Ronnie Dunn isn’t nostalgic—he’s just circling back with unfinished business. “I’ve been wanting to do this kind of record forever,” he says of 100 Proof Neon, his latest solo effort. “Without that, you know, record label conference room meeting you kind of have to have.” Translation: no suits, no market testing, no wondering whether “fiddle” still clears modern country playlists.
That freedom meant a return to the bars, literally and sonically. Dunn channels the dancefloor sweat of West Texas VFWs, where he used to sneak off from his religious college in Abilene just to play for beer money. “You had to get people to dance. That’s how you knew you were doing it right. Didn’t matter if you were a good band—just mattered if you moved beer.”
100 Proof Neon doesn’t just flirt with bar clichés—it dives headfirst into a whirlpool of whiskey, jukeboxes, heartbreak, and yes, neon. So much neon that his wife called him out. “Every song on there has neon in it,” she told him. “Are you gonna get over that?” His solution? “I’ll own it,” he grins. “I’ll just call it 100 Proof Neon. And it is what it is.”
Dunn weaves together fiddle lines and Telecaster bends like he’s conducting a late-night dancehall revival. He casts Brent Mason on guitar (“just unbelievable”) and longtime steel player Gary Morris to round out the bar band dream team. It’s a full-blown concept record for the kind of night that ends in a pickup bed, a parking lot, or a puddle of regret.
But this isn’t just retro cosplay. Dunn knows what he’s doing. “My fantasy was always a great country band that gave you that Rolling Stones feeling,” he says, still chasing the ghost of Merle Haggard duetting with Mick Jagger.
The collabs are selective but potent. Parker McCollum and Jake Worthington both show up, the latter sounding “like Lefty Frizzell when he’s not hauling cattle.” Dunn swears Worthington might’ve sung better than him on “Road to Abilene,” a song about Dunn’s own escape from Abilene to chase the dream. “I may have to bring his vocal down in the mix,” he jokes.
There’s also The Blade, a song Ashley Monroe recorded first, but Dunn couldn’t resist. “That’s a once-in-a-lifetime song,” he says. “It’s like ‘The Dance’ or ‘I Hope You Dance.’ Everyone used to record the best songs. Why did we stop doing that?” he asks, blaming label economics or maybe just cultural drift.
He still follows the Don Cook rule: always leave a ray of hope. “Sad songs are easier to write,” Dunn says. “But you’ve gotta give ’em a way out. You're a heartbroken optimist.”
Outside of the music, he’s got a publishing house (Perfect Pitch), a photography side hustle that’s taken him from Cuba to the Galápagos, and, oh yeah, a Brooks & Dunn tour to finish. Somehow, none of it feels like a retirement plan. “I just like to get it out,” he says. “I can’t be told I can’t do something just because it has a fiddle.”
Here’s to the guy still chasing a Stones high in a honky tonk world, writing songs for the bartender’s tab, and naming records after his own songwriting crutches. May your neon never flicker.
Watch the interview above and then check out the video below.
