Songwriter’s Column: Nicolle Galyon and Parker McCollum Discuss the Album He Always Wondered if He Could Make

the album.

In an industry of formulaic hooks, carefully architected concepts, and advanced scheduled writing sessions, Parker McCollum would say his general strategy for writing his best songs is to never have one. I found myself on the hunt to discover not only the parts of Parker’s psyche that make his songs great, but how he used 14 of those songs as equal parts to build this year’s ACM Album of the Year. In one of my favorite sit-downs this year, I learned that not only does he trust himself, but he also trusts a higher creative force to tap into a stream of consciousness that could never be duplicated by another. I would say he wrote Album of the Year by breaking the rules, but the truth is he never gave himself many to begin with.

Nicolle Galyon:

When did you know you were writing this album? Did you have the vision first, or did you write your way into it?

Parker McCollum:

I never really sit down to write a record. Every minute of every day, there is something melodic or poetic happening in my brain. When I go to make a record, I’m thinking, what songs have I written?

I thought this album was career suicide while recording it. I really felt that it was the worst thing I’d ever done. On the last day of our seven days in New York, I said, “I want to listen to everything we’ve done.” There was a point where everybody in the room had tears in their eyes. I had this weird feeling, for the first time in years, of finally. My brain, these hands, my heart and my soul have been trying to get on the same page lyrically and melodically. In that moment, I thought, this is the record I’ve always wondered if I was good enough to make. I’m getting emotional saying it. Genuinely and truly, that is what I’ve been trying to do for so long.

Nicolle Galyon: 

Did any of these songs start with a title, or was it more stream of consciousness?

Parker McCollum: 

I think “Handle on You” is the only song I’ve ever written to a title, but not on this record. That’s also the only song I’ve ever written where I thought, that’s a smash hit. I feel like you miss things when you have a title. You have this target, and all the great places, thoughts, and things it can end up being may get blocked out. 

Nicolle Galyon:

When an album starts taking shape, do you think about an overarching theme, or are you always just writing to the song?

Parker McCollum: 

There’s no overarching story. I mumble complete gibberish over guitar chords until I sing a melody and think, I love that. “Solid Country Gold” started out like that, and Jon Randall was the one who said, “This is cool. Let’s keep going.”

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Nicolle Galyon:

How much of your songwriting is scheduled versus a creative burst? Do you still show up to write when there isn’t an idea?

Parker McCollum:

Co-writes stress me out before I even get there, because I think, I can’t go to this room and connect those dots at this time. Whenever it rears its head, I have no control over it. It hadn’t reared its head for 10 months, and then all of a sudden it did. It’s the craziest thing in the world to bet everything you’ve worked on rearing its head again.

Nicolle Galyon:

Looking back, do you feel like you unlocked something new on this record that you want to tap back into?

Parker McCollum:

I will only make records the way we made that record now. Complete stream of consciousness. That’s why we went to New York. Nobody was leaving at five to pick up kids. Nobody had errands to run. We had all day for seven days, only there to make this record.

I have been the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life since I made that record, creatively, career-wise, and even personally. I think it bleeds into every facet of your life.

Nicolle Galyon:

Do you believe in the 10,000-hours idea — that after enough time, you can just flow and reach moments of excellence?

Parker McCollum:

I don’t know. “Permanent Headphones,” on the record, I wrote when I was 15. My brother is my biggest influence and introduced me to phenomenal songwriters. He came home from college, asked what I had, and I played that song for him. He said, “You could be the next George Strait.” That’s exactly what he said. He was like, “You can do this.” I remember his reaction so vividly.

Nicolle Galyon:

You recorded this in New York, but where did you write most of it? Is there a place where that stream of consciousness shows up?

Parker McCollum:

No, Walt Wilkins told me when I was 20 years old at the Saxon Pub one night, “Don’t ever force it. Just don’t force it.” I was so impressionable at that age that I thought, “I’m going to live my whole songwriting career by that one sentence.” It stuck.

It is this thing that has been burning in my literal heart, soul, and brain since I can remember, trying to get out. Every now and then, I find the key.

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Nicolle Galyon:

Would you say you may not know what you’re doing, but you can feel it?

Parker McCollum: 

One hundred percent. Sometimes I’ll keep writing when I don’t want to, because you can stumble upon it. There’s nothing better than when it just shows up. Why today? Why on this bus in Oregon does this song decide to show up?

Nicolle Galyon:

What makes something an album, rather than just a bunch of songs in a row?

Parker McCollum: 

An album is all the thoughts and feelings from a time in your life, forced to live together forever. I’ll always go back to that week in New York when I listen to that record. It was so good, I squeezed that lemon for every drop of juice it had.

Nicolle Galyon:

If you had to write a song about where you are right now, what would the title be?

Parker McCollum:

“Where Do I Go From Here?” Because that’s about how I’m feeling right now. Where the fuck do I go from here? But whatever ends up coming out will be the thing. Maybe it’ll be good, and maybe it won’t. Every day of my life, forever.