Looking at the raw transcripts from this late 2019 conversation with Michelle Wright is to see an artist in a state of grace. It was a moment of reflection just before the world went sideways—a period defined by a comfortable command of her legacy and a clear-eyed view of her future. The Canadian country icon had settled into a rhythm that balanced the demands of the road with the quiet comforts of her Nashville home—a balance earned over decades in the trenches.
It all started in Merlin, Ontario. A place you’d need a map for. But for Wright, it was the entire world and the genesis of her sound. Her foundation wasn't built in a sterile boardroom but in the lived-in reality of local music. “My parents were both country music singers and performers on a local level,” she says. “And, so that's really where it started with my mom and dad, and I used to watch them, you know, get dressed up and go off to play their country shows, be it a wedding or a dance or a legion hall or something like that.” That’s the authentic stuff. The unglamorous Saturday nights that forge real artists long before a spotlight ever finds them.
Now Nashville is home base. And while the city is the undisputed centre of the country music universe, Wright’s appreciation for it is more grounded than the neon glow of Broadway suggests. She’s a pragmatist. Yes, it’s the Mecca. But it’s also just a good place to live. “I will just tell you the weather's wonderful,” she notes. “You get the four seasons yet.” This isn’t the wide-eyed newcomer talking. This is the seasoned veteran who understands that a career is built on more than just studio sessions and tour buses; it’s built on having a life worth writing about.
That life includes a profound commitment to animal welfare—a cause that clearly runs deep. Wright is not a performative advocate. Her work isn’t for a press release. She mentions returning to Chatham to support a local shelter and the difficulty of witnessing animal suffering during her international travels with World Vision. “I take bugs outside and that kind of stuff,” she admits. “I'm a big supporter. That that's always gonna be very, very important to me to find a way to contribute one way or another to the well-being of animals in the world.” It’s a quiet dedication that reveals a core empathy often sanded down by the ruthlessness of the music industry.
And after all these years, the fire for the music itself remains undimmed. The memory of the grind is still sharp—a powerful motivator that fuels her gratitude. “Oh, yes, my dear. I love, love, love, love to play music of any kind, anytime, any day—country music,” she insists. “I played the clubs for nine years, six nights a week, wondering someday if I could ever play some of my own songs that I've recorded that were hits. And, I have a few of those now, and I'm so very, very thankful.” This perspective is everything. It’s the difference between an artist who sees performing as a job and one who sees it as a privilege.
The road changes everyone, but Wright argues it hasn’t fundamentally altered her core. She’s wiser, yes, but the girl from Merlin is still in there. “I mean, of course, I'm a different woman today than I was when I started. Much wiser, of course,” she concedes. “But who I am as a human being... I think I'm still the same person in a lot of ways.” It’s a testament to a well-anchored identity—a refusal to be reshaped by fame or pressure. People from her past still recognize her, and in this business, that’s the highest compliment you can get.
The past few years leading up to this interview had been marked by profound personal loss. The passing of her longtime manager Brian and his wife Sue was a seismic shift. Wright’s description of caring for Brian through his battle with Lewy body dementia is heartbreakingly candid. “I took over power of attorney and just took care of him until the end. It was just terrible,” she says. It’s a stark reminder of the deep personal bonds that underpin the business of music.
I will never be able to watch this with anybody else ever again ever. And he said, well, maybe you don't have to. And he asked me to marry him.
But resilience is a recurring theme in Wright’s story. She navigated this immense professional and personal challenge by rebuilding her team. Her new manager Chuck Thompson came with a pedigree that was second to none, having worked with The Judds, Wynonna, and David Allan Coe. “He has layers of experience in this business, not unlike what Brian had,” she explains. “And so we really both go about this business. We sort of have a similar point of view.” It was a seamless transition born of shared values and professional respect, ensuring her career could move forward without losing its foundational principles.
Her husband Marco is another pillar of that foundation. Their 17-year marriage is a partnership that has weathered the industry’s notorious storms. “I would not have survived in this business without him because he, you know, when there's lean, mean years, he's there for me—emotionally, financially, and spiritually,” she reveals. It’s a candid acknowledgment of the unseen labour that supports a public-facing career.
Her engagement story is pure cinematic romance. A Christmas proposal after watching It’s a Wonderful Life. “We're both sitting there with tears rolling down our eyes. And I looked over at him. I said, I will never be able to watch this with anybody else ever again ever. And he said, well, maybe you don't have to. And he asked me to marry him.” It’s a perfect anecdote—a moment of real life that feels more poignant than any country ballad.
With a career spanning decades, the industry has inevitably begun to bestow upon her the title of ‘legend,’ particularly with events like the CCMA Legends concert. It’s a label she initially found awkward but has come to accept with grace. “I embrace it now, you know, and and consider it quite an honor,” she says. “I'm gonna say that it might have been about two years ago when I finally just went, you know, that's where it is now, and that's what it is now, and and that's a beautiful thing.” It’s the final stage of an icon’s journey: accepting your own impact.
This era also finds her embracing a more relaxed pace. The relentless album cycles and punishing tour schedules of the 90s are gone, replaced by a more deliberate and sustainable approach. “There's no doubt that things will slow down. The demand will slow down,” she says matter-of-factly. “And and that's necessary and good and positive, you know, because now I have a nice balance in my life, and I like it.” This isn’t an artist fading away; it’s an artist taking control.
That control extends to her recording process. Her 2018 singles “Loving This Day” and “Attitude Is Everything” were born from a new partnership with producer and friend Bob Funk. After years of resisting mixing friendship with business, she finally relented. The result was a fresh creative burst that aligned with modern music consumption. “I just read an article with Sheryl Crow as well, and and she was just saying the the the need to record full albums is just not the way people listen to music anymore,” Wright observes. This is the sound of a veteran artist adapting not just to survive but to thrive.
The gospel tinge of “Loving This Day” wasn’t a departure but an amplification of a theme that’s always been present in her work. “I've always had a tinge of spirituality in my music, a faith,” she clarifies. “I'm not really any type of denomination or any type of anything in particular, but I know for me, that I feel the spirit, so to speak.” It’s a quiet faith, one that informs her art without ever becoming preachy, giving her music a resonant depth.
This conversation was timed to promote her return to the stage with her A Right Christmas tour, an undertaking she was reviving after an eight-year hiatus. Her initial reluctance to do a Christmas show is amusingly honest. “I hesitated to do the Christmas tour. I thought, well, that's pretty laid back, lolly, lolly, lolly all night long, and I'm not sure if my hyperactive self can handle that,” she laughs. But the experience proved to be one of her most cherished, connecting with audiences in a uniquely intimate way.
Her memories of a guest spot on the iconic Canadian series Due South offer one last piece of insight. Her biggest takeaway wasn’t the craft services or the thrill of being on set but the leadership of its star Paul Gross. “It starts at the top,” she states definitively. “Whoever's at the top, you can tell what type of person they are based on everything that follows below them and, and how it's how what the vibe is and how things are functioning. And, Paul was so great.” It’s a lesson she learned touring with giants like Kenny Rogers and Alabama, and one that clearly shaped her own approach to leading a band and a career. It’s the wisdom of the road. And Michelle Wright has it in spades.
519 Magazine Archive: We are thrilled to officially unearth the 519 Magazine Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we’re bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today’s web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
We are thrilled to officially unearth the 519 Magazine Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we're bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today's web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
