When Jon Loba made the move to Broken Bow, independent labels weren’t considered “in the game.” But the kid raised in Southern California and on a Michigan dairy farm liked the idea of coloring outside the lines and calibrating to see small wins as real victories. Through his passion for music and work ethic, he took the indie and created a label group that stands toe-to-toe with any of the majors, leading to his being named BMG president of frontline recordings, North America.

Lainey Wilson and Jelly Roll have dominated this year’s conversation with their massive hits and certifications. She took the coveted Country Music Association Entertainer of the Year trophy among her four-award haul; he won New Artist of the Year. Jelly was nominated for Best New Artist at this year’s Grammys, while Lainey won Best Country Album. Wilson is speaking up for women’s place in the world; he’s testifying before Congress on the impact of fentanyl abuse in America.

Principled, engaged, singular voices. What began with Jason Aldean’s hard-charging, blue-collar country has turned into massive crossover play for Parmalee and Jelly Roll, as well as retrenching traditional country with Dustin Lynch and Wilson.

Let’s start with the basics.

I was born in the San Fernando Valley and lived there until I was 10. Mom married a dairy farmer on 1,200 acres in Western Michigan, about the time of Footloose. I was living real-life Footloose. My dad still lived in Southern California; I’d spend summers and vacations in the Valley, then back to reality and work in Michigan. It helped me understand and appreciate two different worlds. In Michigan I developed my work ethic. When you’re unfreezing stock tanks at five in the morning, then rushing inside to take a shower and be ready for school, coming back and milking until eight, doing your homework after? Everything I’ve done since is a piece of cake.

I went to Central Michigan University, because they had a good finance program and no social temptations. It was in the middle of a cornfield. Went for a couple of years, then back to California to CSUN for a year. Budget cuts in California meant it was going to take too long to finish, so I finished at Central Michigan. I planned to go to New York to get into an investment-banking training program.

A gentleman we thought was a close family friend turned out to be my grandfather; I realized that during my senior year of college, so I came to Nashville after I graduated to meet that entire side of the family in Cookeville, Tennessee. I fell in love with Tennessee, Nashville, specifically Music Row. I thought, “I don’t know what this business is about, but I’ll play around for a few years, and then I’ll get a real job.”

The playing around for a few years turned into a real job, though it’s never felt like it once. I was at BMI for six months, then Warner Bros. as a promotion coordinator. The general manager at the time, Eddie Reeves, Jim Ed Norman and I were all on an elevator; I was going on about a bunch of things that were happening, Eddie smiled and said, “That’s why we hire young kids.” I said, “Why?” He said, “To remind us how great this business is.” I said, “You have to be reminded how great this business is?” He said, “Give it 10 years; you’ll understand.” Eddie got off on the second floor. Jim Ed and I rode up to the third floor. Jim Ed shook his head. He goes, “Don’t listen to him. If you love music, people and creating musical memories, you’ll love this business forever.” Every day when I leave for work, I think, “I love it now more than ever.”

How did you get to BBR?

I was a coordinator for Warner Bros. for three years, then Southeast regional for Atlantic Records for a year and a half. When I made the Atlantic move, everybody said, “What are you doing? They’re going to close Atlantic down with all the consolidation going on in Warner.” I thought, “If I can get six months on the phones, I can build relationships and be okay.” We made it a year and a half. Scott Borchetta’s dad, Mike Borchetta, was general manager at Broken Bow; he kept calling me.

Independent labels hadn’t had success in decades in Nashville. I thought, “I’m not doing that. That’ll be a graveyard. I’m going to wait it out.” He kept calling, so I threw out a ridiculous number. Five minutes later, he got off the phone with Benny Brown and said, “Congratulations, you’re with Broken Bow.” That was Friday. He goes, “I need you to start Monday.” I came in Monday, said, “Where do I sit?” “He said, “Over there,” where the guy who was the only promotion guy sat. I said, “Where’s he sitting?” Borchetta said, “We had to fire him to afford you.” I said, “All I know is 50 stations that matter, there’s another 100-plus out there.” He said, “Kid, you’ll be fine.”

