New Live Track Premiere
Musician: MCBRIDE & THE RIDE
Song: “Going Out of My Mind”
MCBRIDE & THE RIDE PREMIERE NEW LIVE TRACK
“GOING OUT OF MY MIND”
McBride & the Ride is a Country music band featuring Terry McBride on lead vocal and bass, Ray Herndon on guitar and backing vocals, and Billy Thomas on drums and backing vocals. The group was founded in 1989 by recording producer Tony Brown, and their first three albums were issues on MCA Nashville: Burnin’ Up the Road, the gold-certified Sacred Ground, and Hurry Sundown—released respectively in 1991, 1992 and 1993. These albums produced several Billboard country chart hits, including the Top 5 hits “Sacred Ground,” their highest peaking at No. 2, “Going Out of My Mind,” “Just One Night,” and “Love on the Loose, Heart on the Run.”
Mmusicmag is thrilled to premiere the new live track “Going Out of My Mind.”
We talked with Terry McBride about this new recording, his songwriting, and what continues to motivate him to continue this fabulous journey.
Tell us about the inspiration behind writing “Going Out of My Mind.”
I have vivid memories of writing this song. I had met my co-writer, Kostas. He’s a Greek guy whose family came to the U.S. with a grant to start a dairy farm in Montana, of all places. He became this phenomenal songwriter. He would write songs and create these cool harmonies. He had a high singing voice—real unusual. A producer in Nashville, Tony Brown at MCA, who ended up signing me, discovered Kostas—who wrote songs for Patty Loveless, Dwight Yoakam and a lot of artists.
Kostas was BMI Songwriter of the Year, at that time.
You are exactly right. That’s when I met him. Renee Bell took me to the BMI Awards when I was fresh off the boat in Nashville. Kostas was Songwriter of the Year. She set me up to write with him. I was on the road with my band, McBride & the Ride. We were up in Canada touring with The Judds. We broke off and did some solo dates. Kostas picked me up at Great Falls and we rode back to Bozeman, which is where he was living. I’d just met him, and I was getting to know him. You never know how it’s going to go with a cowrite.
Were you nervous?
I had been working so hard to have an idea for a song because I was going to write with the Songwriter of the Year! I was curled up in the fetal position at the back of the bus trying to get a decent idea! I had a little chorus, and I liked the idea “I can’t stand the thought of you—going out of my mind.” It was almost like a negative/positive spin. I thought that maybe a hook. Kostas had just gotten off the phone with a couple of dear friends who were getting a divorce. He was concerned and upset about it. He had a little bit of wine, and he started singing, “Oh, the light in your eyes is not shining—the way it used to.” And I couldn’t write it down fast enough. We were on a roll. As we were writing the song, it started snowing outside. I didn’t realize it, but when we finished that song, there was 4-5 inches of snow, as it will do in Montana. It was just a magical night.
Did you know you had something?
We finished that song, and I thought “Boy, this is a good song.” I took it to Tony Brown, and I played the song acoustically for him. He immediately said, “That’s going on the album.” Then it became a hit single for us. It was a huge thrill.
What was it that clicked with you and Tony Brown?
My music just caught him on the right day. People were always trying to get music to him—get artists to him. I had submitted some songs to Tony, when I was living in West Texas, in Lubbock. A friend of mine and I had cut a demo of some songs. One of them was a song that I later recorded. For the demo, my friend took a picture of me. It was crazy. And the songs were okay. We had submitted them to Tony, who was my favorite producer. He had just produced that Steve Earle record Guitar Town. He produced Lyle Lovett, and those Patty Loveless songs I loved, and Steve Wariner. Tony was involved with everyone I wanted to be like and looked up to. It was the mid-80s, and I got the letter from Tony with the MCA letterhead—and it was a rejection letter. And years later, I was signed by that same guy, Tony! Years later he signed me, I showed him that rejection letter, and it was funny.
Where did you record during those early years?
We cut all those early demos in Austin, where I was living at the time. I was writing with Bill Carter and Ruth Ellsworth. They just took me in. I was on the road with Delbert McClinton, playing bass. I loved Delbert so much, but I thought, “I don’t want to be Delbert’s bass player for the rest of my life”—even though I love him. At that time, we were doing such cool gigs. He was an amazing musician, and a wonderful person to be learning from. Every night, his shows were incredible. We were touring with Huey Lewis, John Fogerty—it was never a dull moment. But I wanted more. I wanted to create my own songs and create my own path. So, I got out of that band and auditioned for a band in Austin called Bill Carter & the Blame. Bill was getting ready to go on tour with Stevie Ray Vaughan. Bill and Ruth were writing songs for Stevie: “Crossfire” and “Willie the Wimp.” They took me in. I played them some of my home demos. When we got off that tour they said, “Let’s start writing some Country songs.” We did, and they just elevated my songwriting. I brought in a bunch of friends to record the demos, and the songs were so cool. By the time we got to Tony Brown, he was curious about Bill and Ruth because our demos didn’t sound like anything in Nashville. They weren’t cut there, and they weren’t written there. Tony liked that. So, I guess we got the right guy at the right time. Fortunately for me, it turned into a record deal with MCA, with Tony guiding me through it.
