Ree Guyer was born and raised in St. Paul, Minnesota. She graduated in 1981 from St. Mary’s University with a BS in Child Psychology and Studio Arts. Shortly after graduating from college, she held two jobs—a production potter for Sansei Pottery in St. Paul and a sales position for Wrensong Publishing, a newly formed division of her father’s, Reyn Guyer’s, development company Winsor Concepts (this company owns the patent on Nerf and Twister). The initial concept of Wrensong was to help professional jingle writers, like Billy Barber, in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area get their commercial songs recorded by major recording artists. Ree and her father initially signed single song contracts with these writers and began with just twenty songs.

In 1985, Guyer landed her first cut with the help of her friend, Bob Doyle. “Little Things,” recorded by the Oak Ridge Boys, became a No. 1 single. Guyer moved to Nashville in November 1985 to open the Music Row office where the company remains today. Wrensong signed their first staff writer in 1986, Jon Vezner. Within 18 months, he had his first two singles: “Just Can’t Sit Down Music,” recorded by Mel McDaniel, and “Trainwreck of Emotion,” recorded by Lorrie Morgan, as well as cuts with Ronnie Milsap, Reba and the award-winning song, “Where’ve You Been,” recorded by his wife, Kathy Mattea.

In the last few years, Guyer has focused on developing singer/songwriters. She was pivotal in launching the artist/writer careers of Ashley Monroe, Jon Randall and Trevor Rosen, member of Old Dominion.

MusicRow: How did you start your career?

When I was 15, my mom told me I needed a job, so I nannied for a summer. I didn’t love it. But I was already a pretty accomplished potter, and I did love that.

This was the seventies, and there were tons of potters around. My mom said, “Why don’t you just knock on some doors?” So I did. I told one woman I’d do anything—wedge clay, mix glazes, whatever she needed. She hired me, and I worked for her every summer, plus Christmas and spring breaks, all through school.

I became her junior production potter. She’d say, “We need 200 mugs,” and I’d make 200 mugs. By the time I finished college, pottery was already second nature to me.

Creativity clearly ran in your family. What was that environment like growing up?

My dad was incredibly creative. He invented Twister and Nerf and was also writing children’s music. He knew all the Minneapolis musicians because there were only two studios in town. I sang on a few commercials as a kid—nothing serious—but it meant I got to know those musicians.

They made great money writing commercials for companies like 3M, Pillsbury, General Mills, Target, Best Buy. My dad kept saying, “You guys have to be writing songs on the side.”

Around that same time, I realized I loved sales. I was interviewing at places like Pillsbury, but I thought maybe I’d keep my pottery job and try something else on the side. I suggested we go to Nashville. These guys were writing pop-forward songs that felt right for Nashville.

What did you find in Nashville?

There was one writer, Billy Barber, who I immediately believed in. He had a beautiful voice. He was cutting his own demos on an eight-track, which was a big deal back then. I just knew the songs were special.

Michael Johnson, who had “Bluer Than Blue,” lived in Minneapolis but made his records in Nashville. I took him to lunch and asked who I should meet. He gave me five names: Karen Conrad, Celia Froehlig, Pat Rolfe, Pat Higdon and Bob Doyle. They all welcomed me, but Karen Conrad especially mentored me. She even gave me a small office in the back of hers.

At the time, writers couldn’t write outside their publishing companies, and nobody wanted to split publishing. I realized pretty quickly that other publishers couldn’t really help me. I had to figure it out on my own. So I’d come to Nashville for two weeks at a time, stay at the Exit/In Manor, walk everywhere and drop off cassettes.

One song opened every door. Billy Barber wrote it in one day. It was called “Little Things.”

That song ended up changing everything.

I dropped it off at Billy Sherrill’s office, and 15 minutes later he called me and said, “Who the hell is Ree Guyer? What is Wrensong? And who is Billy Barber? Get over here right now.”

He was terrifying. He told me I seemed like a nice Midwestern girl and should go home, become a nurse, get married, have kids. I said, “Because you just said that, I’m going to prove I can do this.” And somehow, that worked.

