I swungmy hips in time with Darla Rooney, the other half of Whiskey Wild. The music break in our popular up-tempo song “Shit Kickin’ Boots” always sent the fans wild. Especially when we danced and played our guitars in unison. After the break, we’d sing in melodic harmony about hitting the dusty streets and carousing with our friends on a summer’s night.
I’d known Darla since we were in cloth diapers. We’d been best friends forever and every memory I had included Darla by my side. She and I’d been preparing for sold out festivals like the Heritage Fest for years. Pretending the field behind my house was our stage, we’d shake our butts and kick our heels like we’d seen the superstars we idolize on television do. By high school we were no longer singing for fun in the back of my house. We attended farmers’ markets and fairs performing on the makeshift stages to crowds that were more interested in who was going to win the chili cook off and not our puppy dog love songs.
But you’ve heard that saying stay ready, so you don’t have to get ready. That was Whiskey Wild’s motto. So when we were approached by a music industry cat at one of those fairs wherethe main event was a pie-eating contest, we were more than prepared.
Now almost ten years later, we were the main event at the Heritage Music Festival in the California desert. Whiskey Wild had come a long way from singing to the horses in my family’s stable. As the song faded, we both rolled our bodies like snakes to the music. I kicked up a laugh, it never got old being on stage with my bestie. We fed off one another’s energy and it was always a good time with my sister from another mister at my side.
“How y’all doing out there?” I asked the crowd. They responded with rowdy cheers.
“We sure like partying with you all,” Darla said. “Don’t we, Fancy?”
“Well, we’ve always been known as good time girls. A little liquor, loud music, and handsome men, and we just go wild.” I winked playfully.
“Fancy, shh, that’s supposed to be a secret.”
“Come on Darla, I suspect we have quite a few good time girls in the audience.” There was a smattering of hoots. Jerking my shoulders, I continued, “I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. Where’s my good time girls at?” Cheers exploded from the crowd and then the beat dropped to our first ever hit, “Good Time Girls.”
Darla flashed me a curled smile before she started the first verse. I accompanied her on the guitar, tapping my foot to the powerful beat. After her verse, I chimed in singing the second verse alone, my voice raspy and deep. At the chorus, Darla’s light and ethereal voice kicked in. The combination of our vocal tones brought the signature Whiskey Wild brand to life.
After our set we waved goodbye to hoots and hollers from the delighted crowd. “That was amazing,” I said, performing an excited little two-step. Being on stage playing our songs to sold-out crowds was the stuff of dreams for so long and even though we were currently living those dreams, I still had difficulty processing it all.
“Another great show,” my assistant, Moniece said.
I scanned the space backstage, searching for Chap. Dylan Chapman was our manager and my boyfriend. I never grew tired of saying those words. Chap was movie-star fine, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes I often got lost in. He also came from a long line of country royalty. The Chapman family had been selling out stadiums and collecting Grammy’s and Country Music Awards since before I was born.
“Are you looking for Chap?” Moniece asked in response to my darting eyes.
“Yes.” My mouth flashed a bashful smile. I was hooked and everyone knew it. But Chap’s personality was just as dreamy as he was.
“He was headed to the bus the last time we spoke,” Moniece said.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll come with you. I have to pee,” Darla said.
“There’s a porta potty right over there.” Moniece pointed.
“Eww, no. I don’t use communal toilets.” Darla hooked her arm through mine, and we were off.
My cowboy boots were firmly planted on the ground, but having people come up to you requesting an autograph like my signature held life changing properties, was thrilling. Growing up, I envisioned the stage, bright lights, and singing songs penned by me and my best friend. But it was these moments that meant the most; a young woman in a Whiskey Wild shirt, cut-off shorts, and pink cowboy boots telling me how our music saved her life by inspiring her to take the first step toward a new adventure. I can’t tell you how many fans mentioned on social media our song “Change of Scenery,” about leaving the comfortand security of all you knew and picking up stakes for new horizons, was the push they needed to move to a different city or end a toxic relationship.
Most of the time our music made you want to kick up your heels, but our ballads evoked unexpected emotions. The power of a well-written song could be a catalyst, and we tapped into music that listeners connected with. Maybe because they felt the honesty of childhood friends living our best lives and making our own rules. It also didn’t hurt that we were game changers. Two Black women from the south paving our own lane in this industry after discovering most of the roads that lead to Nashville were gated and our access summarily denied.
After signing several autographs and posing for pictures, we continued over the water parched grass. The first time we performed at Heritage a few years ago, Whiskey Wild was an opening act. I remember almost dying of heat stroke as the sun glared down on us. Luckily, we had misters. I don’t know how our spattering of fans managed. But today we were one of the main acts. Attendees didn’t stumble onto us performing while making their way to better known acts set. Nope, now crowds formed hours before our showtime to get the best possible spot.
“Today has kind of been a movie,” I trilled out.
“Yep, we’re a long way from Hume, Tennessee. Did you ever think we’d be here?”
“Yes, I always knew we’d be performing in front of screaming crowds one day.”
“Liar.”
“I swear. I’m not one to brag. But we’re talented as hell and we worked hard. We deserve everything we have coming our way. Awards, sold out arenas?—”
“Sexy groupies.” Darla giggled.
“I’ll leave the groupies to you. I already have all I can handle with Chap.”
