In a plain navy pantsuit, blonde hair hanging straight, Universal Music Group Nashville Chair and CEO Cindy Mabe stood in front of a massive pipe organ onstage at Clementine Hall and delivered a blessing on the future state of country music.

Billed as “Revival,” tagged as “Human,” her personal witness to a journey from North Carolina to working out of her dorm room for now Country Music Hall of Fame inductee Joe Galante at BMG in a position created for her and now running a key Music Row label group spoke to the guts of what has always made country music singular—speaking for the unseen, even scorned—and paving a future that looks like America today.

Addressing the nine months since becoming CEO and the labels’ relative quiet, Mabe acknowledged deep reflection, as well as major changes within the company. If people on the Row wanted to talk, cast dispersions on her cutting a new path—creating teams reflecting her own truth as a leader—the woman critical to the success of Carrie Underwood, Chris Stapleton, The War & Treaty and Keith Urban let the music speak to what the brave new face of UMGN will be.

Presenting seven acts, all with a distinctly compelling journey, Mabe proclaimed, “Each of their stories are specific, often traumatic, spiritual and entrenched in humanity. They are culture shifters, bridge builders, soul healers, but they are HUMAN FIRST. That’s why each will find and grow their specific audience, and together they will revive and renew fans of country music globally. Collectively, they represent so many characters and stories currently missing from the country music landscape. … Open your minds to the transformation they are bringing with their stories and testimonies, and have faith there is plenty of room under this tent for all of them.”

Dillon James

Dillon James, of Bakersfield, Calif., brought an intersection of the raw part of Southern rock and lyricism with dignity, sorting life out, surrender and survival. With a perspective forged “sleeping homeless on the streets of L.A. in a Coleman sleeping bag,” the tattooed, long-haired songwriter confessed, “My life is something most people haven’t experienced,” as he played the minor-keyed, wide-open twang “River Black” and “Walkin’ Man,” both about shedding a dark past, moving from being “a dead man walking to a walking man living.” Stark, harrowing, it reflected Merle Haggard’s move towards higher ground after a rough life, meager circumstances and a chance. To demonstrate UMGN’s rebirth, he embodied the spirit.

Belle Frantz

Twenty-year-old Belle Frantz, from Aberdeen, Miss., looked like a time-warped hipster in wide-legged jeans, black turtleneck and a plaid beret, but she writes with Americana icon Nanci Griffith’s filigreed sense of detail about small-time life, big dreams and a need for more. Her satiny singing voice moves from almost whispered intimacy to Loretta Lynn power sob, pulling listeners towards her. All “aw shucks” innocence, she was cleaning houses seven months ago, making TikToks and trying to figure out how to connect. Pledging fealty to Reba, whose music gave her clarity and emotion in her own cul-de-sac life, France could be the every(young)woman for the next generations.

Louie TheSinger

Like James, Louie TheSinger’s authenticity is street-honed, not Aggie-fratted. Having served time in prison, the Mexican-American artist from Fort Worth arrived looking like a superstar in a sleek black leather jacket, low crown/wide brim cowboy hat and rings on his fingers. More potent was his message: pride in his America and his culture, a strong willingness to fight to protect both delivered with a power vocal that punched through. Knowing convictions never truly go away, the acceptance-seeking “Just Be Me” was fervid, coming forward rhythmically, vocally, even instrumentally, in the unplugged environment. Working with Chris Perez (Selena’s spouse), there’s a passion to this music that insists on being heard—and a message critical in a time where drugs, crime and political discord are a norm.

HUESTON

Somewhere between Hozier and John Hiatt, HUESTON was Revival’s bravest act. Billed as “SciFi gospel soul with a hip hop undertow,” unplugged left little room for what sets him apart. Impressionistic, rhythmic and working emotional forthrightness, he was as atmospheric as he was ardent—and seemingly holding space for people beyond labels.

Face tats, a studded biker jacket, his ambiguity left room for anyone who’d ever been hurt, bullied or needed validation for the person they were trying to become. Attendees might imagine what this music sounds like in its proper form, given the erotic charge of “Down In My Grave.”

Danae Hays

Hosted by Danae Hays, the comic signed to Capitol Comedy Nashville as part of a division launch that includes arena-selling Nate Bargatze, her down-home enthusiasm kept things moving—and coherent in a kaleidoscope of diversity.

Royalty followed as Sam Williams (left) made good on the groundbreaking grandfather Hank Williams Sr. started and father Hank Jr. continued. Looking Bowie-esque in a black on black micro-rhinestone-striped bowling jacket and wide-leg, red leather pants, the fair-haired songwriter absorbed the same evocative divergence of fellow NextGens Rufus Wainwright, Jeff Buckley, even Tommy Prine. Romantic in extreme, his ethereal voice—a haunted, dusky tenor that almost defies gender classification—is fluid on songs of longing, aching and seeking something almost untouchable. Raised in Paris, Tenn., “because Johnny Cash went there to hunt and fish,” Williams was untouched by show business and wrote songs from his unique heart.

Anne Wilson makes being a Christian seem both insurrectionary and necessary. With a Grammy nomination, millions of streams and a presence that is country positive—rhinestoned, knee-high cowgirl boots, full-skirted, square dance-friendly minidress from Spanish designer Celia B—the 21-year old Kentuckian did four songs that were connected with stories of her life. “REBEL,” her closer, balanced a syncopated beat, quick-picking almost bluegrass style and a vocal swagger that is Miranda Lambert or The Chicks’ Natalie Maines’ full fury. Witnessing with a strong alto that’s unafraid to go full-power or pull back, Wilson doesn’t over-emote or over-throttle, even as her drawl drips over the vowels and reaches for potency.

More than a backwoods Lauren Daigle, this is a believer for the roots/Americana scene who can hunt in mainstream country. Like James, TheSinger and HUSTON, Wilson’s a faith-forward proposition—and potentially an artist who can do for country what Amy Grant did for pop music during her A&M years.

Revival had everything: convicts, addicts, Christians, kids, LGBTQ, Mexican-Americans, legends’ legacy. Dreamers all, their love for the music and raging desire to tell their stories gave Mabe the frame to present what her country looks like.

Confessing at times in her remarks she’s hated country music, the no-nonsense leader did what so many in these performative times can’t seem to: she’s committed sweeping action to intention. She’s delivering diversity and searing stories that harken to an age of rough-edged, rebellious artists and singular writers who included Haggard, Cash, George Jones, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, David Allen Coe, Johnny Paycheck, as well as Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, Loretta Lynn, Lambert, The Chicks, Rosanne Cash, Jessi Colter, Lacy J. Dalton and k.d. lang.

“We are who we say we are,” Mabe offered in conclusion. “We love country music, but we are going to broaden our spectrum to include all kinds of voices. That’s what country is.”

Anne Wilson