He wanted to produce Billy and develop him as an artist. He was head of A&R at Columbia and wanted to prove he could make a pop record. We did everything—photo shoots, artist development, the whole process. But New York never called him back. We were completely ghosted. That was a huge lesson for me.

Bob Doyle, who was at ASCAP, believed the song was a hit. One day he called and said, “The Oak Ridge Boys are listening to cassettes on their bus for their next record. Get over there.” I dropped off “Little Things,” and three days later they called and said, “We’re cutting this.”

After that, Billy Sherrill connected me with Al Gallico, who had run EMI for years. He wanted half the publishing. I said no. I’d worked the song for 18 months, spent a lot of money traveling back and forth, and I knew it was a hit. I wasn’t giving it up.

The Oak Ridge Boys’ publisher made the same offer—half the publishing in exchange for making it the first single. I said no again. They put it out anyway, and it went to No. 1.

That decision really set the tone for how you operated.

Because of that success, Duane Allen called me and asked if I had anything else. I did. One of my writers had just written “Gonna Take a Lot of River.” I owned 100% of that one too. They cut it, and it went to No. 1 the next year. So we had back-to-back No. 1s with the Oak Ridge Boys. That success allowed us to buy a building on Music Row for $111,000 and renovate it. Kathy Mattea lived upstairs, and that’s actually how she met Jon Vezner, who became my first signed writer in early 1986.

Tell me about working with Jon.

Jon didn’t take long to break. We had Lorrie Morgan’s first single, a Mel McDaniel cut, and then in 1988 he wrote “Where’ve You Been.” I knew immediately it was special.

We offered it to Kathy first, but she was hesitant. It was long, sad, and risky. So I played it for Conway Twitty, and he immediately wanted to cut it. When Kathy heard that, she decided she needed to do the song herself. The rest is history. We won Song of the Year across the board.

What was next?

From there, I had waves of writers. Will Rambeaux and Blair Daly were one of those waves. I was Blair’s first publisher. I signed him when he was 18, and within 18 months he had three No. 1s, including three hits for John Michael Montgomery.

Then came “Wild One,” co-written by Will Rambeaux. Faith Hill was a friend, and Scott Hendricks believed in the song right away. When he started producing Faith, he cut it, and it became a huge record.

Another wave came with Jon Randall. He had just lost his publishing deal and was sleeping on his manager’s couch when he played me “Whiskey Lullaby.” I knew instantly it was special. We made a co-publishing deal, and within a year we had about 15 cuts off simple guitar demos.

“Whiskey Lullaby” had a long road before it became what it did.

It was hard to place until Brad Paisley went looking for a duet with Alison Krauss. He heard the song and knew immediately that was it.

After the song started circulating, John Grady signed Jon Randall to a record deal. I remember him saying at lunch that he never thought he’d be sitting there with another deal. Jon even recorded the song for his Sony record and talked about doing it with the Dixie Chicks. At the same time, Brad Paisley was on fire. I knew if the song didn’t become a single, it would disappear. So I let people know Jon was recording it, and the next day RCA called and said they were making it Brad’s next single. That ended up being the best thing that could have happened. We won CMA Song of the Year.

 That stretch really defined an era for Wrensong.

Around that same time, I signed Ashley Monroe. She was 17, and it was her first publishing deal. That whole period was such a fun ride. She was writing incredible songs, had a couple of No. 1s and then there was the Pistol Annies chapter, which was its own thing entirely.

Then I got a call from Shane McAnally. I’d known him since he was 18. He told me he and his husband, Michael, wanted to start a publishing company one day and wanted to learn by working together on a writer first. He brought Trevor Rosen to my office one night and played me a bunch of songs. They started with safe stuff, and I stopped them. I said, “I’m not safe. Look at my history. Play me something that feels impossible.”

They played “Better Dig Two.” I said we were making a deal that day.

Trevor had just lost his publishing deal, had three kids and wasn’t making much money. We bought his catalog and started paying him immediately. It took months for the song to finally get cut, but when it did, it became Trevor’s first No. 1.

That partnership eventually led to something even bigger.

Not long after that, Trevor told me he had a band. I went to see them play and immediately saw the potential—and also what wasn’t working. We tightened the songs, focused the vision and eventually cut tracks.

