Nashville’s music community was emotionally leveled on Jan. 30, 2025, when local Warner Chappell president/CEO Ben Vaughn died.
The loss was palpable. Vaughn provided an understanding ear for creators going through hard times, and he was a cheerleader for the songwriters he worked with – including Thomas Rhett, Rhett Akins, Chris Stapleton and Dan + Shay – as well as for executives at other companies with whom he had no financial interest. In the following months, Vaughn’s death certificate confirmed that he had died by suicide; as much as Music City music makers leaned on him, it was devastating to discover that Vaughn hadn’t reached out to his friends and loved ones.
In the early going, the circumstances surrounding his passing were avoided publicly, in part out of respect for his children. But even after a memorial and several other commemorations, people needed to process it.
On Dec. 17, Dan + Shay finally did in a format that Vaughn would have approved: They wrote a song. “This is,” says the duo’s Shay Mooney, “the most important song that we’ll ever do in our career.”
Writing about their friend was not planned when Mooney, musical partner Dan Smyers and fellow songwriter David Hodges (“Because of You,” “See You Again”) met up at the home of Jimmy Robbins (“The Bones,” “half of my hometown”). No one had a specific agenda for the day – Christmas was coming, they were all planning their holiday breaks, and they started the day in a bit of year-in-review mode. They each knew at least two Music Row friends who had died that year, and they all realized they had unprocessed grief over Vaughn.
“We were all feeling the heavy emotion in the room,” Smyers says. “It was just kind of cathartic to get to share those feelings and thoughts and emotions about Ben and share our mutual love for him. And it was like, ‘You know what? We owe it to Ben. We owe it to ourselves to at least see this one through to the finish line.’”
That finish line wasn’t exactly clear. They didn’t have a title in advance, or a melody – just a desire, maybe even a duty, as songwriters to memorialize their friend.
“We are the storytellers of culture, and I think our stories have a resonance, different than maybe laws that are passed or equations that are written,” Hodges says. “There is a truth in storytelling that feels – the older I get – more and more profound, because it gives you the context of the humanness around it.”
Hodges and Robbins created a pulsing acoustic guitar foundation that made their tribute energetic instead of becoming a dirge. Since they didn’t have a title in mind, they just wrote what they felt, beginning with an opening line – “I got a call from a friend who don’t call very often” – that recounted the experience of hearing about Vaughn’s death. The rest of that verse would reflect the initial emotions and disbelief that most in the country music community had felt.
“The whole song is pretty conversational,” Robbins says. “It’s not crazy clever or a turn of phrase or anything. It’s just kind of honest.”
At the chorus, they raised the melody to a higher pitch and embraced more emphatic phrasing. The lyrics vacillated between biting reality and supportive optimism, while the foundational structure balanced the brighter topline against darker, semi-droning chords. They didn’t talk about how to craft that symmetry, or work to find it. It was just there.
“It’s the right blend of weight and light,” Robbins acknowledges. “We were just kind of in it and not overthinking it.”
As they reached the end of the chorus, the affirming final setup and hook showed itself: “If you’re going through hell, you’re not alone/If you need somebody, say so.”
The second verse captured Music Row’s regrets over not knowing that Vaughn needed help, accomplishing its emotional task without feeling helpless. That stanza’s final line, reflecting the public celebration of life that honored Vaughn, is each of the writers’ favorite in the song: “If there was a room full of people who cared it’d be crowded.”
They decided there was more to say that they could slip into a bridge, which also would provide a chance to shift the song musically into motivational territory. “That bridge feels euphoric to me,” Smyers says.
Tomorrow, it promises, is a brand new day. Whether it applies to Vaughn or to those who miss his presence is entirely up to the listener.
“For those of us who are here, tomorrow is a brand new day,” Hodges reasons. “The same is true – I mean, I can’t help but think of how sad and desperate [Ben] felt in those last moments here, and how much light and joy filled his eyes the moment that he opened them on the other side.”
Robbins finished producing most of the demo before they left, leaving the “Say So” title exposed a cappella at the end of each chorus to highlight its importance.
“It was a heavy day, just having those conversations,” Robbins recalls. “We left it feeling good.” Remarkably, they discovered that night they had penned “Say So” 50 years to the date after Vaughn’s birth.
Smyers co-produced “Say So” with Scott Hendricks (Blake Shelton, Brooks & Dunn), recording at Ocean Way Studio on Music Row. Mooney sang the lead vocal ahead of the session to make sure the musicians had a performance to work with that fully reflected the song’s emotions.
“It was a very different thing, there at Dan’s house, doing the vocal,” Mooney says. “It did get heavy, you know. You go and you do it, but with this song, I knew that that moment was going to live in infamy. Once my vocal was on there, that’s it.”
Bryan Sutton replayed the foundational acoustic guitar part over a bubbly sound that Robbins had originated underneath on the demo. Sutton’s role was tougher than it sounds.
“The acoustic part that Bryan is playing is aerobic,” Smyers says. “After we did the first pass, I was like, ‘Are your hands tired?’ He’s like, ‘Give me 30 seconds.’”
Smyers asked drummer Nir Z to approach his part with the kind of power that Dave Grohl applied to the recorded version of Foo Fighters’ “My Hero.” Derek Wells added a guitar solo that approximated an atmospheric Kings of Leon attitude. Once Smyers’ harmonies were blended in, the post-production process was grueling, particularly for Hendricks, who gave Vaughn his first publishing job.
“I don’t know if we’ve ever put as much into making a record,” Hendricks says. “I can’t even count how many times we remixed it.”
It was an unconventional choice for a single, but the topic had universal potential, in addition to its personal meaning. Hendricks and Dan + Shay spoke with Vaughn’s family and received their blessing to commemorate Ben, and to share the song’s difficult background. Warner Records Nashville released “Say So,” along with a powerful video [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuF6eZROXIw], on April 2. The social media feedback is shattering.
“We all thought it could be powerful,” Hendricks says, “but I don’t think any of us were prepared for all those comments.”
It rose to No. 30 on Billboard’s Country Airplay dated May 2 in just its third week on the chart. It is, from all appearances, helping people process emotions that can feel unspeakable.
“We can’t be afraid to talk about it,” Mooney says. “If we’re afraid to talk about it, we’re going directly against what this song is about.”