We stumbled through with a Craig Morgan hit, then a Joe Diffie hit, then a Sherrié Austin hit. I was trying to keep everything small and focused as we built. We had the first indie success in a long time. Then Benny said, “I need you to go to a showcase with me; some guy who’s been dropped from two labels—and he’s going home tomorrow if he doesn’t get a deal.” I thought, “Nobody else wants him; what are we doing?” We went to the Wildhorse Saloon. I said, “Nobody in the industry goes there.” He goes, “You’re right, I want to see how real fans react.” That was Jason Aldean. We sat there; he said, “I’ve seen enough, let’s go sign him. I think Jason’s going to explode.”

Off we went. He said, “Don’t you like the music?” I said, “I love it. It’s not country, it’s metallic country.” He goes, “You’ll figure out how to get this on the air.” I thought, “I can’t get that played.” It was a matter of survival. At a Clear Channel showcase, I was so nervous introducing him I was shaking. My introduction was so bad, no matter what, he’d look good. Gregg Swedberg said, “He’s pitchy as hell, but he’s got something.” There were 10 guys in those early days I could count on when they had no reason. Doug Montgomery was another one. We were hanging on by our fingernails. Benny’s stubbornness to not give up; most guys with money that came to Nashville tap out at about $5 million. Benny lost seven or eight, and I don’t think he made a profit until he’d spent $11 million. He was going to hang in there one way or the other.

When did Benny step aside and you take the helm?

Every year a major wanted to buy us. I’d say, “Benny’s not in this for money, he’s in this for artist and staff dreams. Unless there’s a strategic partnership, he won’t sell.” In 2016, Roc Nation called. I said, “I gave them the speech.” A couple days later he said, “Would you come into my office?” I thought, We’re doing well. We’ve got all kinds of success. I can’t imagine he’s going to fire me. He said, “My wife’s health is not good. Even though the team’s taking the lead with everything, if I don’t sell this company I’ll be coming in every day and not giving her the time she deserves.” He said, “I think it’s time. I want $100 million dollars to protect the staff for two years and the roster for a year. If you can find that, whoever you think is best.” I went to visit Roc Nation; culturally, I didn’t feel it was a great fit. I was intimidated by them. Sony had the first right of refusal; what they valued us at wasn’t $100 million.

BMG came. It’s when they were entering back into recorded music. I thought, “Don’t they do publishing, or are they a distributor?” I fell in love with everybody there. The culture was the same: artist first. Respect artists’ freedom; follow their lead. They needed our staff, so I knew our people were protected beyond two years if we proved we were capable. At the 11th hour, everybody was throwing money at us, significantly more than what BMG was offering, but BMG felt like the best fit to take the next step for our artists. The deal was closed in 2017; Benny stepped back.

What was the state of BBR? The 2017 perception?

We developed a reputation as a company that cared, didn’t have a lot of bureaucracy and treated partners fairly. A lot of people from the outside thought this was a great place to work. But it was still this indie mentality. It would’ve been difficult to sign an A-level act. We had no international presence whatsoever. We didn’t have any ability to cross music into other genres. The competitors could say, “You want an international career? BBR is not the place.” “Do you want to cross your records? You’re never going to get that at BBR.” Our facilities, while not horrible, were much different than walking into Warner, Sony or Universal. When we moved into the building we’re in, it felt like the major leagues.

Clearly the perception changed. What did you do?

It was our staff. Our core has been together for a long time. We dreamed together, fought alongside each other and took care of each other. Now we had an international presence. Number two, we could access promotion teams in other genres because we were ADA-distributed. Blanco Brown’s “The Git Up” did better on the Top 40 charts than on the country charts thanks to Warner Bros. pop promotion.

One thing was critical in our development: We had the reputation of signing a certain type of act, usually solo male, with a certain sound and only engaging a small number of producers. You cannot argue with Benny’s recipe for success. He felt he had to have a strong hand and guide the ship. Where we were at the time, it was needed. Once I took over, I’d say, “Things are different. We want to be more inclusive. We want a spectrum of artists and artistry in sound, gender and ethnicity.”