They were older than what labels wanted, so no one would sign them. So we gave away songs we knew were hits. Those songs became No. 1s for other artists, and suddenly the band had real credibility.

Eventually, “Break Up with Him” went to No. 1 and stayed there for eight weeks. That’s when people finally started paying attention. Even then, some labels passed. But eventually someone asked if there was anything Nashville was missing, and the answer was Old Dominion. The next day, they were signed.

That was another wave.

Now I’m probably on my last one. I have MaKayla Lynn, who is a truly exceptional writer. She doesn’t want to be an artist first—she wants to be a great songwriter, and she will be. We’ll make a record with her, but the writing comes first.

Then there’s Conor Matthews. He came to me a couple of years ago from Los Angeles. He’d already done the pop thing and had a following, but I told him I thought he was really a Nashville artist. I said if he moved here, I’d sign him. In January, he called and said, “I’m here.”

When you look back on everything, what are you most proud of?

What I love most is watching a writer come in with real talent and helping them make it happen. I know what’s possible because I’ve done it so many times, and it’s incredibly rewarding to see someone’s life change.

I’m also proud of the songs. That’s the legacy. I’ve been up for Song of the Year four times and won three—“Where’ve You Been,” “Whiskey Lullaby” and “One Man Band.” I think that’s a pretty good track record.

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever gotten?

The best advice came from my dad. He saw me working all the time and told me to find a balance between work and life.

When I got into the business, I met bitter people, and I didn’t want to become bitter. In this business, you will get screwed. When someone screwed me on a deal or a situation, I forgave and forgot so I could let it go and be free of that bitterness. I can truly say I forgave—and even really forgot—anyone who wronged me.

With over 100 No. 1 hits under his belt, Tony Brown been the architect behind the success of legends like George Strait, Reba McEntire, Vince Gill, Trisha Yearwood and Brooks & Dunn—blending traditional country with pop and rock to reshape the genre for the modern era.

Before he became a hit record producer and A&R executive, Brown toured as the keyboardist for Elvis Presley’s TCB Band, giving him a front-row seat to music history. He later became president of MCA Nashville, nurturing some of the most iconic voices in American music.

Later this month, Brown will join the Country Music Hall of Fame in the Non-Performer category.

MusicRow: Where did you grow up?

I grew up in North Carolina. My dad was an evangelist, so I played in a family singing group and that got me into music.

Did you sing and play an instrument?

I sang mainly. Then I learned to play the piano at the age of 13, and that became my focus for the rest of my life. I ended up being a musician for Southern gospel music. I moved to Nashville for that reason, as a gospel music piano player.

How did you get your career started once you were in Nashville?

When I came here, I already knew nothing about country music or any other music except gospel music, so I wasn’t fascinated by the fact that this was a country music town.

Through my gospel music connections, I got a job with Elvis Presley playing in a gospel group. He loved to sing gospel music, so he hired us to be on call 24/7 to come to his house and sing gospel music.

Eventually I found out that the piano player in Elvis’ band was leaving to go play with Emmylou Harris, so I hustled for the job and got it. Ultimately I played for Elvis for three years until he passed away—a year and a half in the gospel group for his house and a year and a half in his TCB band.

What did you do next?

I came back to Nashville and David Briggs, another one of Elvis’ piano players, said, “Why don’t you pitch songs for my publishing company while you find another job?” So that’s what I did. I started pitching songs and finding out about the country music world.

I had been doing that for about six months when I got a call from Emmylou Harris’ manager that the piano player, Glen D [Hardin], had quit and gone with John Denver. They wanted me to come and audition. So I went and bought her record—I wanted to see why Glen D quit Elvis in the first place. I loved her record Pieces Of The Sky. I went to audition and got it. I was there for a couple years, and then she got pregnant and decided to get off the road for a while.

Then I joined Rodney Crowell’s band when he got a record deal with Warner Bros. We played clubs up and down the California coast. Sometimes we’d make a dollar, sometimes we’d make nothing—I didn’t care. I was just part of something cool.

Then Rodney marries Roseanne Cash, so we became her band too. I was being introduced to country music world. I became part of that little clique. Eventually Rodney had to call it, and I called David Briggs and asked for my job back.

