[“Rock then Roll,” by Shelly Bush: “We loaded up the bus with girls and guitars. Let them diesel horses chase a wandering star.”]

How do you measure success? If you moved to Nashville to be the next Carrie Underwood only to find the world was already maxed out on Carries Underwood, was it still worth it? You go from being a big fish in a small pond to a Protozoa in an ocean, and they don’t give CMA awards to Protozoa.

Before you break open your high school copy of Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and tell me to take a hike, I want to tell you a story about overcoming obstacles as well as getting stopped by them, about “making it” as well as just making the best of it. My name is Ellen Angelico and this is the story of Shelly Bush, the most influential woman in country music you never heard of.

• Erin: Anybody that was anybody got their start with Shelly.

I’m anybody, for starters. I’ve worked as a sideman in Nashville almost fifteen years now and I’ve played with big stars and grizzled honky-tonkers. I’ve played music on three continents, traveled in tour buses and private jets, and came home to a cover gig at a pizza place. I’ve played in a castle in the south of France and I’ve played in a barn in Alabama. I have had all the experiences you could ever dream to have in the music business, and yet I’ve been singularly fascinated by the story of a woman I played with more than a decade ago.

In 2014, I quit a road gig I had for a couple years and was looking for work. A friend of mine told me about Shelly Bush, who had an all-girl band called Broadband and played lots of gigs in Nashville. This was excellent news for me, as the owner of boobs and a guitar. That was all I needed to be qualified and Shelly put me to work right away. The first thing I noticed about her was the first thing everybody noticed about her.

• Erin: Oh my God, Shelly’s voice.

• Rod: She was really a good singer.
• Mandy: She was a…
• Many people: …great singer.
• Garnett: So they took her to a voice coach and the voice coach said, I can’t help her. And they were dismayed. “You can’t help her?” No, you can’t fix what’s perfect.

In the course of talking to folks for this podcast, there were no five words I heard more frequently than “she was a great singer.” I heard stories about the power of Shelly’s voice and her ability to connect with audiences through music from tons of people, including her family:

• Shirley: When she’d come home, she sang at the church, Oh Holy Night, and I tell you, I thought the roof was coming off the church. People were crying and everything. Oh, she could sing that song.

As well as members of her band:

• Beth: She would belt out, I got chills thinking about it, Stand by Your Man, a classic, and people just erupted.
• Erin: Shelly Bush, should go down in history as the best girl singer in Nashville.

As a kid, Shelly wasn’t into much except her karaoke machine. After school she would run to her room, close the door, and cue up songs by her favorite band, Alabama.

[“Born Country,” by Alabama: “I was born country, and that’s what I’ll always be.”]

Throughout the 50s and 60s, female stars were few and far between in country music, but there was a cultural shift happening in the 1970s. The pitch of women’s rights was rising in American culture, and the crisp edges of gender norms were getting fuzzy. A crack emerged in the masculine wall of country music, and out popped a trio of superstars: Dolly Parton, Tammy Wynette, and Loretta Lynn.

[“Fist City,” by Loretta Lynn: “If you don’t want to go to Fist City, you better detour around my town.”]

In the flickering glow of her karaoke machine, Shelly saw herself in these women and endeavored to make herself in their image. She was going to look like them and perform like them and be famous like them. And nothing made her feel more connected to her heroes than singing like them. But don’t take my word for it, here’s Shelly herself.

[“I Hear Him Listening,” by Shelly Bush: “I sing karaoke every day right after school. My microphone and me are rocking in my room.”]

Now if one simply wants to be famous, there are more efficient methods. Shelly was going to be famous for doing what she loved: singing. And to that end, Shelly played hundreds of shows each year. And when I say shows, I don’t just mean 30 minute romps. I’m talking hardcore 4 hour marathons, often multiple marathons strung together on a single day. To this day, people in downtown Nashville talk reverently about Shelly’s otherworldly hustle.

• Beth: She had several bands because not everybody could keep up with her.

She sang everywhere that would have her, at honky-tonks, casinos, bars, motorcycle rallies, bowling alleys, nudist campgrounds, topless tricycle races. Yes, topless tricycle races. More on that later.

• Emily: They’d be like, “We don’t have music on Thursdays.” And she’d go, “What about a Wednesday?” Or “What about this thing?” She just wouldn’t take no.

Shelly was singing so much and so often, her brain would occasionally get overloaded and she would scramble up lyrics. In what has become legend among the wizened pros of lower Broadway, Shelly always landed on her feet. Everyone’s got a favorite Shelly lyric story. Mine is the tale of Little Jimmy Jacker. Shelly’s drummer Amy Acklyn told it to me along with Karen Dee, another drummer of Shelly’s who often reminds me that she has socks older than me. So one year, Shelly had a big gig during Mardi Gras.

