Songwriters Circle: Mike Willis

12 years ago Liv Carter 3
Original photo by Amy Hobbs, edited for UCN

For a few months now, one of the bands generating a buzz in Nashville is The Cumberland Collective. This cheerfully-chaotic cluster of songwriters was a hit at Folk Alliance 2012, and is just weeks away from releasing their debut album, In the Room.

One of the writers at the core of this collective is Georgia-native Mike Willis. After a publishing deal with Big Tractor Music and, at the time of the interview, still signed to Better Angels, Willis has gotten a good look at the workings of the Nashville songwriters scene. He was willing to delve into his experiences to help unpack this world and I was very much willing to listen. We met for an early morning chat at a coffee house in The Gulch in Nashville and the caffeinated conversation turned as deep as exploring what it means to find joy.

Themes from previous songwriters interviews once again surfaced as well: the willingness to be oneself, the need for honesty, the struggle with the industry’s demands. If you are interested in finding out more about songwriting in Nashville, do read on. (Also, if you are one of the songwriters I have pressed upon that joining NSAI is essential, you can find out why I say that.)

 

UCN: If you know the answer to this, why did you start writing?
Mike Willis: You’ve probably heard this answer before. When I was in 3rd grade, I had this huge crush on this girl. And I wasn’t like normal kids who had a crush and got over it, I had this crush all through 8th grade. I didn’t even really know her so it was just kind of silly, but I started singing contemporary music because I thought it’d be a way of getting her attention. I was kind of socially awkward at times but the one thing I could do was sing. I’d been singing classically for three years from 3rd grade on. Then I went on a talent show in Atlanta and sang ‘Everything I Do, I Do it for You.’ The real purpose was to win that thing and get her attention. I won the Decatur area competition and then got third place in the big show. And she came to that show! We never went out or anything but it sent me down that path of using music to express myself.

UCN: You had found a more profound reason by then.
MW: Yes. And in contemporary music, I found I could express my teenage angst. *smiles* The natural progression was that I started my own rock band in freshman year in High School. The first song I wrote for that band was called ‘Dominique Moceanu.’ It was when the Olympics were in Atlanta…

UCN: Oh, that’s funny… I’m going to need to hear this song, I have a background in gymnastics.
MW: Oh really? *smiles* Yeah, it may be one of the best songs I’ve ever written. In fact, at our last Cumberland Collective show somebody screamed “Dominique Moceanu!” from the crowd and I had to play it. *smiles*

UCN: You still remember it?
MW: Oh yeah! That song is kind of a testament to why I wrote songs, and it was the first one I ever really wrote. It’s kind of like a letter to her, ‘Hey, notice me. If I wrote you a letter for real that would just be weird, so I’m going to write you a song.’ Still, the best songs I write are really person-to-person. It used to be to girls I was dating, I’ve written prayers to God, since my kids were born I’ve written songs to them, a lot of them are to my wife. I just feel I have a lot to say.

UCN: Good. No writer’s block for you!
MW: No, I’m psychotic enough to where I keep creating problems for myself. *smiles*

UCN: On purpose?
MW: I don’t know… Maybe.

UCN: Because that happens. I’ve had writers admit that to me.
MW: I can’t say I cause myself heartache and frustration on purpose but I get in my own way a lot. Maybe when I was younger I did. I don’t really want to my life go to pieces again, just for the sake of getting material. We all have struggles though, the only thing that changes is how you deal with them.

UCN: How has the writing changed over the years? Does it become more structured as you learn about the technicalities of writing, as you learn language, or does it remain intuitive?
MW: I’ve been writing since I was 16, I’m now 31, so things have changed.

UCN: In the older songs, do you still recognize your style?
MW: Definitely. There are times when I felt like I hit a sweet spot. Seriously, ‘Dominique Moceanu’ may be one of the best songs I’ve written. It’s catchy, it’s simple because I didn’t know how to play guitar. It was songwriting in its purest form.

UCN: It’s a poem which then got set to music?
MW: Right. The mood, the lyric, and the music all match. Like my album, In the Red, I cut in Boston which was written at a really dark time in my life. I had lost my best buddy, I was working long hours, I was heartbroken over a girl, and I recorded that album at my buddy’s apartment. I worked one job from 5 am til noon, then worked a second job from 1 pm to sometimes 7-8 pm. Then I’d go to my buddy’s place and record. This was during the winter in Boston which is cold and dark and miserable. The songs that came out of that still resonate with me. That was like ‘a moment’. The lyrics aren’t all linear and crafted like a Nashville song. That was as far to the left brain as I ever went. Then I started to swing back to this crafted pop thing. There’s times where I like that, and times where I like writing the other way. Since I’ve been in Nashville, I think my craft has got a lot better. When the pendulum does swing back to that left-brain stuff, I’m better equipped to bend the rules a little bit. And I find that when I choose songs to record, the ones that represent me, I reside more in those songs on the left.

