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       ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      One of my iPods holds the fifty-something recorded interviews that, excerpted, compose this book. These interviews form an oral history of country record production that is actually oral—actually audible. I conducted all of them. I spoke with every single person featured in this book (spoke with all but one by telephone). I recorded and transcribed every word they said.

      Consequently, I’m familiar with the voices of the people I interviewed. I hear them as I read the words of this book. And that is a singular pleasure. I enjoyed talking with every producer I interviewed. I am, however, realistic enough to understand that a few of the guys who match up with the voices I hear are master manipulators: they’re powerful and, probably, ruthless; rich and, therefore, given respect for their rides on fortune’s wheel; influential (the unacknowledged architects of our aesthetics); and famous, though nearly as often infamous. The others, for any number of admirable reasons, never gave a shit about creating any sort of legacy. Or to paraphrase Porter Wagoner, with them what was to be just never happened, and what wasn’t to be, most of the time, did. Be that as it may, all of the voices I hear while reading evoke one simple and indelible impression: as a species, country producers are really, really nice. I owe them an enormous debt of gratitude, not only for making this book possible; they made it fun to make. I also owe a thank you to those record producers who never responded to my letters, emails, and phone messages. Without them, I never would have finished this project.

      I first started writing about record producers twenty years ago when Pulse!, Tower Records’ magazine, ran a feature I wrote on jazz guys. Marc Weidenbaum edited it. One day, he told me, “You’re not just a contributing writer; you’re our ‘free-range chicken.’” (That was, far and away, the most flattering tag ever clipped to my collar.) Peter Melton gave me the go-ahead to write about producing country records. Instead of chopping up a long piece I wrote, he serialized it. Ned Hammad gave me more great assignments than I can now recollect. A phone call from Jackson Griffith was always a pleasure. From him, I learned to revere Nashville’s great visionary artist—the Prophet Omega. And so I want to send out a loud thank you to the many people, now scattered, that I worked with at Pulse!—before the deluge. What skills I possess as a writer are largely attributable to the many opportunities they gave me. They indulged me, repeatedly. As an editor at Pulse! and at Amazon.com and, especially, as the publisher of The Fretboard Journal,

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