NASHVILLE SPECIAL 2024: THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ERNEST

ERNEST has come into his own. It’s an odd thing to say about a songwriter-artist who’s already received two consecutive CMA Triple Play Awards for scoring three #1s in a single year, whose “Flower Shops” with Morgan Wallen was certified double platinum, who’s spent the last year burning up the road with his own headlining shows, festivals and sharing stages with Wallen.

Many songwriters who attempt the full-on artist shift get close, but don’t quite make it. With Nashville, ERNEST shifts gears. Smoother, broader, more integrated, Ernest Keith Smith’s created a 26-track jubilee of Western swing, ’70s and ’80s country, modern songs pulled through this new aesthetic, a bit of bluegrass, “Twinkle Twinkle” with his son Ryman and an erotically charged take on John Mayer’s “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.” Aesthetically smooth country of a certain vintage, there’s a freshness to all of it that captures the ear and makes the past vital and now, instead of retro.

There’s also a fiddle ’n’ banjo stroll through Radiohead’s “Creep” with Big Loud labelmate HARDY that demonstrates how good songs can be reinvented in completely unthinkable ways—and maintain every bit of their potency. That holds true for “Holdin’ On” with Wallen, which was written with 808s but is given the full-on Conway Twitty sexy tumble live in the studio.

Raised in Music City and best friends with Mitchell Tenpenny, whose grandmother was legendary Sony Tree Publishing head Donna Hilley, ERNEST solidified all the roots of his raising to create a modern mainstream country sound as the genre is finding a new elevation via Beyoncé, Lana Del Rey and Post Malone.

You’ve really grown, even from Flower Shops (The Album): Two Dozen Roses version. It’s so seamless, the way it’s interwoven—and it’s across a lot of songs.

After all the pieces existed, I was able to do the weaving. It’s not all traditional, and I kept some of the songs I might’ve given away. “Did It for the Story,” “Life Goes On,” “Summertime Flies,” we did my way. “Hangin’ On” was written with 808s, but when we were tracking, we ran it through the same band I did everything else with. It’s the “Opry filter”—that’s what I call it.

It’s like time travel: the songs are now, the sounds are then, but it feels like the future.

I wasn’t thinking about time-traveling, but I didn’t want songs like “Hangin’ On” to feel like an ice bath. There’s that whole sepia-toned thing that gets applied to all of it.

What’s the difference? Because you can hear it.

A lot of growth as a songwriter, even since Flower Shop: Two Dozen Roses. I went even further back in my listening, the ’60s even. Roger Miller, Sinatra, everything Willie Nelson. I’ve loved Willie, but now I was studying it all, not just listening as a fan. Kris Kristofferson’s whole catalog. Really digging in. People say, “Garbage in, garbage out.” Well, why not, “Good stuff in, good stuff out”?

I heard Jamey Johnson say in an interview, “It’s our job to talk about those artists who are one generation away from being forgotten, to make sure they’re remembered. It’s our duty.” We’re in the perfect time for it with country becoming popular—as in popular, and so much pop coming to country music. This record holds [what country was] up, and I’m stoked to put my stamp on this moment.

Beyoncé’s sure put the heat on. “TEXAS HOLD ’EM” is a great country song.

It is. I’m happy Beyoncé’s gonna bring her legendary presence to this music. Country music started as soul and gospel. We’re all about songs wide-open to the roots. That’s what it’s about.

You have songs by old-guard icons. Dean Dillon and Skip Ewing with “Would If I Could” is old-school!

Jessie Jo Dillon sent me that song, and I cut it. Then I heard Lainey Wilson had found it in the vaults, and recorded it for an Apple Music thing, so I called her up and said, “We need to get you on this track.” She heard what I heard.

And you co-wrote with Jessie Jo and Dean, her father. What’s that like, doing the daddy-daughter dance when it’s a Country Music Hall of Fame writer?

She’s pretty great about lettin’ Dean Dean. If you’re gonna have him in the room, let Dean do what Dean does. I mean, two Dillons are better than one. “Would If I Could” is one of my favorite songs I’ve ever heard, so writing with him is awesome.

You’ve really transitioned to artist-writer from songwriter-artist, haven’t you?

Without me setting out on a mission, yeah. I narrowed my circle down. I stopped writing songs for anyone and kept songs for myself. I was on the road a lot, but when I was writing for Morgan, I was writing with Morgan.

I got to flex my songwriting muscle for myself on this record. I could use stories and characters, make it like fiction, which was so freeing. I got to be a steward for songs on this, make it about the songs [I wanted to sing].

And sometimes you got to make it really personal, like “I Went to College, He Went to Jail” with Jelly Roll. I mean, that line “We met at a party over big bags of weed” says it all.

Me and Luke Bryan were writing at his house, then decided to go play golf at Troubadour. He says, “You go way back with Jelly Roll, right?” I said, “Way back. I used to go over to his apartment and freestyle.”

We were talking, and I said, “Yeah, I went to college, and he went to jail.” Luke looks at me, says, “You better write that.” I started singing the chorus and was like, “Yeah.” I called Jelly, told him what we were doing and he’s like, “I’m in.”

Luke and I kicked the chorus around, talked through the verses. Monday morning, I had a writing session with Rivers Rutherford and Chandler Walters, and those type of anthems are Rivers’ wheelhouse.

You, Jelly, Jessie Jo Dillon, Rivers’ son Rhys, it’s also part of evolving the new guard and next generation. And it’s real.

“I Went to College” is polarizing in that there’s nothing like it. But it’s not hard to consume. It’s all true; we’re not playing characters. That story is 100%. Jake Worthington, who’s in my band and is signed to Big Loud, is straight-up Texas country; 26, 27 years old and knows so much about music.

Chandler Walters is my steel player, he’s who I found on TikTok. I hit him up, “Where you at?” He said “Wherever you need me.” He came down to Big Loud, we’ve been brothers ever since day one. He shows up every day, plays and writes songs.

It’s like a new posse’s being formed.

We are the next wave—Rhys, Cody [Lohden] and Rafe Tenpenny are all signed to my publishing company, Cadillac. We are the next wave, but we’ve worked for this—we’ve been simmering for 10 years. It’s our wave to not catch, but we’re head down, horse blinders on.

And then there’s “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room,” which you kill.

One of my favorite songs of all time. John Mayer was such a heavy inspiration on me. In junior high school, playing guitar to the girls on the playground, “Your Body Is a Wonderland.” To me, “Slow Dancing” just fits.

That, “Creep,” some outside songs.

I don’t think I could’ve written “Would If I Could”—I don’t think I’d lived enough life. Or “If You Don’t Know by Now.” Whether a song was 30 years old or three days ago, I didn’t want to leave it off the table.

As an artist, I don’t think you have to write everything. You have to feel it. And as a publisher, I realize that some of these songs by writers who aren’t artists are important. We want to make sure they’re heard.

Your voice seems more settled, too.

I’ve sang live a lot the last 18 months. I’ve smoked a lot of joints. I’ve sung a lot of songs loud.

Writing for me, knowing this was going to be an album, I was writing songs where I felt comfortable singing. I’m more in my talking voice, my lower register than going up to the attic so much with that higher voice. It’s hard to do live, and it’s hard to do over a lot of days.

Ten years, but you’re having fun.

We’re having a blast! We get up every day, we write. In town, we write from 9 to 11am, go have lunch at Losers. I play DJ. They give me the iPad, and it’s all Haggard, Waylon, Willie, Whitley. Then we go back and write another.