Martina McBride -- Waking Up Laughing

How a small-town girl became a country music sensation.

From Reader's Digest www.rd.com

Part of Her Identity

“I’ve got to get ready for the big transformation,” says Martina McBride, lounging backstage before a show in Oakland, California. That means the pigtails that belie her 41 years will soon disappear. The multiplatinum country singer, mother of three girls, will trade her pink hoodie and cutoffs for a sleek black outfit to match her high-tech stage set.

Transformation has been key to McBride’s success, dating from her childhood singing with her family band. In 1990 she was a wannabe without a recording contract, selling T-shirts for megastar Garth Brooks. Two years later, she was his opening act. Her huge soprano has earned her four Female Vocalist of the Year awards from the Country Music Association (tying her with Reba McEntire). And her ninth studio album, Waking Up Laughing, which marks her songwriting debut, may win her another this year.

McBride, whose songs about domestic abuse (“Independence Day,” “Concrete Angel”) stand out from country’s typical radio fare, was recently named by Pollstar magazine as one of the 2007 top female touring acts. The singer sat down with Reader’s Digest to tell us why she believes such songs “were given to me for a reason. When I’m singing, I feel so powerfully that this is what I was meant to do.”

RD: It wasn’t long ago that you were making a living working as a waitress.

McBride: And if I ever have to go back to it, I’ll be fine. I’m a killer waitress because I see it as a challenge. It’s a mental exercise. You go in order. If there are four people at a table, you start: One has the steak well, the baked potato, no sour cream; two has whatever. You memorize it. I’m very understanding about waitstaff, but it bugs me if they go, Okay, who had the steak?

RD: How did you discover your singing voice?

McBride: My dad played guitar. He taught me classic country songs like “Satin Sheets” and “I Fall to Pieces,” and we’d sing gospel in church. He played weddings and VFW halls, and I started singing in his band when I was about seven. In high school, it was just part of my identity, something I could do that not everybody else could.

RD: When did it become your career?

McBride: I sang in a rock band after high school, then moved to Wichita and sang in a couple of house bands. That’s where I met my husband, John, who had a concert sound company. We moved to Nashville in 1990, where I worked on getting a record deal. That’s at least part of the story.

A Sense of Hope

RD: Did you think you’d be famous?

McBride: In the back of my mind, I always thought that I was going to make it. That was my dream. All I knew about the music business was you had to make records, sing onstage, do shows and travel around in a bus—and I definitely wanted to do that.

RD: You grew up in Sharon, Kansas. What was that like?

McBride: The town only had 200 people in it. Everybody knew everybody. I wasn’t a saint, but there was a line you didn’t cross. If you messed up, it reflected on your family. I am still conscious of how I behave and how what I say affects people.

RD: Your dad was a farmer. Did you live on a working farm?

McBride: Yes. When I was seven or eight, we would go every evening to the pasture and herd the cows up the lane so that Dad could milk. I remember feeling like I was doing something important. It’s a good life skill, I guess, to be able to herd a bunch of cows.

RD: Sounds kind of like a Norman Rockwell upbringing.

McBride: I look back and try to find something dysfunctional, but I just can’t. We didn’t have video games; we had three TV channels. So we spent a lot of time together as a family.

RD: You sing about alcoholism, domestic violence, child abuse—yet your life seems untouched by these things.

McBride: I’ve never been in a situation that compares with most women out there who live with domestic violence, but I have felt helpless at the hands of someone else. I have been physically shoved or overpowered in a relationship. Abused is maybe too strong a word, and luckily I got out before it went too far. But when I’m singing songs like “Independence Day,” I feel compassion for the women who live with that. And something about that song gives them courage to take action.

RD: Is it important to you that even your darkest songs offer hope?

McBride: I definitely want there to be a sense of hope. If there is a common theme in my music, I think that’s it.

RD: Women feel a particular kinship with you, as if you’re a friend.

McBride: Through the centuries, we have been kind of forced to find a kinship with each other because there has been oppression. I don’t understand women who don’t support other women. We have to. If my girls start talking about somebody, I say, Let’s think about why this person is acting this way; maybe they feel insecure or are having a hard time at home. Let’s don’t just be mean back.

RD: How do you balance your professional and family lives?

McBride: To make the most of a tour, you should go out for extended lengths of time. It’s not the smartest way to try to do only weekends because the kids are in school.

Juggling a Family

RD: So you end up racing back from tour stops for school events?

McBride: Yes. For instance, for Emma’s first-grade pet show, a friend of mine volunteered to let Emma bring her goat, since our miniature schnauzer barks and bites pant legs. The pet show was on a Friday. We did our gig on Thursday, drove to Nashville, got in about 8:15 a.m.—the pet show was at 8:30—saw Emma and her goat in all their glory, then got back on the bus and drove six hours to the next show.

Most of the time, the kids come to meet us wherever we are on Fridays, then we all get back by Monday. It’s just crazy. But we all want our kids to have childhood experiences similar to ours, so I want them to have class parties, field days and school plays.

RD: Two other country musicians, Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, do the same balancing act. I understand that you’re good friends.

McBride: We have a lot in common. We have daughters. They’re both from small towns and humble beginnings and are dealing with fame, trying to do the best they can. They have their priorities straight.

RD: Do you talk shop?

McBride: We talk about record companies and the industry. Faith is really private. She would never say, So what do you think of this song? We don’t ask each other’s advice on things like that, but we do as far as decorating and cooking and that stuff.

RD: You’ve been married 19 years. How do you keep the romance alive?

McBride: We really like each other and love to be together. We’re different in many ways but also really similar, with the same values. John is romantic. He writes letters to me for my birthday and anniversaries. That means more than any gift. But it comes down to being able to go with the flow and laugh at things. He lifts me up and doesn’t try to tear me down. I like to think I’m the same way, though I think he’s less selfish than I am.

RD: When you wanted to move to Nashville, was he enthusiastic?

McBride: He packed up his entire sound company. We didn’t know anybody. We got a $10,000 loan to live on. We had no job prospects whatsoever, but he’s just this positive, optimistic person, and that’s the kind of person you need with you to make this work.

RD: The album’s title comes from one of your songs about waking up laughing. Does that happen to you?

McBride: Very rarely. You’ll be dreaming and something funny happens, and you laugh so hard that you wake yourself up. It’s the best feeling, the polar opposite of waking up crying, which I’ve done as well.

RD: You finally seem comfortable in your own skin. Is that true?

McBride: Maybe part of it was turning 40. At a certain point, you just feel more confident. You don’t have to worry about every little thing.

RD: Where would you say you are now in terms of your dream of one day being a huge success?

McBride: Where I am now is an amazing place. Fifteen years later, I have a successful career that I love and a family. I’ve been able to really do both, so I’m happy.

RD: And there’s a Barbie named after you. In 2005 a Martina McBride collector’s doll was released and sold out on Amazon. What was that like?

McBride: It was so bizarre. I got this phone call from my manager saying, “Mattel wants to make a Barbie doll of you.” I said, What? I mean, Shania, Faith, I can name a lot of people who are bigger than me. What are they thinking? The funny thing was that in the end, I had a lot of input on the doll: what I wore, whether the hair was long or short, the jewelry, everything. I said, “Can the body actually look like mine? Can she be five-two?” They were like, “No, that’s one thing we cannot change. It’s a Barbie doll—come on.”