Kenny James Lamb

Making music

Kenny Lamb looked up from his guitar as he strummed the last chord of "I Give." The country-rock artist was in Orlando, playing a pop tune for studio executives who had a promising boy band that needed songs.

Veit Renn, a German producer for N'Sync and the Backstreet Boys, lost his composure and got the home office on the phone. "Play it again," he said, thrusting the phone toward Kenny and his guitar. "Do you hear that?" he bellowed.

Kenny James Lamb

Date and place of birth: Nov. 24, 1966, Santa Cruz, Calif.

Family: daughter, age 10

Fantasy dinner guests: Carl Sagan, John Lennon, Hank Williams Sr, JRR Tolkein, Angus Young

If I’ve learned one thing in life, it’s kindness changes everything.

My favorite meal: Fried potatoes, Applewood smoked bacon, eggs over medium.

Something you may not know about me: I once gave Michael Jordan a pat on the back.

In the 90s, my band wasn’t doing grunge. We didn’t have enough angst.

When I first started hearing my songs on the radio, it was a little weird, like somebody’s in your room, going through your stuff.

My all-time favorite bands, artists: the Beatles, ZZ Top, Stevie Ray, the Stones, Zeppelin, AC/DC, Guy Clark, Merle Haggard, Steve Earl and Hayes Carll.

The thing I love about the Ozarks is being able to be close to nature again, have that as a backdrop. I’m more comfortable here and have family history as well.

The term you hear in music a lot is ego, more than any other industry other than acting, maybe If someone’s going to get up on a stage, they have to have a certain amount of swagger.

In a song, there are lots of ways to get across a point that aren’t technically correct, but you feel something and it works.

Blanket stereotypes about music genres are laughable. Like Miles Davis said, “There are two types of music, good and bad.”

To land a major record deal for an artist is akin to finding a baseball player in the midwest, throwing fastballs against the barn and giving them a chance to throw one in Yankee Stadium.

Lamb, 30 at the time, returned to Nashville and his day job at Men's Warehouse. The studio was interested. Very. And he could tell his family he was hopeful, but songs are recorded all the time -- it didn't mean they would be released.

When he heard that German accent the next time, it was telling him, "Congratulations! Your song is Take Five's single worldwide."

Lamb slid back in his chair, dumbfounded by his first big cut -- a single that went platinum, selling a million records. After years of struggle, it finally converged, leading to a career writing more than 800 songs for N'Sync, Rhett Akins and Building 429 among many others.

Lamb's hit songs racked up awards as BMI (Broadcast Music Inc.) Song of the Year, GMA (Gospel Music Association) Dove Award Song of the Year nomination and Artist of the Year, ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers) Airplay and No. 1 single and Billboard No. 1 Single.

Now a music producer based in Rogers, working in artist development and the owner of Marketing Through Music, Lamb pairs talent and original songs with businesses for more engaging commercials and short films.

"Kenny has great music and can get access to music, he can write and produce it creatively, fast and is easygoing," says Marla Johnson, CEO of Internet company Aristotle, who's hired Lamb for a number of commercial projects.

"In the same way the Internet is overloaded with stock photography, it drove me crazy to hear the same songs over and over. He's a talented guy who fits the need of a digital world -- one of those people who brings a lot of skills."

Lamb advises other artists on getting their own big breaks, such as country artist Barrett Baber, who won the contest for the new Song of Arkansas in 2012.

"He was as thrilled about the Song of Arkansas as any other accomplishment," says Andrea Stanley, creator of SongsInc. of Florida who worked with Lamb on developing business ideas and songwriting camps. "He's an amazing teacher. He can connect with people very quickly, puts them at ease and really knows the business."

"I tell them, 'Some day, you're going to meet somebody, you're going to have an opportunity to do this and it's going to be about what you have to give at that moment in time,'" Lamb says. "'The more you practice and work in your bedroom or garage when nobody can see you really does matter.'"

HIGHWAY TO NASHVILLE

Kenny Lamb's heart was in Nashville long before he ever set foot there.

One night, following a gig at a little club in California, another artist approached him with an offer. If Lamb gave the guy a ride to Nashville, he'd give Lamb a room to rent for $100 per month.