UCN: Why did you choose Nashville?
MW: It was a simple choice. In Atlanta I tried to break through in the scene there for about 6 years. I was kind of a dummy, and I pissed a lot of people off. I don’t know, it was kind of my awkward teenage years in my twenties. *laughs* The last thing I did there was a cut a record at Tree Sound Studios. I thought if I could just make a really great-sounding record I can get a label to pick it up and I’ll be on my way. I got some help from an investor and spent a lot of my own money, and we made a record that cost $50,000. Got it mastered at Sterling Sound in New York, I pulled out all the stops. I played it for people in New York, in L.A. and in Atlanta. I got one resounding piece of feedback: it sounds amazing but the songs aren’t quite there. And I was like ‘oh, don’t tell me that. Tell me the vocals need to be better, tell me the production needs to be changed, because I can fix those things.’ The one thing I couldn’t change with time or money was the songs. They all told me the songs were almost there and ‘you should move to Nashville.’ I can’t tell you how many times I heard that! Finally I accepted that. When I came here, six months later I got offered my first deal and that record had everything to do with it as Scott Hendricks [of Big Tractor Music] loved it.

UCN: How did you go about getting those first meetings?
MW: NSAI were instrumental. They helped me by talking about me to folks whom I didn’t know. Every Thursday, NSAI has an event and it can be a pitch to a publisher, or a talk. I went to every single one of those and met great writers. Writing with them created interest from the publisher level. I was meeting regularly with about 5 publishers. If they let me in, I’d go back every two weeks and play a new song. The feedback was always good, but Big Tractor was the only one who wanted to offer me a deal.

UCN: What was your first impression of the Nashville writers’ scene?
MW: I was a kid in a candy store! I’ve only recently started saying “I’m not sure this is for me”, but that’s because I think I’ve found my community. When I first got here I never said ‘no’ to a co-write and I found myself in some really cool situations and wrote some pretty good songs. But for me right now, writing is a more personal thing. I’m really looking at why I write songs and trying to find that within myself.

UCN: As we were talking about before the interview, I’ve noticed these two schools of thought here. There’s the group for whom songwriting is their job, and it’s not like they don’t write great stuff, it’s just they see it as their job. Then, there is the group who, I think, are more telling the stories they want to tell even if the songs are not commercially viable.
MW: I’ve written with a range of people, and this is not a commentary on what the right philosophy is…

UCN: Yes, I’m not saying either way is right or wrong, I’ve just noticed the difference.
MW: I’ve written with people who will stop a train of thought and go ‘Wait, would such-and-such say this?’ And I’ve always been more like I don’t really give a shit if they would or not. *smiles* Maybe I’m more focused on the end-user…

UCN: Oh, that’s interesting. So it’s writing for the audience rather than the manufacturer?
MW: Yeah, rather than the machine. And it’s not working I guess as I don’t have major cuts. So, it’s not to say my way is better, but it’s better for me. I’m happier as a songwriter. My goal is to write a song that when you hear it at a show, it moves you. But the same thing that moves you, may not move the A&R guy at a label. Here’s something I figured out at Big Tractor… On the surface, the idea is you write for a publisher so you get a backdoor into getting these songs cut. But really you’ve got to get a song past so many people. First, when it’s just a title or an idea, you’ve got to get it by your co-writer. Then you got to get it by your publisher. Then you got to get it by the A&R person at the label, then the producer, then the artist. After that you got to get it by the record label to release it as a single. Then you got to get it by the radio promoter to put it on the playlist. And then finally you got to get it by the American public for it to be a hit song. That’s eight levels!

UCN: And really, between the radio promoters and the audience you’ve got the PDs, and they’re a tough nut to crack…
MW: Yes, so nine levels for you to write a song that’s going to be a hit. I don’t know how, with few exceptions in the country music world, you can write a song with integrity and honesty that’s going to make all those people happy.