Was that on the album Sacred Ground?
Yes. The first album was called Burnin’ Up the Road. It had our first single, “Can I Count on You”—which finally connected with radio. “Same Old Star” was the follow-up. Then, the first single from our second album was “Sacred Ground.” And the follow-up single was “Going Out of My Mind.” And that was followed by “Just One Night.” There were three singles from that album. Three videos with—all that hair! (Laughs)
Tell us about your early songwriting experience.
I was living in Austin, and Renee Bell was my point person at the label. She set me up for my first cowrite—and it was with Guy Clark! I couldn’t sleep for days leading up to that cowrite. I grew up on Jerry Jeff Walker. I was in high school, and I’d buy those albums, and I’d see his name: Guy Clark. I always wondered, “Who is this guy—Guy Clark?” I loved all his songs. I’d loved everything about him, and I’d never met him. And now—I was going to meet him. And he was a big guy. I had five ideas ready to go for him. He just said, “Sit down. Let’s just visit.” I was trying to tell him how wonderful he was, and he didn’t want to hear any of it: “I don’t want to hear that sh*t.” And I thought, “Oh, no! Now I’ve upset Guy Clark!” (Laughs) Then he said, “I really like that first idea—let’s work on that.” We talked and wrote a little bit. He said, “I’m going to take this home and work on it, and then you come out to my house.” And then he says, “Do you wanna get high?” And I went, “Yes sir.” (Laughs) And then I thought—now I’m high with Guy!
It was a crazy experience, but he had no idea that he gave me the confidence boost I was lacking. I hadn’t done a lot of cowriting outside of my friends from Austin. It was shocking. All of a sudden, I was thrown into Music Row—here’s how we do it here. He really helped me feel better about what I was trying to do. He got me on the path to songwriting with other legendary songwriters that I’d looked up to.
How did you first learn about these songwriters?
When I was growing up, my Dad had Billboard magazine. My Dad was a singer-songwriter—a touring guy. I saw all those names in Billboard. I loved that about Billboard. You’d see who wrote the song, who produced it. I would see a lot of the same names—Dean Dillon, Jacky Ward, and some of those early guys I had a chance to write with. Then I came to Nashville, and here they were—Harlan Howard. They were real people—walking around. It was mind-blowing.
Tell us about your Dad, Dale McBride. He was a touring musician. And even your grandmother played hymns on the piano. How did your family influence you on this journey?
It was really my Dad. I wanted to be just like him. He had built a little carport office/garage, right next to our house. He had his reel-to-reels in there, with instruments and cool amps. My Dad passed away years ago, and I now have those. I’m a collector. Having his stuff is important to me. I saw all these cool people coming and going. These musicians were speaking this lingo—everything was a cool cat or whatever. I wanted to be just like them. My Dad had a trailer, a panel truck in which they were traveling. I’d get in that trailer and it smelled crazy. I didn’t know it was cigarette smoke and beer. All the clothes were in there. I loved all of it.
It must have been a fun environment.
Music was all around our house—all the time. It was either his albums, or he was rehearsing and recording. It was never-ending. But he was gone a lot. If he’d go to the West Coast, he’d be gone on a tour sometimes for three months—making his way back through the Midwest—then back to Texas. It was what I grew up with. My Mom was a stay-at-home Mom, and I had my grandparents next door. My Dad was really gone for a lot of my childhood. It wasn’t until later that I showed an interest in music.
How did you get started?
I got a guitar for my ninth birthday. My Dad bought me this little guitar in Mexico. My Dad loved going to Mexico. He performed in Juarez at La Fiesta Ballroom. He’d stay in El Paso and go back and forth every night. He’d play with a Mexican orchestra for a couple of weeks at a time. He was an interesting guy. He was so accomplished. All his music was written out in charts—whether it was bass, drums, horns. He could write it all—notation by hand. He was very knowledgeable, very sharp—an extremely talented musician. He didn’t really want me to go down this path, so it was a bit of a struggle. I had a lot of desire in the beginning—probably more desire than talent. I just stuck with it. He wanted me to do everything he didn’t do—go to school, college, things like that. I took my guitar to school in the fifth grade and played “Hey Jude.” My teacher liked it so much. She let me play for every class. I got out of an entire day of schoolwork, and I thought, “This is the road for me!”—a captive audience and no homework. I was on the road to my dreams. I could already visualize where I was headed.