How did you move over to the business side of things?

Once I was back in Nashville, I told David I needed to get a “real job.” He said, “RCA just had this big hit on a record called The Outlaws. It’s the first Platinum album in the country music. They’re giving Jerry Bradley a pop label in L.A. Jerry hates pop music, and they’re trying to shove all these New York A&R guys down his throat. I’ll suggest he hires you.”

He did. I got that job, moved to L.A. I was there a couple of years before it folded, then I came back to Nashville and started working for RCA here. I saw Alabama play the CRS New Faces of Country Music show and signed them, and we were off.

Soon you moved over to MCA. Tell me about that.

I heard that Jimmy Bowen was taking over MCA. He was at Warner Bros. at the time and was producing Hank Jr., Conway Twitty and all the big acts. My attorney advised me to go chase a job there.

I got hired to play B3 on a Hank Jr. record by Jimmy Bowen. The thing is, I don’t play B3. I play piano—I’m just a hustler, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to pull it off. [The engineer] said, “Jimmy Bowen wants to see you upstairs.” I go up there and say, “Okay, I confess. I’m not a B3 player. I just came because you’re a Jimmy Bowen.” He said, “Well, I didn’t hire you for this session to play B3. I hired you because I’m taking over MCA and I need an A&R guy. I think you’re the guy.”

He said he would train me to be a producer, but to not tell anyone or he’d have me killed. [Laughs] So when it finally happened, and Jimmy Bowen took over MCA, I got the job.

Tell me about learning to produce.

Jimmy had me co-produce with a few acts with him at first. Eventually he said, “Go find me some new stuff. I’ll produce all the stars like the Oak Ridge Boys, George Strait and Reba McEntire. You find something new.” So I found Patty Loveless, Steve Earle and Lyle Lovett. Eventually I signed The Mavericks and some other stuff, but then Jimmy Bowen left to go to Capitol, so I inherited George Strait and Reba McEntire.

The first album that I did on George was Pure Country. I was so nervous, but it sold like crazy. We cut “Fancy” on Reba, and it was huge. Out of all the records I’ve done—and I’ve done 37 No. 1s on George Strait—I think the biggest hit I’ve ever cut was “Fancy.” Everybody knows that song.

I started working on Brooks & Dunn and Vince Gill, and they became huge. I started feeling confident about production. I did Trisha Yearwood’s version of “How Do I Live” and won the Grammy. A lot of good things started happening to me.

You became very successful.

I got my feet planted pretty good at MCA. I was there 25 years. I became their first VP of A&R, and then got promoted to Sr. VP and Executive VP. I eventually became President. People say I ran MCA—I didn’t run MCA. I had the title of President, but I was just an A&R guy and a producer.

In 2000 or so, Doug Morris at Universal offered me my own label. I didn’t think I was smart enough to run a label, so I needed some help. Tim Dubois had left Arista, so I called him and asked if he would help me run Universal South.

It didn’t do very good. We lasted five years and had one Gold record with Joe Nichols. I don’t think I produced one hit record there. I was so involved in trying to help run the label that I quit producing.

Eventually, I went back independent and I’m glad I did. The business is so different now. With streaming, it takes too much to get a plaque these days.

When you started producing records, what did you want your legacy to be?

After I got out of gospel music, I became engrossed in country music. All my friends were in country music. All my friends were country songwriters playing. Rodney Crowell introduced me to a whole other set of people, like Guy Clark and John Prine. I was in that world, and then there was a whole other mainstream world of Bob DiPiero and Gary Burr that I was involved with, too. I started seeing these two different camps going on—one was kind of cooler and one made you money. I started asking myself, how can I be in both?

When I was producing Steve Earle, Lyle Lovett and Nanci Griffith, I remember going to South by Southwest. A newspaper person wanted to interview me there, and they said, “I heard you’re now producing Reba McEntire.” For a second, I was embarrassed. I felt like I had “sold out.” That’s how stupid and full of myself I was. I learned a lot during that period. For some of those artists, it doesn’t matter how much they sell. It’s all about the art. But I like a little bit of both—I want to cut records that are hit records.

