In the glittering firmament of country music icons, only a handful of women have reached true mononym status: Patsy. Dolly. Loretta. And of course Reba, who recently celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of her first record deal on the set of her NBC sitcom, Happy’s Place, now in its second season. The past year or so has brought McEntire, who is seventy, a slate of new joys (a smash country hit, a fresh season of The Voice, and her 2024 engagement to actor Rex Linn, among them), but also its share of sorrow. Last August, McEntire’s stepson, Brandon Blackstock, died from melanoma at age forty-eight. As the multihyphenate artist and Oklahoma native prepares for the rerelease of her 1995 album, Starting Over, on January 23, we spoke with her about resilience, reinvention, and what it means to move forward.
Before we begin, I want to share my deepest condolences about your family’s loss.
Thank you. I knew Brandon since he was four. I was so blessed to get to help raise him. We were very good buddies. I loved him with all my heart.
When Starting Over came out in 1995, you were paying tribute to the artists who shaped you. What strikes you most about that Reba and today’s?
I don’t think there’s much difference, because I’m still a fan of all those songs and the artists who recorded them first. I’m really proud of past work. I listen to hundreds of songs before I go into a recording studio. Sometimes for eight months, I’m listening to demos and songs that other songwriters have written. I’m passionately in love with the songs I go in to record, and they hold up, too.
Country music is undergoing its own reinvention, even technologically. Your recent single “Trailblazer” was your highest streaming debut. What makes a song timeless, regardless of the format?
The song has to have heart. Has to have feeling. Whether it’s a little toe tapper that makes you feel good and makes you want to get up and dance, or it’s a song where you just need to sit down because it’s really hitting a memory. A song that makes you feel something is a winner.
You left Mercury Records for MCA in 1984 to make what you called your “kind of country”—a bold move for a woman in Nashville at that time.
It was a little like when I was doing Annie Get Your Gun on Broadway [in 2001]. I did an interview before we premiered, and a man said to me, “Aren’t you nervous about being on Broadway? You’ve never even done a play before.” It kind of shocked me. I said, “You know what? I never thought about that, because I don’t let fear rule my life.” When I have a gut feeling to do something, I think that’s direction given by God. So I go for it. If I make a mistake, I learn from it.
You’ve faced some extraordinarily hard moments. In 1991, you lost eight members of your band and crew in a plane crash. How did you keep going?
It was really hard for me to get back onstage, but Vince Gill called and said, “Buddy, I’ll be there for you.” Dolly Parton said, “Here, take my band.” It was such a gift to see how many people stepped forward to help, and to reassure, because so many of us had hearts that were broken.
You’ve faced other heartbreak, too, including divorce. How do you keep your heart open?
You have to look at it as something that has happened—now, how are you going to deal with it? I was out walking one time when one of these situations happened in my life. I said, “Lord, what am I going to do? What do I say?” And it came to me. It said, “Oh, well. There’s nothing you can do about it.” You might as well move forward, and find something to occupy your time. Go work, go do something else.
Did you always have this can-do attitude?
I wouldn’t say I’m cocky, but I’m confident. Mama always said, “You can do anything you set your mind to.” I’d be like, “Ugh, I have to drive to Dallas, and that’s two and a half hours, and it’s snowing…” And I’d just dread it. Mama would say, “Reba, you can do anything for twenty-four hours. You said you would do it, so get down there, do the best you can, and get back home. Put your big-girl panties on.”
You sound like a wise mentor. You’ve recently returned to coaching contestants on The Voice. What are you looking for?
I listen with my eyes closed. When something hits a part of my heart or my gut, I’ll hit the button. Everybody will look at me like, What did you hear there? I don’t know. It was just something that made me turn. I’m always so glad I did, because they turn out to be great singers and great people.
Happy’s Place feels like a return to the warm comedy people love you for. Where does your sense of humor come from?
I was the third of four children. I wasn’t the oldest, the youngest, or the only boy, so I had to fight for attention. In college, I was a jokester and cut up all the time. I loved Lucille Ball and Carol Burnett, and I’ve loved thirty-minute sitcoms forever. They made you feel good, and it was short and quick, because my attention span’s like a two-year-old’s. Humor is the thing that can get you out of depression or sadness; humor is the treacle cutter, and everybody needs that.
You’ve said that you’re happier at this phase in your life than you’ve ever been. Part of that is because of Rex Linn, whom you first met in 1991. What’s it been like to bring that relationship full circle?
It’s the absolute best. We laugh. We’re both dorks. He lets me be my silly, goofy self. I’ve got his back, and he’s got mine.
So, if you had to start all over again today, with no fame or legacy, what would you want to build first?
I’d do the same thing I did before: I’d find the greatest songs to sing, even if I only got to sing them at a little dance hall, or at church, or wherever. The physicality of getting to sing, when you take a deep breath and that comes out of your mouth—I’m just in awe. Even on days when I can’t get it all out like I want it to sound, I’m still grateful for it.
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