VINCE GILL
In 1989, Gill switched labels and was reunited with old pal Tony Brown, not a bad guy to know. As current president of MCA Nashville, Brown’s dominance as Music City’s premier tastemaker puts him within striking distance of Chet Atkins-hood. As a producer, his name is punched like a brand on so much product it’s hard to believe any human’s got that much time. He must be conducting studio sessions over his cellular phone. Country Music magazine gossip columnist Hazel Smith has taken to calling him “Tony (wow) Brown” in print.
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And his live show at Poplar Creek? He won a few points for looking like he just rolled out of bed, but that departure from his normally pressed-on image was partly due to the evening’s humidity, which did almost as big a number on Vince’s hair as it did on mine. As he sauntered around on laid-back autopilot, backed by a nine-piece band that pointlessly showcased two drummers playing the same parts, he seemed very, very . . . nice. When he turned to his well-oiled but bored-looking backing machine and called out in his breathy, high-pitched drawl “Let’s swing it, y’all,” the phrase contained all the gusto of a weekend golfer commanding his caddie to hand him the nine iron. Whenever he launched into one of his wimpy love songs, a parade of women filed to the stage in an orderly fashion and laid flowers at the feet of Nashville’s current Teflon superstar. He sang in his best facsimile of sincerity and played “hot” licks on his guitar, vaporizing into the haze of a thousand similar pickers. But make no mistake–Vince isn’t just a surface guy. If you listened closely enough, there was something deeper to be heard. Hidden behind each perfect note was the cry that should resonate with force to bedrock country fans across the ages–“Fore!”
