We were sitting out by her pool, and she was reading some smear piece aloud about how female artists can’t handle fame, how girls like Ryan are too delicate and sensitive to do their jobs well. And she looked at me and said, “What’smyproblem?”
“You should be supporting her,” I said. “Someone could write a piece like that about us in a heartbeat.”
She snorted. “Oh. So because I’m a woman, I should be supporting some other woman’s shitty behavior, just because we’ve both got boobs?”
“No, but we’re supposed to be her friend,” I said. “And I don’t want to be friends with a bitch.”
And I got up and went to Ryan’s.
It took a second for her to let me in at first—I realized when I was standing at the door that she hadn’t been to the last few of our gatherings, and I felt like an idiot for not noticing it. She’d been avoiding us. Of course she knew what Savannah and everyone were saying behind her back.
But Ryan still smiled when she saw me and said, “Hey, Kylie. How are you?”
I said, “I’ve been an asshole, Ryan. I’m sorry.”
Savannah
So I guess you just have to grovel at Ryan Holding’s feet and you’ll get a collab. Some people have no backbone.
Victor!a,pop vocalist and songwriter
It was a great experience singing with Ryan! I loved the raw, unleashed feel of “Listen!” Look, I’ve experienced some shitty career setbacks, too, and when she and I got in that booth together, screamingShut up, shut up, just for one minute!it was the best feeling ever.
She was my homegirl. I hope she’s okay, wherever she is.
Gavin
It was wild to see how much Ryan had changed since the Southwest Sands tour. Her whole demeanor was different—less bubbly, more businesslike. Even “Angeline,” which we sang on, was nothing like her old bluegrass.
And maybe that’s just part of growing up. Montana Line sounds a lot different now than we did in the early days, I’ll tell you that. But Ryan was so carefree when she was just a little thing doing all those crazy tours, and during theDiatribesessions, she seemed ... guarded.
There was just one moment when we were killing time in the studio, waiting for the tech guys to work out some problem they had on the soundboard, that us guys were messing around telling each other our stupidest jokes.A blind man walks into a bar. Then a chair, then a table.Or,Why do divers fall off the boat backward? Because if they fell forward, they’d still be on the boat.
And Ryan’s guitarist Wilder comes in and says, What do you call a chicken looking at a bowl of lettuce? ... A chicken sees her salad.Without missing a beat, Ryan cuts through the groans and says, “Caesar? I hardly know her!”
It was so stupid and goofy and she knew it, and we all busted out laughing.
I was like, yeah. There’s the Ryan I remember.
Jasmine
Sure, she was learning, but I’ve come to be convinced that Ryan was often very aware of what she was doing. She ended up being more strategic than Skip and me combined.
The collabs were exactly the right move to reignite anticipation aroundDiatribe. Even the bad press was good press.
And Skip and Mari don’t like to dwell on it, but there was plenty of bad press—articles about Ryan not picking a genre, commentary that her glitzy performances and videos disguised what was actually mediocre music, critics trying to discredit her and her fan base. That was a big one. It’s just young girls who listen to Ryan Holding, right? So it’s not serious music. Teen girls can’t tell the difference between cheap, flashy glamour and quality sound. Her lyrics are all about boys and high school and petty girlie rivalries. And if you like Ryan Holding, you’re not a serious musician either.
It’s the same age-old bullshit. They said it about Beatlemania, about the Monkees.Only things that men like are serious things, hurr-durr.
So I think Ryan’s collaboration with this slate of “serious,” well-respected musicians ruffled some feathers. It suddenly gave her a lot of credibility. And all their fan bases would have to admit—hey, I like Brace for Impact. I like Dust and Roses. And if they like Ryan, maybe she’s onto something.
Skip pulled me into his office one day, and he had that wild look in his eye.
“Artist of the Year?” he said to me quietly. It was like he was afraid to say it loud enough for the universe to hear. “Do you think we could do it?”
I smiled. I said, “We know she’s got the chops. All you can do is put her name in the hat.”
We both knew what it would mean. Ryan’s fan base wasn’t going anywhere—that was solid. Some strong recognition from the Academy would be gold for truly cementing her fame, putting her up into that upper echelon of music industry legend.
