I’ve never liked Country music.

Never.

I hated it actually.

At first I think I didn’t like it because as a kid it’s just not something we had around our house. My parents listened to The Beach Boys and The Beatles and Creedence Clearwater Revival. My grandmother had the best Elvis 8-track collection on earth. My sister was into new Kids On The Block.

Country was just never something we were listening to.

So imagine my surprise when now, at the age of 27 and well past my formative music discovery years, I’m finding myself drawn to and actually enjoying this genre that I’ve always despised. It’s both annoying and a little embarrassing. But I just can’t help myself.

I should have known this was coming. The signs have been there since the beginning. In fact, my very first CD purchase in middle school was “Cracked Rear View” by Hootie and The Blowfish. C’mon… you know that album has some moments of twang. Not to mention that lead singer Darius Rucker is now a full-fledged member of the Country community. He even closed the Academy Of Country Music Awards this month.

As I got older it was all about Alternative, and naturally my hatred for Country grew. When you’re into bands like Nirvana and Bush and Third Eye Blind it’s pretty obvious that Shania Twain and Faith Hill aren’t gonna do much for you. Country music to me was a bunch of rednecks singing about beer and horses... and feeding beer to your horses.

(Time Out)

This is the part of the blog where I choose whether or not I should talk about my Creed phase. On one hand, it could certainly move the Country hatred plotline forward. But on the other hand, it’s

Creed. 

Nah….

(Time In)

Now... I really should have seen it coming when I moved to Nashville for college. I was sunk at the point. 

Nashville is a tricky place, because at first your hatred of Country only grows because you’re so overwhelmed by it. It’s everywhere. And it’s annoying. But before you know it, you’ve fallen in love with this city and you realize that Country music is part of the reason you love it so much. The people singing about beer and horses are generally pretty nice. They tip well. They smile a lot. They're hard not to like.

And they have a few trump cards up their sleeves for when your deck is stacked against them. 

Two words: Ryman Auditorium.

There is no better venue to watch live music.

My first Ryman experience was a Willie Nelson and Friends concert special. Yes, I’m serious. I was sitting there, right down front, taking in how incredible the whole thing was when the guy next to me stood up and walked on stage. The dude looked like hell, and he lit a cigarette. I looked to see where security was gonna come from when Willie says, “Ladies and gentlemen, Ryan Adams.”

Yep. I was sitting next to Ryan Adams. Better still, I had no idea who he was. So I bought his album called “Gold.” Now that was really the beginning of the end for me. Ryan Adams and his alt-country glory led me down the rabbit hole. It was rock and roll with a country soul.. or maybe the other way around. I loved it. I loved it the same way I love Wilco now. I can hear the country influence in them too.

I started to respect Country, but I still didn't like it. And no one could make me.

And then the dagger came... and it came from the most likely place… The King of Country.

My girlfriend, a Nashville-based country singer (yes.. still not sure how that happened), used to intern at George Straight’s record label. So she calls me one day and says, “I got you a couple of tickets to see George Straight tomorrow night.”

I said, “Why?”

She said, “C’mon! You should go! Do it for me.”

The next thing I know I’m walking into the Qwest Center and the guy at will call hands me two 5th row seats to a sold out George Straight concert. 5th row. My buddy Jake and I made our way down front, through a sea of rednecks I never knew the Midwest could produce, and took in all the Country that George and Reba could give us.

And I liked it.

I have no idea how, but I really liked it. George was a stud. And Reba was kinda hot. Both of their bands were incredible. There was absolutely no pretense. It was a big party, and we were all invited.

I like Country music.

Now, let's be clear. I'm not going to start buying every Taylor Swift album that ever comes out. I'm not buying a pair of boots or a 10-gallon hat. I'm not feeding any beer to any horses, and I'm certainly never going to be caught dead at a Kenny Chesney concert (I gotta draw the line somewhere).

But when my girlfriend calls you might hear a little twang in my ringtone.

And you won't hear me say "Anything but Country" when asked what I want to listen to on the radio.

So… I guess I like Country.

A couple of summers ago we played one of those big outdoor festival gigs.

About halfway through our set an older gentleman with a scraggily beard, no shirt, and some tattered shorts came down to the front of the stage and started dancing. A few songs later he got excited by something I said while introducing a song, and he started yelling. I looked down as he took a necklace from around his neck and tossed it up to me onstage. Naturally, I said thank you and put it around my neck. 

 

He freaked out. Joyfully.

 

As we played the rest of our set this dude danced away down front. We played a cover of The Beatles "Hey Jude" that day. When we got into it this guy really started wigging out, and we couldn't figure out why. During one of our last few songs he started getting a little too creepy, so security escorted him out.

 

After the show, I took a look at the small medallion hanging from this man's necklace. On one side was a cross. The other side had a small figure surrounded by the words, "Saint Jude, Pray For Us." Yep. Saint Jude.