My goal was to be the first place managers thought of because we were collaborative; we had our shit together and we’d treat them as true partners, even let managers and artists lead. With Aldean, we learned, through being independent with not many resources or reputation or leverage, to be fighters. I’ve always been attracted to artists on the fringes, who aren’t stereotypical country acts. It’s easy to sign those, then preach you’re diverse. It’s a different deal showing that those artists have a place in this genre. The number-one ingredient: We fight for things that aren’t right down the middle.

Being independent, you signed artists outside the box. Is that a superpower or secret weapon?

If you’re painting outside the lines and couldn’t easily classify as a country act, if you want a label home, BBR gives you confidence: “These guys know how to do it and will fight for you.” We’ve had success with acts that aren’t obvious; our partners trust us. No greater example than Jelly Roll. Most of that credit’s Jelly telling his story. We are now the home of “If I don’t fit in a box, I’m going to see if they’re interested.” There’s a cast of characters that comes walking through the doors now because they feel, “That’s a home I could succeed in. Those are people that will appreciate my quirkiness.”

Jelly said, “BBR is like a halfway house for artists and everybody’s successful, so I felt comfortable there. Nobody was going to judge me.”

You play into those things. Somebody else would’ve put Lainey Wilson in a push-up bra, or said to Dustin Lynch, “Do you have to be such a cowboy?”

I love those examples. People thinking about things outside the lines that we’ve done, they’re thinking things that aren’t organically country. When Dustin Lynch came out, the genre was pop-leaning, polished, and we came with this four-minute ballad with a guy in a cowboy hat. I heard, “That’s like grandpa. All the country acts now have baseball caps; there’s too much steel. You’re going to start with that?” I said yes.

Lainey, same thing. Female acts were pop-leaning, beautiful but had a glamour bent. Several people thought, “She’s too country for this genre.” People forget that was a disadvantage.

You flipped it.

You can be different, but if the artistry isn’t there, if you don’t have a strong identity, none of it matters. We’re not looking for the next whoever. We want the originals. I’m trying to look and say, “Sonically and thematically, where’s the genre right now?” If that’s identifiable, we don’t need to play there. We need to look forward. It might be a Jelly Roll, but something organic and stripped down.

Blanco Brown wasn’t doing, “I’m a Black guy in country music.”

Zach Katz was president at the time. We both saw the potential. I think we were the only two in the world. I wanted to take him to creatives around Music Row because “They’re going to get it. They might not think it’s country, but they’re gonna get him.” I was surprised at the pushback, but I give the streaming companies credit because when we took him in and played them the music and they met Blanco, every single platform was there for us.

TikTok had the viralness. That was the early days. TikTok had come to town; we had a ByteDance relationship. They said, “We’re looking for a label without bureaucracy to dig in with.” We had a breakfast; at the end I said, “Do you guys have 15 minutes?” Blanco did his thing; they immediately got it. They weren’t algorithmically tripping anything but giving us guidance as things were lighting up. “You got something.” That gave us the fuel to wave the flag.

You guys dominated awards this year.

Once you’re on the field and your chance to be in the game is there, you practiced all week and the critics are telling you, “You’ve got a chance to win this game,” or even if they’re not, then there’s strategy and plans put into place.

We knew #1 records, important publications, award nominations and wins were important markers. We don’t go to work thinking, “How do we get there?” That’s the result of work put in. We’ve strung together five or six good years, especially since the acquisition. I told the staff, “We have a unique opportunity to build a dynasty, but it’s going to require operating how we have so far. We need to stay humble, hungry and curious. Let’s please not get caught up in our success and what others say.” You see it in business, art, sports teams: When you start believing your own press and forget the work it took and forget your partners who gave you that chance, things go south.

When was the moment you knew Jelly was a lot more than anybody thought?