• Karen Dee: We’re all hyped up, you know, we’re… come out with “Hicktown,” you know. [Mimics the sound of a guitar]

Check out the song she’s talking about, “Hicktown,” by Jason Aldean.

[“Hicktown,” by Jason Aldean: “Little Jimmy Jackson is jacking up his Bronco.”]

• Karen Dee: And Shelly goes: “Little Jimmy Jacker is jacking his Johnson!” [laughs] So right out of the gate me, and Amy are just crying hysterically.

Karen is a veteran drummer with credits from Don Kelly to Johnny Russell, but when it became a little tougher for Shelly to find a chick bass player, no sweat: Karen ably made the jump to bass.

• Karen Dee: And here I am, you know, six months on a new instrument, I just can’t even see because I’m just, tears are just streaming.
• Amy: Karen Dee couldn’t even play for the whole verse. Because she was about to pee her pants. She said it with conviction.
• Karen: Oh, yes. Just like, that was the lyrics.
• Amy: That was the words.
• Karen: Little Jimmy Jacker’s jacking up his Johnson.

Paula Jo Taylor was a longtime guitar player of Shelly’s. These days, she’s known as the “viral Granny guitarist,” catching fire on the internet every once in a while for her mind-blowing shredding that shatters stereotypes of what a country guitar shredder looks like. Paula Jo told me a little about how Shelly’s brain was working so hard on the business of being Shelly Bush, other minor details like lyrics tended to fall by the wayside.

• Paula Jo: She was very good on the phone, extremely business-like, extremely intelligent. And I would sit back and be amazed. Because some of the goofy stuff that she did besides that, I mean, you know, like her driving.
• Sheila: She was a horrible driver.

That was Shelly’s cousin Sheila Bush Carver, but I can independently confirm it: to get into the van with Shelly was to tempt fate. Nowadays, I ride planes and tour buses to gigs–must be nice, I know. But in Shelly’s band, it was mostly Shelly herself behind the wheel. Sometimes we didn’t have to be on the road for it to be a problem, she was even wild in parking lots. She was notorious for jackknifing the trailer and performing a maneuver called The Shelly Scoot. Here’s Mandy Shucher, one of Shelly’s bass players and one of my best friends:

• Mandy: I used to make her let me out of the van before she would do The Scoot because it would make me nauseous. Like, if you’re not going to let me back this trailer, then let me out of this van because I can’t be in it with you doing this 16-point turn bullshit.

Mandy is the kind of friend who can tell you what you are doing is bullshit, and you can’t get your feelings hurt because you know she’s right. You might have seen her out on the road with outlaw country superstars like Dallas Moore and Ward Davis, but she got her start in Shelly’s band. She sent me a video of Shelly performing the scoot on a gig we did at some terrible bar in Louisiana.

[Sound from archival video, crickets in the background.]

• Mandy: Basically the trailer is jackknifed onto this ramp. I’m going to be amused by her backing out of it.
• Karen Dee: What’s she doing?

That’s Karen Dee.

• Karen Dee: Ordering a pizza?

Shelly started to turn the van even closer to the trailer.

• Mandy: You’re turning the wheels the wrong way, Bush.
• Karen Dee: No, she’s doing her Shelly Scoot.
• Mandy: This is The Shelly Scoot?
• Karen Dee: Whoa!

It dawned on me that this was all part of Shelly’s plan.

• Ellen: Oh, she’s just turning clear around
• Karen: Yes.
• Ellen: Oh.
• Karen Dee: You got it, Shelly!
• Ellen: I didn’t see that coming, I thought she was just going to try and back it out. [Karen and Mandy laugh]

Then here came Shelly rolling up into the frame.

• Shelly: Hey, I am one of the best trailer backers, scooters, whatever you want to call it.
• Karen: Yeah, in this parking lot right now.
• Mandy: You’re the best trailer scooter in the parking lot.
• Shelly: Ask Leon Watson. He says I back a van better than any bus driver.

When she wasn’t wiggling the van out of a tight squeeze, she was doing everything you are supposed to do when you want to be a star. Through sheer force of will, Shelly was writing and recording with Nashville’s top players. And I’m saying this as a jaded music industry professional: her music was awesome and it 100% holds up.

[“Head Over Heels,” by Shelly Bush: “Now I’m head over heels, yeah I know how it feels to get knocked down ’cause your heart’s tripped up by a crazy little thing that we call love.”]

