Editor’s note:

This series on Billy Ray Cyrus appeared several years ago in The Greenup Beacon. It was a work provided by Gregg Davidson a frequent contributor to the paper. This series has been revised with some new information ad restructuring by its author. The content presented is of his work and we have protected his poetic license. Any content or opinion in this series is his work and doesn’t express the paper’s stance or opinion.

1992 was the year of all things Billy Ray Cyrus.

 Against all odds, Billy and his indefinable style of Country Music flew in the face of convention and shot straight to the top of the Billboard Country Singles chart in May on the strength of the single “Achy Breaky Heart”, creating the first wave of the line dance craze that engulfed the U.S. before spreading into Canada, Europe, Australia, and Japan.

When the full album Some Gave All was released, it also shot to the #1 position, selling a million units within a week and remained there for over four months, simultaneously crossing over to top the Pop Charts for just as long. The “Cyrus Virus” had become an epidemic and suddenly BRC and his montage of musical genres were in high demand as the hottest property in the business. In the wake of such meteoric success, Billy and his band Sly Dog were busy trying to balance an ever-expanding touring schedule with studio sessions to work on their second LP that would come to be titled It Won’t Be The Last.

It was during this time that I was hired as a driver by the band and instructed to meet up with them mid-tour in Dalton, Georgia. I left my dull and unchallenging job as a strip mall maintenance man and prepared to depart with my Mom’s blessing.

Like many other locals, my mother Pauline loved Billy Ray and was proud of his sudden ascension from relative obscurity. She briskly helped to pack my bags for me, and with a beaming smile, coyly volunteered to drive me down to the rendezvous. I told her that my buddy Greg had already agreed to drop me off, but before a frown could chase the happy expression on her precious face away, I asked her if she might join us on the trip. Although a few years younger than myself, Greg Barney has been a friend of mine for many years.

He came from a wonderful family who, despite my longer hair and sometimes questionable fashion sense, continually accepted me with open minds and caring hearts, always making me feel comfortable in their home. Greg and I are both voracious readers (and writers) and we share a passion for comic books, science fiction, movies, and music. We’ve attending a number of concerts together and although he didn’t play an instrument, Greg does have broad, if discriminating music tastes.

I didn’t even own a car for a few years and Greg soon became my chauffeur, confidante, and all around sounding board during a time when the direction of my life was uncertain. I thank him sincerely for having put up with me during so many tumultuous moments in my twenties and beyond. I don’t know if I could have weathered some of the storms in my life if not for his solid friendship and patience. The afternoon that I joined the tour was one I’ll never forget. Upon our arrival at the motel, I was informed at the desk that Billy Ray had already long departed for the venue, but before I could check into my room, I was greeted by members of the band as they were headed for the limo.

Mom told them that she wanted to say hi to Billy, and they cordially invited us to ride down to the venue with them. Tickled pink, my mother got to take her first limousine ride at the age of 64. Once at our destination, we were met by a security officer who escorted us through a rear door and into a small room where we parted company with the band. As they went off to parts unknown, we were led down a corridor to see Billy, whereupon we came to another door that opened into a bright room full of dozens of women in skimpy bikinis amid various stages of hair and make-up.

Unbeknown to us, Billy was one of the judges for a local beauty contest that was being held before the concert started that night, and we were being led straight through one of their dressing rooms.

Never one to miss an opportunity for a laugh, Mom turned to me and said with a mock tone of seriousness, “Well I can see that Billy Ray still likes to decorate his own dressing rooms.” Even our guide snickered. We followed him through the haze of hairspray and before long found ourselves in another room full of girls, but this time it was a small troop of Girl Scouts who were being brought over to Billy one-by-one to get their photo taken with him. Mom and I waited patiently until they were whisked away back into the hallway before approaching Billy, who instantly recognized us and broke into a wide grin, seemingly surprised to see us. This was the first time I had encountered Billy since the album had dropped. As he shook my hand and welcomed me aboard, I couldn’t help but take note that he was wearing a thin application of facial make-up, something that I didn’t expect, but was familiar with from my own band experiences.

Other than the cosmetic enhancement, on all accounts he looked pretty much the same as he had almost a year earlier except that his biceps were a bit larger and his ponytail was longer. He greeted Mom and Greg, before introducing us to another ponytailed, tall guy standing nearby. His name was Steve Wallach, whom I would soon discover was BRC’s new bodyguard and personal assistant, hired to publicly accompany Billy at all times to and from personal appearances as protection from unfavorable situations and anyone wishing him harm. Steve may have looked like a tough guy, but that was his job. He was really very earthy and loved a good laugh as much as the next person, but when he was on duty it was all business.

Bodyguard or not, Mom hugged Billy Ray tight and they posed as I snapped their photo, but she was so excited to see him that she didn’t hush up long enough for me to get one without her mouth open. I teased her about it after they were developed (she was such a good sport when it came to such matters), but today when I look at it I can’t stop thinking about how I’d give anything just to hear her voice one more time. Billy offered us some refreshments from a long table piled deep with catered edibles and plastic eating utensils, but we opted instead for some bottled water before heading toward the door, with him explaining sarcastically how he had to go and deal with the atrocious task of judging a beauty pageant.

Mom wanted to watch some of the show, so we were led out to the event area and seated out of the audience’s view on stage left. This was all fine and dandy until the concert began as we were bowled over by sonic bombardment due to our placement right in front of the mains (very large house PA system speakers).

