouldn’t trade any of them for this very moment, to be sitting here and talking to you about the fact that we’re all still here. I wasn’t the Chosen One. Waylon sat right there and told me that. He said, “Cyrus, do you not realized that every ten years Nashville throws out one person thats not exactly like everybody else because it makes them feel better?” He said, “Do you know the definition of an outlaw?” I said, “What’s that, sir?” “One who has been outlawed. Look at the history: Elvis, Johnny Cash, Waylon and Willie. Welcome to the club!” And here I come in the Nineties. I didn’t fit in either.
The Chicago Tribune wrote at that time, “In the face of perhaps the most savage media onslaught endured by a performer since Elvis brought rock ’n’ roll into America’s living rooms, Cyrus has managed to keep an unbelievable cool hewing his own path through a gauntlet of derision.” That must have hurt that so many people who didn’t even know you were saying this kind of stuff.
Oh, man. Luckily, I was so busy, I couldn’t read it. I just didn’t have time. Carl Perkins was the first guy to put his arm around me and say, “Dude, don’t worry that you’re different. Embrace it!” He came out and we walked through that field. “Do our own thing. Write your own music.” This was the greatest advice he gave: “Most importantly, play to the world. You’re in a very fortunate situation because your record has crossed over. You have the whole world’s ear right now. Now you’ve got to do the hard work. It’s like a garden. You’ve got a hit in Europe: You’ve planted that seed. Now you’ve got to plow that ground. You can’t do that from America and wish you had a hit in Europe. You can’t wish you had a hit in Australia. You’ve got to go there.”
I took him up on that advice. I worked those world tours early on, two or three of them. Carl was right: If I hadn’t built a foundation by going there and touring, when teeter went back to totter I would have forgotten. As it was, I built a following there.
“Don’t believe what you read about loyalty in country music.”
Carl said, “You know, America is very fickle. It’s a drive-through country. And don’t believe what you read about loyalty in country music. But the fans will be loyal. I could go down here to Shoney’s and somebody might come up and ask me for an autograph and be nice. But if I go to London, the police have got to help me get across the street. So do your thing around the world. You don’t want to just stay downtown, trying to catch the next guy’s tail. Find your own sound!” Somehow or another, that reinvention was always a part of it. Carl ended up being an actor. Look at artists like Johnny Cash, Dolly or Kenny Rogers, who parlayed acting into a reinvention.
Is that why you started getting into acting yourself?
I always saw acting as a platform for the music. Matter of fact, if the music wasn’t involved, I didn’t go there. The music had to tie in somewhere.
And now you’re the Ozzie Nelson of country music.
Yeah, exactly. As Waylon told me, “Always write the theme song.” That was good advice. But then, 101 episodes into Hannah Montana, I’m going, “Whoa, I may have painted myself into a corner here.” How do you reinvent out of being not only America’s dad but the world’s dad to all these kids who watch the show? You’re Robbie Ray!”
Well, luckily I had a date somewhere in Louisiana, at one of those casinos the Gulf Shores area. There’s always something beautiful and new about going back to the South after you’ve not been there for a while. I played the gig got on the bus that night about 11:30, headed north to Nashville. We were going to stop and fuel up on the way. I had my German Shepherd with me. As always, when we pull into the Pilot to fuel up, me and Tex get off the bus and go for a walk. Then right before me was this old, dilapidated Pentecostal church. At the same time, I’m looking off and there’s where Elvis played the Louisiana Hayride. I’m getting all the history of those acts when they traveled. Everything just felt Elvis and Jesus. Somewhere there’s gotta be a thin line between the two.
And that’s where you get the title for your album.
Right, The Thin Line. I have to find roles where I can keep it real. I’m not a trained actor. I’m not even a good actor. I’m a guy who just luckily had been around some directors who taught me that less is more. So I’ve learned to keep it real, let the real actors act and I just stay in the middle.
You’re holding your hands apart …
That’s Elvis and that’s Jesus. And here’s me, right in the middle. My grandfather was a Pentecostal preacher. I know the Bible really well. At the same time, my other grandfather, my Pa-Paw Casto — his name was Bill Casto — rode the caboose on the C&O Railroad. He played the fiddle like Charlie Daniels, like he was on fire, like he was a madman. He liked to drink a little beer. So I had these two grandfathers, both of whom were very influential in my life because my mom and dad got divorced when I was five or six. A lot of times I was staying with either one Pa-Paw or the other, in these different worlds.
On a Saturday, my Pa-Paw Casto would have a houseful, including my mother. She was banging the piano like Jerry Lee Lewis. That was her style. Her brother Michael would play a flattop guitar. My Pa-Paw Casto played the fiddle. We’d listen to The Grand Ole Opry. Then we’d stay up and sing “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey” or “Rolling in My Sweet Baby’s Arms” — feel-good music.
Then we’d have a few hours’ sleep and Sunday morning I’m sitting in the pew with my little burr haircut, trying to act like I got some sense [laughs]. My Pa-Paw, he starts preaching. This was a church where every now and then somebody would speak in tongues. This is what some may call a holy-roller church. They’d get to rolling, man — fire and brimstone every now and then! Not always, but sometimes. So I felt that.
My dad had a gospel quartet that originated out of that church. They would travel a lot. They were on the Happy Goodman Family’s Gospel Singing Jubilee. That show would come on Sunday mornings. My dad would call me up out of the audience to sing “Swing Down, Sweet Chariot” …
Long story short [laughs], I’m going, “That’s your reinvention.
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I need to add an update here. As noted in my transcript, Billy Ray identified himself to me as a lifelong Democrat, as was his father. He shared a story about joining the Bill Clinton campaign. He even mentioned Donald Trump with some trepidation as we spoke back in 2016. And he spoke with pride and affection about his daughter Miley, even showing me the room where she stays when visiting.
But apparently he has succumbed to whatever the virus is that transforms Trump critics into zealous supporters. (Previous victims include Kevin McCarthy, Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz and VP nominee J.D. Vance.) Not having suffered this misfortune, I have trouble reconciling Billy Ray’s recently leaked comments about his ex-wife and their daughter with his former Democratic affiliation. Maybe he and I will cross paths again someday; until then, I can only hope that he and his family can reconcile when these divisive times finally pass.