That was Shelly’s song, “Head Over Heels,” and in case you didn’t notice, it’s very good. It’s got a great feel and it’s in just the right key: B natural, a bright-sounding key that fits perfectly with the lyrics. And at the heart of the song is Shelly’s undeniable voice. She made a whopping ten albums with all the right names on the credits. But in spite of all that, all the shows, all the music, Shelly’s dream didn’t come true.

• Rod: Fucking music, man. You know what I mean? People chase that shit ’til they fucking die, right?

And on Valentines Day, 2015, Shelly Bush passed away after a brief battle with cancer.

[“Reckless,” by Shelly Bush: “We were reckless, running wide open taking every chance we had.”]

If you believe the mythology, country music is a big happy family, supportive and loving. A creaky old PR machine churns out fluffy lifestyle pieces making its stars seem likable and relatable. The cumulative effect of these stories is a lot of sameness: white, mostly male stars with white, mostly male bands who might get rowdy on Saturday nights but never miss church on Sunday. Just beyond that fairytale fog stood Shelly Bush, trying to get someone to notice her.

[“Reckless,” by Shelly Bush: “We had wild reputations for doing what we wanted, never worried about the cost.”]

Well, I noticed her. I noticed her dogged determination to field an all-female band, which was not originally for any high-minded desire to support women even though it had that impact.

• Karen Dee: The agent was basically, like, you know, if you can, if you can just get that one more set of tits in there, I could really book y’all a lot more. And that’s how Broadband started.

I noticed her talent.

• Karen Dee: She could really sing and that’s unusual in Nashville.

I noticed her drive.

• Sheila: Nobody worked harder than Shelly.

I noticed her mysterious male benefactors.

• Amanda: Sometimes I’m like, “I don’t know how Shelly could afford to do so many things.”

I noticed her dedication to looking like a star.

• Shirley: And I’d say, “Shelly, what are you buying all those clothes for?” She said, “Well I can’t, I can’t wear the same clothes twice.”

I noticed her meetings with high profile executives on Music Row.

• Rod: I don’t even know how I would get a meeting with those guys. Somehow she would be like… “You got Buddy Cannon out here?” She’s like, “Yeah.”

I noticed her disabilities.

• Dawn: And the reality is, that’s not what is on CMT, you know? They want young, they want perfect, and she wasn’t that.

Most importantly: I noticed the flood of incredible musicians in her wake. There are hundreds of musicians in Nashville who can trace the lineage of their careers through Shelly. And they’re not just talented, they are some of my favorite people in the world–compassionate, hilarious, kind. Like Shelly was.

[“Girl in a Hurry,” by Shelly Bush: “I’m a girl in a hurry so make up your mind, if you don’t know what you want I’ll leave you behind.”]

All this brings me back to the question I posed at the top of this episode. How do you measure success? Why does Shelly’s indomitable spirit and charmingly chaotic career matter, if she didn’t ever achieve her dream? Artists like Shelly aren’t noted in the record of country music history. She didn’t have awards or hit songs, and she didn’t break out of the bar scene on Broadway in Nashville. Well, I’m here to tell you that history may be written by the victors, but there’s a kind of victory that matters more than having a Wikipedia page.

[“Girl in a Hurry,” by Shelly Bush: “Are you getting no grip? I’m not getting any younger. There’s a whole lot to do while I’ve still got the hunger.”]

Shelly didn’t fit the flawless, sanitized ideal country music history would have you believe is the norm. I don’t either. And neither do you, I’ll bet. That’s why this matters so much to me. Shelly’s story is everyone’s story. Most of us aren’t going to get Grammys or win Nobel Prizes–insert your industry high water mark here. But that’s not what making music is about and it’s not what life is about. Shelly’s destination wasn’t the top of the charts, but chart-toppers can only dream of leaving behind a legacy like she left.

[Guitar flourish from “Girl in a Hurry,” by Shelly Bush]

So strap in, y’all. This is going to be fun. On the next episode, we’re going to dive into how Shelly made it from Small Town, USA to Music City, USA.

[“Girl in a Hurry,” by Shelly Bush: “I’m a girl in a hurry so make up your mind, if you don’t know what you want I’ll leave you behind. Life’s too short and there’s no time to worry. If you’re gonna break my heart, make it fast. I’m a girl in a hurry. Make up your mind what you want. I’m a girl in a hurry.”]

Girl in a Hurry: the Shelly Bush Story was made possible by Whippoorwill Arts and We Own This Town. Special thanks to Karen Pittelman and Michael Eades.