You’re going to be inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame later this month. How do you feel about that?

It’s something I’ve wanted, but I figured one day after I passed away, maybe I’d get in there. There’s so many people that should be in there, but when I found out I was going in, I didn’t believe it. I thought they had made a mistake or called the wrong number. But I think what got me in there was what I just explained about loving everything: the art and the commerciality of it.

I’m hoping I can make it through night without crying. [Laughs] I love that I’m going in with Kenny Chesney and June Carter Cash—that’s a lot of art and a lot of commerce.

The “My Music Row Story” weekly column features notable members of the Nashville music industry selected by the MusicRow editorial team. These individuals serve in key roles that help advance and promote the success of our industry. This column spotlights the invaluable people that keep the wheels rolling and the music playing.

Industry veteran Sara Knabe is SVP of A&R at Big Loud, where she works in tandem with both the Big Loud Records and Big Loud Publishing A&R teams, leading across both.

She joined Big Loud in 2023, after spending just under a year founding and cultivating her own Cake Maker Music, a music publishing, artist development and A&R consulting company. Prior to that, Knabe was VP of A&R at BBR Music Group, VP of Creative at BMG Music Publishing, and had prior career stops at Bug Music, Windswept Holdings, LLC and Harlan Howard Songs. Knabe is a Belmont University graduate.

MusicRow: Where did you grow up?

I grew up in Jackson, Missouri, but I moved here in 2001. So I’ve been in Nashville for 24 years now.

What was your childhood like? What were you into?

I was a pastor’s kid, so we moved around a bit. Jackson is where I went to high school, but my childhood was the typical preacher’s kid experience — loud and a little chaotic. I was obsessed with both music and sports. Volleyball was my sport, but I was also in band and choir. I was always listening to records and falling in love with songs.

We didn’t have many concerts come through town, but the Bootheel Rodeo in Sikeston was my place. Every summer I lived for that week. That was my concert experience growing up. I saw Kenny Chesney, Toby Keith, Clint Black, Lonestar, Jo Dee Messina and more there.

What was your dream? Did you imagine yourself doing this back then?

I knew I wanted to work in music, but I had no idea what that looked like. I started college at Southeast Missouri State in ’99 as a vocal performance major, but I quickly realized I wasn’t good enough to make it as a singer. I switched to business.

Over Christmas break, my dad ran into someone I went to high school with who had moved to Nashville and was attending Belmont. She told us about the school, and I was like, wait — there’s a place you can go to actually study the music industry? I only knew about managers because I’d seen the movie Pure Country, so I came to Belmont thinking I’d be one.

On my first day, a professor asked if anyone knew what they wanted to do. I shot my hand up and said, “I want to be a manager and help artists find their songs.” He told me that was actually A&R or publishing. As soon as I heard about publishing, I was hooked.

What internships did you do?

I interned at EMI Publishing and with Scott Hendricks and Jason Krupeck in A&R. Jason let me sit in on all his meetings, which was huge — that’s where I met so many of my first publishing contacts.

I also interned at Teracel Music during peak Rascal Flatts, when Brett James was there as both an artist and writer, along with Mark Beeson, Philip White and others. It was an amazing environment.

Then I got an internship at Harlan Howard Songs. Honestly, I didn’t know much about Harlan at the time. But he had just passed, and his friends would come by the office to sit in his chair, smoke cigars and tell stories. It was like a baptism into country music. I learned so much about songs, the history and the community. That internship turned into my first full-time job, and I stayed there four years.

What did you get to do there once you were full time?

I started as catalog manager and assistant to Melanie Howard. It was just the two of us, so I did a little bit of everything — front desk, admin, catalog recapture. I learned a ton about copyright and paperwork, especially on songs from the ’50s and ’60s.

But I knew I wanted to pitch songs. A few months in, I asked Melanie if I could start taking meetings when my work was done. She graciously said yes. My first pitch meeting was with Erv Woolsey for George Strait, and my second was with Scott Hendricks. Looking back, I probably didn’t pitch great songs that day, but what an opportunity.