The volume level was deafening, quite literally so for my poor mother, who soon developed a mild case of tinnitus and struggled with it until her death in 2008. (She logically never blamed Billy for it however, and declined all offers to seek medical attention, claiming that she didn’t want to wear a hearing aid insisting she could hear just fine.) I also now mildly suffer from it myself, but luckily the damage was minimal. The trooper that Mom was, she stuck it out for about twenty minutes before having me relocate her to another spot, but the view was not as desirable. When the show ended I went in search of my room, and after helping to carry in my baggage, Mom and Greg debated whether or not to stay or leave for home.

Without wasting a breath, the band members gladly offered up a couple of their rooms, explaining that they would just sleep on the bus. Off they all shuffled and I helped my two weary traveling companions off to their rooms, only to have my first encounter with BRC’s new over-enthusiastic new fans occur that very night.

As I returned to my room on the second floor of the motel, before I could climb the stairs, a group of five young women approached me after spying my new tour laminate (a type of permanent all-access working pass ID tag given to band and crew members) and asked me what room Billy Ray was in. I honestly didn’t know the answer, but they wouldn’t accept that. Instead, they followed me to my doorway explaining how they were his biggest fans in the whole wide world and they just wanted an autograph. I turned the key in the lock and wished them a good night and good luck, but in just a few minutes I heard giggling as they knocked on the door.

 I reminded them through the door that I didn’t know Billy’s location and that I needed rest, but they remained outside talking and laughing for at least ten more minutes before meandering off. A half-hour later they were back knocking, this time offering me ten dollars to tell them where Billy was. I was now getting aggravated but managed to keep my composure as I told them to keep their money, explaining that he was staying at one of the other hotels to avoid attention. That sent them packing and thankfully they didn’t return.

After getting a good night’s sleep, I arose for some breakfast with Mom and Greg who afterwards wished me luck and departed for home as I promised to call her regularly. I next read a copy of the tour itinerary, and then headed off to the next destination. I’ve always enjoyed traveling. The road is a pathway to adventure, but it’s definitely not for everyone. There is a lot to keeping a show rolling smoothly and although there are definitely perks, there are also a lot of snags. To better give you an understanding of how band life on the road operates, a few things should first be explained for those who haven’t experienced it. Some think that when you work with a traveling band, you must get sick of seeing each other so much. The truth is, there is very little time for interaction with one another because of all of the downtime involved.

There’s the fact that sleeping is of course a must, but there’s also the travel time itself, where there is little else to do but sit and wait. If you’re not the actual person behind the wheel, you might kill time by watching TV, listening to music, or reading. Luckily, most tour buses at the time were coming equipped with telephones and video game consoles, two developments that certainly helped to while away the hours.

Upon arrival at the next hotel, the band members usually have some time to check in and relax while the crew goes to work to set up the stage gear and sound & lighting equipment. At one point, usually in the early afternoon, the band takes the stage for a sound check to set all of the sound levels for that particular room. Afterwards, it’s often time for dinner with a little more free time before the show starts. As for food, there is almost always plenty backstage as all concert promoters offer catering as part of their services.

Often, there’s a wide array of sliced breads, deli meats, crackers, and cheeses with all of the garnishments and condiments that accompany such fare. Sometimes a local restaurant might provide hot meals of soups or stews along with hot dogs and hamburgers, spaghetti, lasagna, pizza, or any number of ethnic or specialty foods. There are ice-laden coolers full of bottled water, soda pop, various juices, and a selection of beer supplied to wash it all down with, and sometimes you might spot a bottle of champagne or vintage wine thrown in as a gift offering from the promoters themselves.

Special items may be provided upon the artists’ request as a part of their contract agreement (commonly called a rider because they “ride” along on the end of the list of regular requests). Some examples might include cakes, pies, or candy, but some ask for more uncommon things like pet food, candles, pillows, or even services like a manicurist or a masseuse.

You would think that with all of the catered food available that there would be little need to eat elsewhere, but a small daily stipend called a “per diem” (Latin for “each day”) is often allotted outside of any salary for unprovided meals. By eating backstage or taking cheap meals, one may actually save some of this cash for other things.

The costs of catering are almost always absorbed by the promoter, an integral figure in the modern music business that indirectly helps to keep bands comfortable once they hit the road. Record labels love them because they provide important elements to touring that saves the label from putting up large amounts of corporate money for certain costs. A promoter also puts up his own cash towards the expense of renting out the venue for a concert, provides all of the hotel accommodations, and pays for the costs of running radio, television, and print ads to announce the event.

They might also pay for the backstage and local transportation perks like cab rides or limo services. In return for their time and investment, they receive a small percentage from the purchase price of every ticket, a sum that might add up to a few thousand dollars for a single concert providing that there’s a good turn-out.

The labels are at no risk, with the loss falling on the promoter if attendance is low. While most invest in only a night or two, some promoters might handle five or more shows in their part of the country. Opening acts are paid only a set salary, but BRC became a headline act almost overnight. Billy Ray became the hottest ticket on the planet and promoters were climbing over one another to get a piece of the action. One negative aspect of dealing with many promoters is their insistence on a on a meet-and-greet, a term for the situation of having to personally meet the promoter (and often their attending family members, friends, business associates, or other entourage) and providing them with autographs, T-shirts or other merchandise, and a photo op.

But promoters are just a part of it. In a seemingly thoughtful gesture, certain hotels, inns, or lodges may often offer free laundry services and send personal invitations to artists to have dinner with them and other esteemed guests. This is especially true on cruise ships and at high profile hotels. While such offers are certainly appreciated, the underlying intent is often merely to allow the host bragging rights and a personal photo op. Billy Ray was in such high demand at the time that he could not possibly have taken time to meet-and-greet everyone, but he did make an effort to do so as best he could. Success and fame both come with a price, and that price more often than not is a precious commodity called time.