Our first meeting. He thought he didn’t want a label deal. I was asking him, “Who’s told your story?” He said, “Nobody.” I got excited. I said, “It’s all there. You just need somebody to tell it. You need somebody to be your advocate.” He said, “Jon, the main thing I need you guys for is your amazing relationships in the industry. Get me in those rooms; I promise when you do, I’ll win. And I’ll never embarrass you. You can put me in any room, a boardroom or a cafeteria, and if the lunch lady is part of a music decision, I’m going to connect with her and form a relationship.”

On a commercial level, where it hit was the CMT Awards last year. Outside of socials, it was too early to have that performance. It was a last-minute decision. I knew his performance would be a win. When the trophies came, I thought, “Wow, we’re further along than I thought.” We knew he had a big audience; the debate was, “Who are they?” In that moment. I went, “All right, country’s our home.” Our ability to tell his story connected.

You kept the growth slow and steady.

When things get too hot too fast, it doesn’t end in a great place—and it’s not a long-term sustainable career. It was calculated. There were many opportunities we didn’t feel ready for. It’s the artist-first mentality. I trust Jelly. Whenever we’re at a crossroads or if we’re in disagreement, I follow him and we win.

What about Lainey?

I heard her independent EP and [was impressed by] the quality of the writing, her fearlessness. To hear her story of being here for 10 years, I’m like, “How have you not been given the chance?” She lived in a camper and was a farm kid; we bonded on that—the accent and purity of heart. Without hearing her sing a word, I would’ve signed her. Then she played acoustic; her pitch and vocal control were perfect. I thought, “She may be too country in themes, production and accent, but I’d rather go down swinging for the fences with her.”

She had another big deal on the table, and it was far down the road. I thought, “I’m going to have a broken heart.” A few hours after the meeting, the manager called, “She felt a connection to you and appreciation by you. We want to be with you guys.”

Beyond empowering artists, what are your strengths? Where do your teams excel?

I’m a mad scientist. I’ve always been smaller in stature, so you start at a disadvantage. I want to prove people wrong the right way, so I take more risks.

We had kickoff meetings in January; I was in the heat trying to decide if I’m going to take this role of president for North America. The last couple years I pushed against it because I didn’t want to dilute what was happening in Nashville. With the influx of the coasts and the success of Jelly and Parmalee in other genres, I thought, “I can strengthen what we’re doing in Nashville by doing this.”

[EVP Recorded Music] JoJamie Hahr planned our kickoff meetings, and they were the most productive/inspiring meetings we’ve ever had. What hit me was the growth our staff has gone through over the last two, three years. They were putting process to strategy. They had that fire, which gave me the greatest comfort level. I’m like, “Okay they’re going to be better because they have more room to spread their wings.”

Other places have that tight family culture, but our staff has something special. They look out for each other. They live and breathe it. JoJamie and I hired people with hearts like ours. Mark Logsdon is a perfect example. Looking for that VP of publicity, a number of people talked about his heart. If you’re dreaming, taking care of each other and your partners, success will follow. Get up, suit up and do the right thing in actions, not words.

What are Nashville and country music’s biggest challenges?

Not to get caught up in the hype. We’re hot as a genre right now, but business is cyclical. I remember Urban Cowboy, when “country & western” was the thing. There’s a balance to being open to others but protective of what makes this genre special, that caretaker mentality of the art. I grew up in radio promotion; radio promotion execs from other genres wanted to end up in country because of the relationships we have with artists and artists have with radio.

It’s beyond that now. It’s streaming, bigger TV looks. When country acts come in, they’re not prima donnas. They’re going to be decent to deal with. We have the biggest music producers in the world wanting to engage our artists/genre, moving here. Hartwig Masuch, the CEO of BMG when we were acquired, said, “I believe Nashville can be the epicenter of North American music. Christian and country are there. Many acts come from Nashville and transcend genres. You have the history, work ethic, and awareness of mainstream American tastes.” He says, “I think Nashville will grow larger as a cultural center of significance and influence.” That’s going to keep growing, and I’m lucky to interact in those worlds, both in Nashville and on the coasts.