Lamb agreed. He packed some clothes, an alarm clock and a guitar in his Toyota pickup truck and headed for Music City.

"I drove to Nashville with someone I didn't know and I didn't know anyone in Nashville either," he says. "Looking back, I can't believe I did that, but I'm so glad I did."

Like any good Nashville story, Lamb's starts with doing acoustic sets in small venues, trying any avenue available to get his songs heard. Being congenial, he made friends with a club owner who would tip him off when someone of musical importance would arrive, which gave Lamb the chance to air his best numbers.

Even if he'd played the same song less than half an hour ago, he'd play it again, hungry for someone to happen upon him.

"I remember that feeling very well, that feeling that I wanted to be discovered," Lamb says. "I wanted someone from a place of success to acknowledge what I was doing and make possible my career."

A couple years into Lamb's Tennessee life, Wayne Perry, a songwriter with credits recorded by Tim McGraw and Toby Keith, walked into that little club, the Hall of Fame Lounge, and the owner elbowed Lamb, queuing him for a big moment.

Striding over with confidence and ease, Lamb asked Perry point-blank if he would consider co-writing songs with him.

"No, I really don't write with other people," Perry said. Lamb offered to play him a song and Perry agreed to listen.

It was good, Lamb could feel it. When he stepped off stage, Perry had a gleam in his eye and said, "Alright, we can talk." He handed Lamb a phone number and address -- the beginnings of his first single song publishing deal. It was on hold with country artist Faith Hill, but the song didn't get cut.

Still, it was movement. If it wasn't a foot in the door, it was a toe. And it gave Lamb just enough momentum to make the arduous journey into the music industry worthwhile. Meanwhile, he continued to sell suits at Men's Warehouse.

When Nashville's music awards ceremonies came around, Lamb bustled from customer to customer. He asked his clients where they were from, and what they did for a living. As the answers came pouring in -- Sony Records, Capitol Records, etc. -- it dawned on him. His "in" was right here. When the connection was right, he'd hand a studio executive a demo tape.

It landed him an opportunity to perform for Woody Bomar, of Sony Publishing, at Little Big Town, the publishing company Bomar owned at the time. After years of playing small, local venues hoping to get big name audiences, it was a dream.

Lamb chose his outfit carefully and played "Houston, We Have a Problem," the most impressive tune he had. It was a crooning number about a girl who left Nashville to return to Houston and left a broken-hearted man in her wake.

"Houston, we have a problem," Lamb sang, "You got the girl who made my world in Tennessee."

Though the song didn't get him signed, he earned the ear and mentoring critique of someone at a high level in publishing, which turned out to be the key to networking in the music industry.

From Bomar it was a hop, skip and a jump to Universal Studios and meeting Feit Wren, who showed him homemade videos of boy bands practicing music and choreography in their garages and gave Lamb opportunities for vocal arranging and production. Lamb had auditioned, hoping to secure a place for himself as an artist, but his songwriting talents took precedent.

"I started realizing I was not going to get a call from a major label to go produce their next act," he says. "I felt like I had some limitations as a vocalist. I was a good entertainer and good enough singer, but when you realize where the bar is, I let the artist side go.

"But there was a whole other trail toward publishing and producing talent. So instead of waiting for someone to call me, I started developing talent."

After the release of "I Give," he began writing songs for Take 5, N'Sync, Aaron Carter (Backstreet Boy Nick Carter's little brother) and collaborating with Justin Timberlake. All young -- teenagers and pre-teens at the time -- who had something special, but they didn't have original songs like Lamb could provide.

THE SONGWRITING CAPITAL

Having a platinum single opened the door to a newer, crazier world. When Warner Chapel, the branch of Warner Brothers that produces music, knocked on his door, he welcomed an opportunity which came with a six-figure deal.

"It was more money than I had ever seen in my life," Lamb says. "More money than my family had ever seen and it was exciting. Here's a kid from the sticks, now I'm up in New York and way over my head."

With Paul Simon, Rob Thomas and Santana for label mates, Lamb couldn't believe his luck to write for one of the biggest publishing companies in the world. Over the years, it had accrued a wealth of big band music, TV and film scores and pop, and now his lyrics would be among the mix.