UCN: Really? Not possible?
MW: I don’t know that it is. Certainly not with an emotional impact…

UCN: There’s a recent example I can think of immediately, The Band Perry’s ‘If I Die Young.’ I think that’s exceptional.
MW: Ok…

UCN: Not for you? *smiles* I think it’s a song that got written because [Kimberly Perry] wanted to write it. The first time I heard it, before the album was even released, I loved it but I thought ‘They’re never going to get this on the radio; country radio doesn’t want this.’ But look what happened! Occasionally one slips through.
MW: Yes, this is not to say there aren’t great songs that get through; there are tons of them. I felt silly when I was driving over here to meet you and ‘Another Day in Paradise’ came on the radio, the Phil Vassar song, and I teared up. *smiles* When he starts talking about the kid with his teddy coming to sleep in between when they’re trying to get busy, I thought ‘that is so true!’ It just got me. And I was like “Stop it, Willis! You’re too cool for this!” *laughs* A song like that, yes, they get through, but not enough of them get through to make me want to write in that way. It doesn’t make me want to write to get past those nine levels.

UCN: Ok, I see what you mean. You’re not interested in pleasing the people at levels 1 through 8, you want to write for the music fans at level 9.
MW: Maybe that’s what fuels my desire with The Cumberland Collective and my own solo stuff. I’m a performer. I want to see people impacted by my music. If I have to get through those other eight levels, it’s too frustrating, it makes me want to quit. So, what works for me as a writer, to want to keep doing this, is to focus on the ninth level, the final level. And the way to reach them is by going out and play to them myself. And maybe that doesn’t reach thousands of people at a time, maybe it’s only twenty, but it makes me happier to do it that way.

UCN: You’re currently still writing for Better Angels. Once you figure this stuff out, how do you still write what you know they want? How do you motivate yourself to meet your quota?
MW: Meeting my quota has never been a problem. I’ve been on tour with different bands for at least a quarter of this year and I’m way over my quota. To Better Angels’ credit, they’ve never told me what to write. They’ve let me completely do whatever I want to do. I’ve written some of my best songs because I’ve had that freedom. I’ve been encouraged almost to write things that don’t necessarily work for Nashville and that’s been very refreshing. Though, this will be my second deal to end after two years which is a little discouraging. But then again, it falls under the category of things I can’t control. I don’t really have any regrets. There’s a couple of guys I know who have just had a big #1 hit, Phil Barton and Johnny Bulford [who wrote Lee Brice‘s ‘A Woman Like You’ with Jon Stone] and I see them as peers, and they got a #1 hit now. When I saw Phil’s Facebook post I thought ‘Damn, I’m kind of envious.’ I mean, I’d love to have that kind of money coming in and I’d like validation as a writer like that. But, that’s not my path, that doesn’t work for me. If I had chosen their path I either would have been unsuccessful, or I would be miserable.

UCN: Does that mean you think it’s not possible to be both in that sphere of being a successful Music Row writer and be happy with what you’re doing? And I mean for you, with who you are, not in general.
MW: To go the route they did, no. I wouldn’t derive the same joy from doing it that way.

UCN: So is it then a certain personality that fits that?
MW: Sure.

UCN: If you’re not that guy, you’re not that guy, and if you try to be you’ll end up making yourself miserable?
MW: Right. And I think…well, if I’m forced to look at what really makes me happy music-wise, I love writing songs because I am excited about being able to deliver this message and express this feeling I have to someone. I love recording songs because I love putting it in framework that’s unique and beautiful. And I love performing songs, I feel the most natural when I’m performing. The other night with The Cumberland Collective, the band was rocking and I could just totally dig into my guitar, and I could sing the shit out of my songs and have my body do whatever it’s going to do, and really deliver the song. That’s where I derive my joy! I would be excited if someone put one of my songs on hold, I would be excited if someone recorded it and made it a hit. But that’s not joy. Joy is feeling like ‘I am being who I am right now.’ I’m not saying I don’t want a big paycheck from writing songs.

UCN: Do you feel you’d have to be someone you’re not to get there?
MW: No, I would view the paycheck as a peripheral benefit and not the goal.

UCN: Ok, so the money is not the goal, but if it’s a consequence of writing what you want and being who you really are, then great.
MW: Yes. I wouldn’t turn my nose up at it. Some might argue this point, but I feel I write pretty commercial stuff anyway. In fact, the indie community in Atlanta rejected me for being too commercial, so I’m kind of in this spot where I don’t make sense for anybody! *laughs*

UCN: You wrote ‘Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff’, right? And ‘I’m OK with the Way that I Am’, which may be one of my favorites you guys do.
MW: Yeah…

UCN: The first time I heard that I thought ‘oh that’s my theme song!’ *smiles* I come from the same place. I know who I am, I know who I want to be and I know exactly how I want to live my life. If success comes out of that, fantastic. If not, I am still going to live it this way because that’s who I want to be.
MW: Exactly. *smiles*

UCN: Those are message-driven where before you said you like writing direct address.
MW: Yes, but it’s not completely different. When I write those songs, who I’m really addressing is myself.