 

That night I did a little research of the iconography of Saint Jude. What I found was very moving.

 

Saint Jude is the patron saint of lost causes.

A common prayer is "Saint Jude, hope for the hopeless. Pray for us."

 

A homeless man, wearing a necklace symbolizing hope for the hopeless, somehow came to our show. Something I said made him want to give me that necklace. And then we played that song with the same name in it.

 

That's an incredible story.

 

I still wear that necklace.

And I named my band The Lost Cause.

 

In many ways I feel like a lost cause. The song "Little Armor" is all about that.

But I also know that there is always hope.

 

My name is Tim Wildsmith, and we are The Lost Cause.

 

Lately a lot of people have been asking me about the new band name.

What does it mean? Where did it come from? Why use it now? ...All good questions.

 

I was never the "I want to be a rockstar" kind of guy. I was more of the "I want to be in a band" kind of guy. In high school I played guitar in The Flaming Penguins (yes, I know… I tried to veto it). I think we played two shows, maybe three. Freshman year of college I was in a band called Following Griffin. A couple years ago (in the midst of working on my solo career) I went on tour playing guitar with a band called Akita-Ken. And even after my first album came out under my name, I put together the Tim Wildsmith Band and toured around the country.

 

So the band thing isn't really all that new to me. It's my ideal way to play music.. with friends. I like to do a lot of things by myself, but playing music isn't one of them.

 

When I started recording A New Morning in 2007, I didn't have a band. So when it came time to play the CD release show I recruited Matthew (drums) and Jason (bass), because they were the guys who played on the album. I asked Craig and Jake to play guitar mainly because they were cool-looking guys (not joking). I never knew that we'd all still be playing together.

 

After a year or so of gigging the same songs, I started showing up to rehearsals with new material. And those songs became what you hear on Little Armor. For the first time in my life I was letting other people shape the songs before I put them over in the "DONE" pile. I didn't record them and then ask these guys to play them. I invited these guys to help me shape them. That right there is the main reason that we're using the band name The Lost Cause… because this album is fundamentally different because of these four guys that I share the stage with. It's as much theirs as it is mine. We are a band.

 

Sure, I write the songs. My face is the one we promote. I'm definitely the ring leader. But I can't take all the credit.

 

So releasing this album as Tim Wildsmith & The Lost Cause is simply a nod to these four guys who each played a huge part in making this album. I've found the perfect outlet for the kid in me who just wanted to be in a band.

 

I'm blessed that they share the stage with me.

I'm blessed that they put up with me.

And I'm blessed to be making music with four great friends.

I came home last night to find that my first run of CD's had arrived. Now I've never been pregnant (and I don't ever intend to get pregnant)... but this has to feel something like that.

 

For me this album's conception started two and a half years ago. It was right around the time that my last album was being released. Some bad things were happening, and I turned to songwriting to try to deal with my emotions. That song would become "Easier Said Than Done," and it was the foundation for Little Armor.

Between now and then my life has twisted and turned and dipped and dived all over the place. And as I navigated through the journey of life... I wrote songs.

So you can imagine that having a completed album in my hands is very much an overwhelming feeling. I keep trying to figure out how I shoved three years of my life into little little plastic square. It really feels like the end of a season. The album is done. But in reality it's only the beginning, because now it's time for everyone to actually hear it.

It's like I had my baby yesterday, and now it's already time for the first day of school. 

 

I feel like I'm not being very poetic and savvy with my words in this here blog. I think it's because I'm a little lost and overwhelmed by this whole thing. The truth is, I'm really proud of this album. I like it. And while I'm excited for you to hear it, it's a little bit terrifying to give it to you.

You only have to wait a couple more weeks to see what all my fuss is about. I hope you love it.

Hello Friends,

I was 16 when I went to Haiti.

I was there for only one day in the middle of a two-week trip to the Dominican Republic, but one day was all it really took to leave a lasting impression on my life. I can still feel the heat. I can still smell the air. I can still hear the people's voices.

Fast forward to Tuesday.

I was in the middle of a 15-hour mastering session for my new album when I read a blurb online about the earthquake. I mentioned it to Doug, but we spent most of our down time talking about Conan O'Brien, Jay Leno, and the mess that NBC has on their hands.

The next day I started seeing death tolls that I simply couldn't wrap my head around. 100,000 people? That just doesn't seem real. My mind was immediately filled with memories of my one day there. And my heart was broken.

Somehow, figuring out who's going to host the Tonight Show in February suddenly seems like a huge waste of time.

I'm a musician. I understand my role, and I know that nobody wants to listen to me sing from my soapbox. All I will say is this: The world is much smaller than we think, and we can make a huge difference. 

Talk soon. - TW

 

In the CONNECT section of timwildsmith.com you can find a list of links to organizations who are working to make a difference.