For him, songwriting required mainly a continued connection with emotional reality.

"When you write songs, you tap into a certain place to create a lot of emotion quickly," he says. "You work in the lyrical side, the heart of things, to quickly -- in three minutes -- create something that might move somebody."

"He's happiest ... when we're writing songs," says Chris Rowe, music engineer for Taylor Swift who's worked with Lamb for many artists. "He enjoys the banter, back and forth, but when he comes upon that great turn of phrase or the hook of a chorus, it's like scoring a touchdown -- bam, I nailed it."

While gaining ground as a songwriter, Lamb tried his hand at developing talent. Lance Bass of N'Sync asked him to help an old friend of his, Meredith Edwards, with artist development. She was the first artist Lamb helped land a record deal.

Somewhat in awe of the once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence, Lamb wanted to try again. Six major record deals and seven years later, and he finally felt it wasn't a coincidence.

"Landing a record deal for the artist is really difficult, even when you're in Nashville and in the business," Lamb says. "I realized that I found something I'm good at, that I had a knack for this."

Most importantly, he continued his dream of being a part of the music-making process. Even if he wasn't on stage or in the center of the studio, he was happy to be in the room -- to be a force for a good sound that spoke to people on a higher level.

As a producer, Lamb was now the one being sought out at all hours and locations to hand over demo tapes. That was his first encounter with Building 429. Though the tape's quality was poor, Lamb managed to hear something in Jason Roy's voice that was worth taking a chance on.

Lamb followed his instinct. The suspicion that Building 429 had something special grew stronger as they co-wrote songs together.

"The first song we wrote together sounded like a great song," he says. "The very first thing we wrote. I said 'We have a hit song, with a big ol' chorus.' You don't get that bold with your predictions right off. But sometimes you feel it, you believe it, you say it."

He helped the band record an acoustic version for Word Records, a Christian music label, to review. But the publisher didn't like it. He didn't like Roy's voice, he thought the song should be rewritten and he didn't want anything to do with it.

Completely floored, Lamb refused to let it go. He knew his intuition couldn't be off that much, so he simply directed the band to record a fuller production. Maybe then Word Records would hear what he was hearing.

Lamb had kept on good terms with Word, and convinced the team to hear the track a second time, even as they reminded him they weren't interested. The publisher kept typing emails as Lamb hit "play," but looked up when it got to the chorus. "You've got to be kidding me," he said.

Building 429 had a record deal the very next day and "Glory Defined," the song Word Records wanted rewritten, rose to No. 1 faster than any single in the label's history and became the Dove Song of the Year.

"There are people who are smart and have good intuition that you should listen to," Lamb says. "And there are some times when you know you should stick to your guns and believe. Those are crucial moments."

MAKE SOME NOISE

Lamb was raised by a rock-and-roll drummer, alongside a brother and two sisters in Santa Cruz, California. Home life was a series of band practices and jam sessions, with a revolving door of musicians -- some of them famous, like the Doobie Brothers -- and some aspiring. As a child, he'd climb inside the drum set when looking for a quiet place to nap and rest his head on its muffling pillow.

He worked plenty of regular jobs. There were years as a deckhand on a deep sea fishing charter boat, as a produce picker on a mushroom farm, the back end of a fish market, construction worker and turning over rental houses.

Nothing made sense like music did.

"I was capable of doing a lot of different things, but anything outside of music I was never very dedicated to," Lamb says. "I was always dreaming about a song."

While going to high school in Lakeview, Wash., Lamb managed a music supply store and joined his first band, Blind Justice. The crew wasn't great, but they weren't bad. And it gave him the chance to air the songs he'd been writing in his bedroom.

"I could play it for people, see if it turned a head, see if they liked it," he says. Even now, when his songs are played on the radio, he gets a high from the thrill of others hearing his songs. Having the production experience means he has to drown out thoughts of the levels not being perfect.

Driving around Nashville on the interstate, he turns the music up as high as it can go and returns to being a fan.

"At the end of the day, it will all come back to a great song ... about finding ways for people to find you and hear you, to cut through the masses and make some noise."

NAN Profiles on 08/23/2015

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