 |
|
|
Start your search in a
nondescript building that houses one of Nashville's many
publishing firms. Pass the receptionist and the coffee
machine, and head upstairs to the second floor. There
you'll find an office where all-day songwriting sessions
take place maybe three times a week. Look inside: That
blonde with the gleaming smile? The one with the laugh
that bubbles every minute or two and the voice that
could draw birds down from the trees and A&R cynics back
from the bar?
That's her. That's Amy Dalley.
Maybe you've already seen her before, a few miles away
from Music Row and a few years ago, working as a
waitress at the Wildhorse Saloon, or coming back to
headline at that same venue a while after that. You
might have caught her and her band at Toolie's Country
in Phoenix, the Hired Hand in Fort Myers, the Cadillac
Ranch in Chicago, or other places that hadn't quite
heard anything like her before.
|
If you haven't
encountered Amy Dalley yet, though, don't worry.
You will, very soon.
And once you hear her slice-of-wry songs, with their
sweet, barbed promises to "shut up" so a brainless
boyfriend can talk, or their speculations that a
friend's new beau may be a "good-lookin' serial killer,"
you'll never forget them -- or her.
Upon the release of Amy Dalley, her debut for
Curb, the sun will probably shine a little brighter, and
the world may start whistling a few new melodies. As
written and delivered by this Tennessee-bred songbird,
Amy Dalley features the kinds of hooks, down-home
grooves, and deft wordplay that suggest fresh energy and
song-crafting savvy at the same time.
This isn't surprising, since Amy has been making music
nearly all of her young life. Born in Kingsport, she
grew up in the shadows of the Appalachians near the
Virginia state line. No one in her family was especially
musical, except for her grandfather, a mysterious figure
who died when her mother was twelve. "He used to tour
carnivals," Amy remembers. "There are pictures and home
movies in the attic of all these girls going crazy as he
sang. I guess whatever talent I've got must have come
down from him."
When she was old enough to write at all, Amy started
writing songs. Like her music today, her first efforts
drew from events in her everyday life. Of course, her
frame of reference was a little narrower then: "I used
to get in trouble when I was in the sixth grade for
leaving my curling iron on when I went to school," she
grins. "My mom was like, 'You could've burned down the
house!' For a week I couldn't curl my hair; that was my
punishment. So I wrote about it; I turned that into a
song."
|
Around the time that she
authored this lament, Amy made her performing debut,
singing "I Honestly Love You" at a school talent show.
"I was so nervous," she laughs. "It's weird how you can
be so nervous that you'd think you'd never want to do
that again. For me, though, it was the opposite, like,
'I've got to do that again. I know I can do better.'
And she did. Over the next several years
Amy performed steadily around Kingsport, singing at
weddings and other functions. She even broke into acting
during a three-year stretch with the Showboat Theater,
culminating in a six-week run as the star in their
production of Love, Sex, and the IRS. "It was grueling
to do it every night," she admits, "but I learned a lot
about how people perceive you when you're onstage."
Eventually Amy enrolled at East Tennessee State
University in nearby Johnson City, but after two years
she was screaming bored and desperate to get back into
|
|
the spotlight. News of an open
audition for talent at Dollywood, Dolly Parton's theme
park, was all she needed to hustle out to Pigeon Forge.
After singing a couple of songs, trotting through a few
dance steps, and intoning some scripted material, Amy
went back home to await the news.
It wasn't good. "When they told me I wasn't hired, I
asked them why. They said, 'It's because you're in
school, and we need someone to be in a nine-month show.'
I'm like, 'Fine, I won't be in school.' 'No, we don't
want you to do that.' And I told them, 'You don't
understand. I hate school! I'm waiting for a reason to
leave … and you're it.'"
At Dollywood Amy worked from three in the afternoon
until nine at night with a twelve-person revue. This
wasn't enough to satisfy her urge to perform, so after a
while she joined a local band that was playing in clubs
from 9:30 until two each morning as well. "I sang a song
every now and then and played tambourine," she explains.
"Basically, I was the hood ornament."
For all the work she was doing, none of it offered the
kind of creative outlet that Amy had come to crave. So,
beginning in 1994, she started driving into Nashville to
sing at open mic nights. Quickly she realized that her
future was in Music City, so she bade farewell to
Dollywood, moved to Nashville, started waiting tables by
day and performing wherever she could. Soon she was able
to form her own band, the Gypsy Hillbillies, and take
them on the road.
Four years of gigging from coast to coast sharpened
Amy's stage chops while also stimulating her to step up
her songwriting. Dissatisfied with covering hit tunes,
she assembled a set list from her material along with
obscure album cuts that somehow spoke to her. When the
band had finally run its course and Amy returned to
Nashville, she was more than ready to launch her solo
career.
The first step was to sign a publishing deal. Jeff
Carlton, vice-president and general manager of Hamstein
Music, offered one to her after hearing some of her
demos. At once her work began to attract attention; with
Lee Thomas Miller as her most frequent writing partner,
she penned a series of songs that were picked up and
recorded by artists such as Martina McBride, Roxie Dean,
Amanda Wilson, and Joanna Janét. One of their
collaborations with fellow writer Angela Kaset, "Dream
Too Small," even made it into an episode of Dawson's
Creek: Though Amy had yet to release anything under her
own name, the show was deluged with requests from
viewers who wanted to know more about who she was and
how they could hear more of her.
Inevitably, Amy's road would lead to her own emergence
as an artist. "I never set out to write songs for other
people," she says. "When somebody would cut one of them,
I was always pleasantly surprised and grateful. But I've
always written for me. Maybe that's egotistical, but I'm
really the only well I have to draw from."
On Amy Dalley that well
becomes a fountain of music, overflowing with
country-fresh performances served straight up. There's
cautionary humor sprinkled through the crackling beat of
"Romeo," the wisdom of heartache woven into "Let's Say
Goodbye," and an ironic meditation on life's high and
low points on "It Is What It Is," as Amy muses that her
latest object of interest, a hunk spied in the aisles of
Kroger's, is "so GQ he must be gay."
These songs speak in everyday language about concerns we
all share, but with a musical touch that's deft,
teasing, and wise, all at the same time. Professional
songwriter, playful entertainer, gifted vocalist, and
down-to-earth observer of worldly foibles: There's
something for each of us, whether guy or gal, in Amy
Dalley. |
|