UCN: Yes, I was going to go into that, that it sounds like you’re writing to society but really you’re telling yourself these things.
MW: Yes, it’s been kind of ‘note to self: the world isn’t going to give you any validation, so I’m going to have to give myself some validation.’ It’s almost a way to keep me honest. It’s like ‘listen dude, if you put this shit in a song, you better back it up!’ If you’re going to sing ‘don’t sweat the small stuff’, and your bass player is running late and isn’t going to make soundcheck, that’s the small stuff. Or when your publishing company doesn’t want to do your demo session, that’s the small stuff. And ‘Being OK with the Way that I Am’ is my way of saying ‘you know what, your buddies just got a #1 hit, great for them, but you aren’t that person so be ok with the way you are; you derive joy from different things.’ It’s easy I think as humans to lose sight of that so I’ve written songs to keep me on the straight and narrow. Right now, The Cumberland Collective is a pretty good setting for this because I like to think it’s comprised of people who have a similar mindset.

UCN: The word ‘joy’ has come up a few times and it’s something I’ve been digging into for myself in my own life. I think joy comes from authenticity, and I think that’s true for every single person and it comes from inside. Some people seem to ignore that and try to get joy from outside praise and validation. It never reaches deep enough to be ‘joy’. I think that’s why The Cumberland Collective works so well. I watched you guys play [at Folk Alliance 2012] in a packed hotel room for 30 people and ‘joy’ was the only word for it.
MW: Absolutely… Well, one of the founding principles of the band is that music is for everyone. So if someone wants to participate, in whatever way they want, they can. We had a few times where someone wanted to sit in but it was clear they were more trying to show off and that doesn’t work. Generally speaking, when someone wants to participate, they, …you know that’s what music is all about! When people first started making music, before they knew they could make money doing it, when they were sitting around in the Appalachian Mountains, people just cut loose and drank beer, or whiskey. Or moonshine… *smiles* They all played music together and everybody sang. It didn’t matter if you were tone-deaf or couldn’t dance, you were still dancing and you were singing because music made you want to do that! I want to reinvigorate that and bring that back around. Music is for everyone; it’s not that hard. It’s not hard to make a great record, as long as it’s honest.

UCN: I think that’s where a lot of people fall. They want to go for the prize and compromise some of their honesty for that.
MW: The band is founded on the idea that music is for everyone, but also on acceptance and celebration of who you are as an individual within a group. I think that’s why we’re able to achieve a soul singer like Jason Eskridge singing right next to a folk singer like Noah Collins. The songs are completely different but they’re still unified, and it’s effortless. We want it to be participatory; we want you to feel like you are part of the show when you watch us play.

UCN: Which is exactly what happens, everything flows back and forth.
MW: It’s like a conversation.

UCN: Yeah…
MW: It’s a party and we want it that way, in the sense that we all leave knowing each other better.

UCN: So back to authenticity in a way, if everybody is who they really are, you can achieve this.
MW: That’s right.

UCN: And how do you write specifically for that? Or don’t you? Do you get in a room with Clay [Evans] and say ‘let’s write for Cumberland Collective’ or do you just write and then find it fits later?
MW: Unless you come with an idea that’s already fitting that context, I think it’s silly to write for a purpose. I think it’s just as silly to sit down and say ‘oh, let’s write a song for Rascal Flatts.’

UCN: Many here do that, all the time.
MW: Not me.

UCN: No, then we’re back to that other group of Music Row writers.
MW: Yes, and there is a brilliance in that. But I still believe there is a moment where the song is given to you, and that doesn’t happen in the context of…I mean, it’s not like it’s given to you and God, or whatever you believe in, says ‘Here’s this title, and I would like you to use it for Blake Shelton.’ He doesn’t work that way; He just says ‘Here’s a title and you should write this.’

UCN: Do you feel that if you did decide to sit down and write for Blake or Luke Bryan or whomever, that you start by limiting yourself? You start by already narrowing your creativity?
MW: That’s exactly what it is, and that’s not fair to that song.

UCN: Oh, I like that; I like that the song is a character is this.
MW: Yes, ultimately the dream for a songwriter should be, I think, that the songs outweigh the people who sing them.

UCN: Yes!
MW: We are writing words and chords, and that’s the most valuable thing we got. It may add value if someone cuts it but the property that changes hands when you sell your catalogue is notes, words and chords. That’s it. In that respect, it’s taking your eye off the ball to write for someone in particular. If you want to write for a specific person, you better get them in the room. That’s the only way you can guarantee they feel a connection with it. I mean, if Blake Shelton wanted to write I’d say ‘what are you thinking about these days, man? Let’s see if we can find a song that feels genuine to both of us.’