While I was there, we signed Lori McKenna and Mary Gauthier. Lori’s career exploded, and that opened every door for me. Artists were calling, fighting to hear her songs first. Having Harlan’s catalog gave me credibility, and Lori’s writing gave me access I probably hadn’t earned yet.

Melanie also included me in the Chicks With Hits meetings, which were like grad school for pitching. Those women were relentless about the songs they believed in, and the artists who walked into those offices blew my mind. I always say the Chicks With Hits raised me.

What was your next step?

Steve Markland hired me at Windswept Music Publishing, which was such a thrill. They were coming off a huge run of hits with Jeffrey Steele and Kendell Marvel, and they had Randy Houser, who was still looking for a record deal. That era was so fun — Tuesday nights at 12th & Porter with Randy, Jamey Johnson, Jared Neiman, Ken Johnson, Lee Brice… everyone was getting signed, playing shows, and hanging out. After work we’d bounce from Tin Roof to 12th & Porter to Douglas Corner to 3rd & Lindsley. The whole scene felt like it was rising together.

Windswept had that kind of culture. It was a hang — even if you didn’t write there, you could show up and know someone would be around. My very first day of work, everyone was at the Key West Songwriters Festival, so it was just me and the receptionist. I hadn’t met most of the writers yet, when I suddenly heard someone in the kitchen. This guy is loading beers into his cargo pockets at nine in the morning. I introduced myself: “Hi, I’m Sara, the new plugger.” He goes, “Oh, I don’t actually write here. I just knew you guys had beer. I’m writing across the street at Starstruck.” [Laughs] That was Windswept in a nutshell — open, fun and creative.

Unfortunately, the company sold not long after I started. I was technically only at Windswept for about nine months before Bug Music bought them, and we became Bug Windswept for a while.

What was that transition like?

It was interesting because the two companies had very different approaches. Windswept was a creative, artist-development kind of place, while Bug was known more as an Americana-leaning administration company. But when they came together, it actually created a perfect mix.

I got to work with people like Darrell Scott, Buddy Miller and Jim Lauderdale, and catalogs from legends like Townes Van Zandt. At the same time, we had writers cutting songs for George Strait and Gary Allan, and Randy Houser as an artist. It gave me the chance to be part of both worlds, which was ideal for my ear.

How long were you there?

Bug was eventually bought by BMG, and I stayed through all of that — from Windswept to Bug Windswept, then Bug, then BMG. All told, it was a 17-year run. I spent 12 years at BMG, seven on the publishing team and five at Broken Bow.

Tell me about working in publishing at BMG.

Those were some of the most fun years of my career. The catalog was incredible. Because I’d stayed on through the Windswept and Bug acquisitions, I had access to everything — Windswept, BMG, Cherry Lane, Stage Three, Corlew — all at my fingertips. For someone who loves digging for songs and finding homes for them, it was heaven.

I also worked with some amazing writers: Tony Lane, Wynn Varble, Ruston Kelly, Lucie Silvas, Emily Shackelton, Adam James… just a really strong creative group. And the team itself was great — Daniel Lee, Chris Oglesby, Kevin Lane — we had such good synergy. It was just fun.

And then you transitioned to the label side. Was that something you’d always imagined?

Not at all. I kind of fell into it and ended up loving it. When BMG bought Broken Bow, there were a couple of projects that needed to be wrapped up — a Runaway June record and a Joe Nichols record. They didn’t have a dedicated A&R team at the time, so I just started jumping in, mostly clueless but having fun.

At first, I was suggesting names for the role, throwing out peers and friends, but meanwhile I was realizing how much I enjoyed the flip side — listening for songs, having those creative conversations. Publishing had shifted to being more calendar-driven: scheduling writes, managing rooms. That wasn’t my strength or passion. I’ve always loved the creative side — hearing songs and finding where they belong. Weirdly enough, A&R felt like a better fit for that than publishing had become.

So finally, I threw my own name in the mix. Jon Loba took a chance on me, and I’ll always be thankful for that. I jumped in not knowing much, just trying to figure it out. Honestly, I still feel like I’m figuring it out.

Do you have any early wins that gave you confidence?