Your band had Ray Herndon, who was a backing musician for Lyle Lovett, and Billy Thomas, who played with Emmylou Harris and Mac Davis. How did all of that happen?
That was all Tony Brown. He’s a producer, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a record or a dinner party. He’s going to arrange it and produce it, and it’s going to be perfect. That’s what he does. And every piece is going to have the right energy. New Year’s Eve, 1989, he invited me to see George Strait, Patty Loveless and Vince Gill. I took my wife. He took me into the dressing room and said, “Terry, here’s the deal. We have this band, the Desert Rose Band, and they’re going away. I love your songs. I’m going to sign you. But what do you think of being a band. I’ve got a couple of guys in mind. He was using Billy on all kinds of projects: Vince Gill, Marty Stuart (Hillbilly Rock). He was singing on those Vince Gill records. He’s a phenomenal background, high tenor guy that you’d love to have in your band—and an incredible drummer. He was with Emmylou’s Hot Band.
Tony had just produced that first Lyle Lovett record, and Ray Herndon was in that band. Ray has continued to play on all those Lyle records. He met Lyle in 1983, over in Europe. These guys were completely accomplished, and wonderful musicians. Tony brought us together, along with Steve Fishell, who was also with Emmylou. Tony just put us in a room, and we started practicing. We thought we were these badass musicians, and it was going to be killer. We had no idea we’d have this family harmony blend, until we started rehearsing. So that was a big old bonus, and that harmony became our signature sound. The songs I was writing was part of our direction, but our harmony was so unique. I’ve been in a lot of bands with a lot of great singers, but you don’t always get that special blend. We had something cool, and we still do. We just wrapped up a weekend of dates in Texas, and we’re still enjoying it.
I met Billy for lunch, here in town. I met Ray in Austin; he was playing with Lyle at the Paramount Theatre. And we hit it off. Personally, we liked each other. We laugh and cut up just like we did, back in the day—cutting each other down—making fun of each other. So much fun. Three decades later, we’re still having as much fun, and maybe even more so now—because we’re completely in charge of what we’re doing, how much we want to do, and what we want to do. We’re lucky.
Tell us about the switch to Terry McBride & the Ride.
The label was pushing to put more focus on me, and because of that it pushed Billy and Ray out. It was a crazy time. They were trying to elevate our success at any cost, and it cost me the original band. I was fortunate to have some new great players: Keith Edwards on drums—incredible player, a great person, the sweetest guy. Bob Britt, who is playing guitar with Bob Dylan. Kenny Vaughan was another guitar player—he plays with Marty Stuart now. I was in good company, but it wasn’t the same. Even though the original band parted ways, we never lost touch. I invited Ray to a solo show at the Musical Instrument Museum in Phoenix, and he came up and sang with me. He called Billy and said, “We should still be doing this.” And that got the ball rolling.
What did you learn about yourselves once you recorded this live album?
Last year we learned something real important—that we can still play and work together cohesively as the band. It doesn’t always work for bands. You sometimes see reunion bands and everybody’s in a separate bus or they don’t talk. Or it’s just one original guy, and the guy who used to sell merch is now in the band. Sometimes there’s not even one original member in the band. It’s actually pretty sad. But this is all the original guys, and because of that—it’s the combination that gives us power. We just happened to record two nights out in Scottsdale at a club that Ray and his family have had for 50 years: Handlebar J. We had a multitrack recording. We rehearsed one day and recorded two nights. When we got the tracks back, Ray said, “Man, there’s some great stuff here—you should listen to it.” We were fortunate to pick and choose the night and the song. A lot of fans have asked us if we’re ever going to cut a live record. It’s something we hadn’t done. We thought it was something cool to have for this year.
Do you remember the first time you heard one of your songs on the radio?
I’ll never forget it for a couple of reasons. I was living in Austin, and the big station there was KASE 101—a big Country station. They later went on to wear out our music. It was a dream come true. Our shows would be packed. I was living down in Austin and our very first song came out—it was called “Every Step of the Way.” It wasn’t a big hit, but they were playing it. I had a little Camaro, and I was driving over to my sister’s house. That song came on the radio for the first time. I couldn’t believe it! There was George Strait, then there was me—it was unreal. I was driving along, and the cop pulls me over—at the same time my song is on. There’s no telling how fast I was going. I was so excited—even when the cop got to my window. I said, “Hey man, I’m sorry, but I’m on the radio—they’re playing my music!” And the guy looks at me, dead pan, and says, “Yeah, and I’m Johnny Cash!” He proceeded to write me a ticket. I’ll never forget it. I was on my way from Austin to a little town called Pflugerville, where my sister was living. I went from a high to a low in 60 seconds. I thought the cop would be excited for me, but he was not impressed.
Tell us about those early Austin years.
