With a career spanning three decades as one of country music's most volcanic voices, Kentucky's own Wynonna Judd has grown accustomed to having her way in the recording studio.
She is an artist who, in the preparation of her music, is unaccustomed to being told no.
"Making a record is kind of like a blind date," says Judd, who returns to home state turf this weekend for a performance at the Norton Center for the Arts in Danville. "You're so excited and there is such great anticipation.
"So I had been into the studio to make this music and I let the label hear it. They went, 'Wynonna, we've never heard you sound better. But we're bored.'"
Excuse me? The artist who sold millions of records in the 1980s as part of the mother-daughter duo The Judds while becoming one of the leaders of a new traditionalist movement that commandeered country airwaves was now boring? The roaring vocalist who took on elements of soul, gospel and rock as her solo career commenced in the '90s was being given a thumbs down for her new music by her own record label?
"After 30 years of this love affair with the labels, it's been up, down and all around, right?" Judd says. "Still, they always said the same thing. But this time, it was, 'We love your voice and the body of work. But this is too safe. It's just too predictable.'
"I've never heard this before. But I hate to admit it. At our age, we can really get in a rut, whether it's our marriage, our job or just life in general. We get on autopilot. And I'm no different. I think what I did was I went with how I was feeling, which was pretty casual. Maybe I was looking for that comfortable sweater to put on at the end of the day. But then it was like, 'We don't want a comfortable sweater.' So there's all that money and time down the drain, and I was just really frustrated. But I think artists have to get to a place where they become frustrated because after that came the good stuff.
The "good stuff" translates into loose and live sessions with Judd's husband, Cactus Moser, formerly of the 1980s and '90s country band Highway 101, and a revised stylistic scope that won't be viewed by anyone — from record label reps to her faithful fan base — as routine, predictable or boring. A single from the as-yet-untitled recording, Something You Can't Live Without, has been released through digital outlets.
"I'm not sleeping I'm so jazzed," Judd says. "It's like creative insomnia all over the place. The reason is we're making the record live. We're doing the vocals live at the same time as the music. We're going, as they say, old school: when you get a band together and perform instead of trying to make everything perfect. We're making the music perfectly imperfect. It's live and it's raw.
"Some people get so bogged down in the slick production part of recording that the music almost never becomes human. It's a machine. I wanted this record to feel like a personal, handwritten note. So here we go. Cactus is making me get really uncomfortable in my process, and that's really pushing me. It's really uncomfortable at times, but it was time to do things differently."
Little of that is likely to matter, though, when Judd returns to Kentucky on Saturday. That's when the Ashland native's focus on record labels and stylistic expectations will shift to a considerably more homespun level of excitement.
"I'm not just saying this, but I really do feel like Miss America when I come back," Judd says of Kentucky. "I feel like I'm related to everybody. And if I'm not related to them, I've either lent them money or been to their house for a meal.
"It's a very strange and wonderful thing. I get very overwhelmed. I get very emotional. But I also wouldn't trade it for anything. I am so grateful that I have those roots. I'm grateful for the fans, too, because without them I would have to get a real job."