UCN: It keeps coming up in every conversation I have about writing, not just interviews but just at a bar after a show, it keeps coming back to that split between ‘this is what I feel I should be doing in Nashville, this is what’s expected of me,’ and ‘this is what I really want to do.’ For some people those really are very far apart and it makes me wonder about them ‘why are you still in this frame of mind when you should be over there doing what you really want?’
MW: Yeah, I don’t know if I was supposed to end up here in Nashville…

UCN: This came out of Folk Alliance for me, where in the folk and Americana community, I was in that hotel with friends…who were people I’d never met. You know what I mean? We were all friends hanging out. I had just left CRS here in Nashville and the contrast couldn’t be bigger. CRS was about the commercial and about the networking and about people’s level of success. I often feel my songwriting friends in that world get evaluated more on the cuts they get than on who they are as people. It drives me crazy and it’s hard for me to see friends get judged that way.
MW: It definitely happens, even at the lower level. Before I moved to Nashville, I performed all over the place. Then here, I could not get on stage even at the Commodore because some dude that wrote a hit in the 1980s wanted to play. To this day I can’t get booked at The Bluebird Café. I could pack the place but I can’t get in, that’s not how this town works. It’s frustrating but that’s the game. You just have to decide if you want to play it.

UCN: And what if you decide you don’t want to play it? Is there still a space for you here?
MW: Yes. For now… For me, right now that space is The Cumberland Collective. Right now, I can’t think of any place in the world I’d rather be writing songs with people. Whenever I go to England, they have a completely different take on writing music.

UCN: Yes. And that’s where I started all this. There were certain things I thought I’d figured out but when I got here and started talking to people about writing, I realized ‘this town doesn’t work that way.’ I discovered these two philosophies for writing and that doesn’t happen in England.
MW: No, and here, if you go to East Nashville, you can’t throw a rock without hitting a really cool singer-songwriter’s house. What might seem like a generic writers night, here, can include people like Dave Pahanish or Isaac Hayden; people you can listen to for three hours and never get bored. When my father-in-law came over from England I decided to have a cook-out. He’s sitting in my back yard and we started passing the guitar around. It was just me, Clay, Connor [Rand], and a few other people and we were just doing our thing. He came to me afterwards and went *in a British accent* “Mike, that was honestly, and I’m not shitting you, mate, the best night of music I’ve ever heard! And it was just in your garden!”

UCN: *laughs* Excellent!
MW: And you couldn’t do that in Atlanta.

UCN: No?
MW: Maybe in Austin…

UCN: That’s what I was going to say; I can see this happening in Austin.
MW: Nashville is a special, special place…

UCN: One of the people you mentioned whom you could listen to for hours is Dave Pahanish, and I agree. But he did get the #1 cuts. So is he an exception to what we have been talking about?
MW: I haven’t figured it out… *smiles*

UCN: And the songs he got cut, they’re ‘real’ lyrics…
MW: I love his writing, man. But then there are songs that I didn’t know he wrote and when I found out, I mean, I’d expect more of him. I guess that’s kind of silly, though, because we all have songs like that.

UCN: Well, yes, if you write 150 songs a year, you’re going to have some which are less good.
MW: Maybe it’s not better or worse… When I’m writing something and I realize it’s not something I’m into, I can’t switch into a right-brain way of writing. And I guess that’s ok. I’ve got songs that don’t represent me. But Pahanish is an interesting guy. He’s got songs that just melt my face off, and he’s had a lot of commercial success too. He does seem to have stayed true to himself and if I had hits I would want it to be on those terms.

UCN: Where do you see your path? If we’re having this conversation in five years’ time, what road have you traveled down?
MW: I have no idea. I hope the band can grow, I hope I can exploit my catalogue to make a decent living, but beyond that I don’t know. I may or may not sign another deal, I may or may not live in Nashville, the band may or may not work out. I don’t have a five-year plan anymore.

UCN: Oh, me neither. I just have a ‘right now’-plan! *smiles*
MW: I had a five-year plan when I moved here, though.

UCN: I used to have a ten-year plan. Now I just have my right-now plan. Much better! *smiles*
MW: Right. *smiles* I think now I make decisions that leave me more open to anything which may or may not come in the next five years.

UCN: Well, I’ll see you in five years to see what happened…
MW: Alright! *smiles*

UCN: Thanks so much for your time!
MW: Thank you!

 

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Liv Carter

Liv Carter

Liv is a career coach for creatives, and the people who work with them.
She holds several certificates from Berklee College of Music, and a certificate in Positive Psychology from UC Berkeley.
Her main influences are coffee, cats, and Alexander Hamilton.
Liv Carter

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