I feel really lucky to have worked on the Lainey Wilson projects. But honestly, that was just about giving her the opportunity and staying out of her way.

Helping with those first two records was exciting, but she knew exactly who she wanted to be. My role was just narrowing down songs — going through hundreds and helping her land on the best 12 — and having ongoing conversations. From the beginning, I just trusted my gut. I loved her voice, her songwriting, and when I met her, I thought, this girl has everything she needs.

It’s been so fun to watch her career take off. I’m grateful to have played even a small part in her journey, but that’s all her. What I’ve learned is my job works best when I’m just championing talented people and giving them the runway to do their thing.

Then you started a new chapter. Tell me about that.

During COVID, I burned out. I loved my time at Broken Bow — it was an exciting run with Lainey, Dustin Lynch, Jelly Roll early on — but being on Zoom from eight to six every day fried my brain. I wasn’t being the mom, wife, daughter or friend I wanted to be, and I didn’t feel like I was being the A&R I wanted to be either. After 20 years of hustling, I knew I needed a break.

I left with no real plan other than starting something that gave me more balance — which became Cake Maker. The idea was to create a space where I could help artists develop and get them to the point where they were ready for a label. I thought I’d take a year off, but three months in I was bored.

So I launched my consulting company. Around then, Seth [England] called. We’d known each other since he was my intern back at Harlan Howard Songs, and we’d worked together for years. He asked what I was doing, and I said, “I went to Costco twice today — I need a job.” He brought me on to consult for Big Loud, just listening for songs, and I loved it.

I also covered a maternity leave at Creative Nation, which was really important to me. I wanted to show that women can be working moms — it’s hard, you’ll never be perfect at it all, but you don’t have to “fail” at one thing to succeed at another. That idea is where the name Cake Maker came from: I wanted to make my cake and eat it too by creating the environment I needed.

You eventually joined Big Loud full time.

Big Loud’s philosophy of “best song wins” really resonated with me. Whether the artist wrote it or not, the bar is always high. And the environment is so creative — writers and artists are constantly hanging out, rising together.

At first, I was hesitant to join full-time because I didn’t want to get overwhelmed again. Seth told me to call other SVPs with kids and ask them about work-life balance. Almost all of them had young families, and they said the culture allowed for it. We work hard, but if you need to leave for a baseball game, you go.

The moment that sealed it was going to Seth’s son’s birthday party. Everyone from the office was there with their kids. I left and cried in the car because I realized, this is the crew that gets what I’m trying to do.

So I joined Big Loud two years ago, and it’s been such a great fit. The team is fantastic, the roster is strong, and while work-life balance will always be something I have to manage, I’ve gotten better at setting boundaries. And I’ve learned that makes me better at my job.

What would you say is your favorite part of your job today?

I love that every day is different. No two days look the same. I get to be in creative conversations on both the publishing and label sides — hearing songs from writers, meeting new talent, talking with producers and artists about their vision for a record, even sitting in marketing meetings and throwing out the occasional crazy idea.

At the heart of it, my favorite thing is sitting down with a writer or artist and asking, What do you want to accomplish? What do you want to say? Helping them clarify that vision and then giving them opportunities to get there — that’s the best part.

And of course, just hearing a great song. Getting to send it to someone with, “You’ve got to hear this one.” Or getting a text from Ernest with something brand new he’s excited about — that never gets old.

I also love mentoring. Guiding young A&R and publishing staff is so rewarding. I’ve had great mentors myself, so it’s important to me to give that back.

Have you had any mentors?

So many. Stephanie Cox has always been incredible — when I was at Harlan Howard Songs, her office was upstairs at Larga Vista Music and she was so generous with her time. Kos Weaver was amazing, always pulling me into meetings and letting me learn by doing.

I’ve also had peers who mentor each other — Beth Laird and I talk all the time about how we’d handle different situations. The Chicks With Hits raised me; they taught me how to pitch songs and be relentless about ones you believe in.

Others who made a big impact: Steve Markland, in the way he nurtures songwriters. Stephanie Wright — I can talk to her about anything. Allison Jones has been a great mentor too.

I’ve been really fortunate to have so many positive influences — men and women — from the very beginning, and I’m grateful for every one of them.