I moved from Lampasas to Austin. It was a great place to grow up. Sixth Street was amazing. I graduated in 1977. Every building was a venue. You could hear Stevie Ray at Steamboat—guitar sounds coming out of the windows. It’s where I cut my teeth. I met people who were playing with Delbert and Stevie Ray. These people took me in and gave me opportunities. Reese Wynans, the keyboard player for Delbert who went on to play for Double Trouble, is now with Joe Bonamassa—he was at my Dad’s studio, and said, “Man, I think I’ve got a gig for you.” It was a cocktail gig at the Hyatt Hotel on Town Lake in Austin—with Reese and Ernie Durawa, from the Texas Tornados with Doug Sahm and Freddy Fender. We would play there five nights a week, from 5 PM – 9 PM for $50 a night, and we could eat at the employee’s cafeteria. Then Reese created a band around me as the lead singer—called the C Notes. It was mind-blowing because he was a world class player, and he was taking time with me. I’ll never forget it. He was another guy who gave me the confidence I needed back in those early days.
Tell us about a happy accident in the recording studio?
It’s happened a lot of times. When you’re a writer or a producer, you think you have a great idea where this is going to go. Then a lick or something can take you to a whole other place. We’re fortunate to be in Nashville where we have world class musicians. I was in a session with Tom Bukovac, one of my favorite guitar players. He was just warming up one day—getting sounds, like guitars players do. He was playing the most incredibly cool thing. I said, “Tom, what is that from?” He said, “I’m just warming up.” I said, “Let’s use that somewhere!” We used it. It wasn’t something we had—going into the session. That’s the beauty of having these brilliant players who are capable of elevating music to a place that’s hypnotic—or ear candy—that you can’t live without, now that you have it. Instead of trying to do it all, I’m open to other people and other ideas. It’s the same with songwriting as it is with recording. I am open to it, so that I don’t miss something.
A song like “No More Crying” was used in the movie 8 Seconds—and it took you where you didn’t expect.
I started that song on a bass guitar because I didn’t have a guitar that day, back in the bus. (He starts humming the tune.) I wanted something like Little Feat—that vibe, that tempo. The label wanted an up-tempo single to come out of the soundtrack. They sent me the script and said, read the script and write something from the movie. Then they said, forget that—just give us something up-tempo. So, I started that song out of necessity. I had the bass, and I created a riff. I got together with Josh Leo, this LA producer who later became a friend of mine. I took what I had to him, and we finished it in his cool cabin studio outside of Franklin, Tennessee. That was a great moment because he’s such a good player. Our little work tape already sounded like a record. It was just the two of us. I played bass and sang the song. He played the cool slide, and I thought—this is already feeling good. On my last Terry McBride album, he brought Timothy B. Schmit to sing, just before he did the Eagles reunion. Josh played on “Bette Davis Eyes” and other cool stuff with Jimmy Buffett and others. He also produced those Alabama hits.
What advice did you get early on—that is still important to you?
My Dad sat me down when I was still in high school. In the early days, my Dad did his own booking and taxes, and later he had a manager. He sat me down and said, “Son, if you want to get into this business, you need to realize it is a business. There are taxes to be paid because you’re self-employed. You need to think about that, and also about whether you want to have a family. Do you want to be on the road? What do you want to do? I was freewheeling and having fun. My Dad was the reality check. He was not impressed—even when I got signed to MCA. He’d say, “That’s a great thing but there’s no guarantee.” That’s who he was. He didn’t sugarcoat things. He didn’t dish out too many compliments. He was stern and firm. He was totally different from me, but I probably needed to hear that, at that time. He loved me to death, but he was one of those old school guys.
What advice do you have for someone who wants to start their own music journey?
It’s like the old saying: How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice. That’s the first step. If you want to do something in music, you need to put in those 10,000 hours to become Tom Petty or whoever you look up to. That will hopefully connect you with someone else who’s doing the same thing. Forget about being famous. Look locally. Is there somebody doing what you want to do? Reach out to them. You’ve got to get out and meet some people. Songwriting is a lonely business in the beginning. When I came to Nashville, I wasn’t writing with anyone. But I kept at it. If you have that drive and desire, you will just do it. I slowly started meeting musicians. You have to be persistent and diligent. You’ve got to be serious about it—like my Dad instilled in me early on. You can’t be a goofball just wandering out there. Figure out your talent. Are you leaning toward playing an instrument? Are you a lyricist? Can you do both? If you can, keep working at it. Be yourself. Keep it genuine and real, and someone will pick up on that. If you’ve got the talent, someone will want to do something with you—even if it’s just putting a little garage band together. That’s not a bad place to start. That’s where I started. Then you go from there. Have dreams, but don’t be unrealistic. Start small and you might end up getting somewhere big one day.
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