Bailey Zimmerman’s latest inspirations? SZA and Justin Bieber

Bailey Zimmerman bounds into a conference room at his manager’s office in Beverly Hills with the puppyish enthusiasm of someone even younger than he is. At 25, Zimmerman has already scored four No. 1 country-radio hits — including “Rock and a Hard Place” and the namesake track from his double-platinum 2023 debut, “Religiously. The Album” — and toured stadiums as an opening act for his pal Morgan Wallen. Now, the singer and songwriter has readied a follow-up LP, “Different Night Same Rodeo,” which he says expands his sound in new and unexpected directions.

Also: Having dipped down to L.A. after a gig at the California Mid-State Fair in Paso Robles, he’s taking tomorrow off to visit Universal Studios. “I’m stoked as f—,” he says with a grin. “Huge Harry Potter guy.”

Zimmerman, who grew up in the small town of Louisville, Ill., first blew up on TikTok, where he built a following with videos about custom-built trucks then pivoted to music when a clip of him singing the first song he ever wrote went viral on the app. Powered by his raspy voice and his flair for the back-in-vogue stylings of early-2000s rock acts like Nickelback and Shinedown, his ascent was quick by Nashville’s slow-moving standards. Yet that hasn’t turned off the town’s veterans: Among his guests on “Different Night” is Luke Combs, whose duet with Zimmerman, “Backup Plan,” just broke into the top 10 of Billboard’s country singles chart. (“All the Way,” Zimmerman’s collaboration with the Texas rapper BigXthaPlug, is still on the all-genre Hot 100 after 17 weeks.)

Dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, with several gold chains looped around his neck, Zimmerman sat down to talk about the new album, what he’s learned as a famous person and his evolving relationship with God. These are excerpts from our conversation.

This record has significantly less butt-rock energy than “Religiously” did.
I agree. I don’t know why I’m pulling away from that, but it came naturally to not do it. I don’t listen to that as much as I used to — I’m really on this R&B thing of beats that just make you vibe out.

Who we talking?
A lot of SZA. The new Justin [Bieber] album. Have you ever heard of a band named Cannons? I don’t know what you’d call it, but it’s just a good vibe.

The Bieber record is pretty great.
Dude, it brought the word “swag” back within, like, a week.

I think I can hear SZA’s influence in the way you’re playing with rhythm in your singing.
That’s what helps it be so vibey — almost like your melody is a beat in itself. The song “It’s All Good,” it’s country-esque, but you can rock your head to it. I just think the more interesting a song can be, the better.

You’ve got a song on the album with the Kid Laroi. How’d that happen?
I didn’t know Kid, but I’ve been a massive fan for so long.

You call him Kid?
No, I call him Laroi. He actually told me his real name, and it’s like super proper [Charlton Kenneth Jeffrey Howard]. We had dinner in Nashville, and we just hit it off — like the “Step Brothers” thing: “Favorite dinosaur?” “Velociraptor!” “One guy you’d sleep with?” “John Stamos!” It was like that all night, I swear. Then he was like, “We should make music,” and I was like, “Bro, I’m so down.”

What made you want to co-direct the video for your song “Comin’ In Cold”?
I just get these ideas in my head, and I feel like I’m more of an artist if I’m trying to put myself out there and do all the things. Yes, my music is the art, but a true artist is creative everywhere.

You play an aspiring rodeo star in the clip. Was the story your idea?
Yeah. I’ve been thinking about how I’m country because of where I grew up and how I grew up, but I’ve always been kind of like an outsider — don’t dress super country, don’t sound super country. So the idea of me being a professional bull rider — I wanted to start dipping my toe into super country things.

Is that you on the bull?
Hell no, dude! I got a tour — I can’t break my leg. If I had the nuts to do it, I would have.

I talked to you on the phone in 2023 during Grammy season — this was when a lot of people were thinking you were a serious contender for a best new artist nomination. Didn’t happen, though.
When I first started, I really wanted to do that. Then I kind of found out that it’s not always fair and there’s really a lot of work that goes into all of it. I just felt like it kills an artist’s creativity — it kills their fire because you’re basing the success of what you’re putting your heart into off what somebody else thinks. That was killing me. I was like, “Dude, I can’t do all these awards shows.” It’s not that I think I should win and I get mad — it’s just that all these things are going great, and I’m stuck thinking about how I didn’t get nominated. Hopefully one day they’re just like, “You know what? He’s been working his ass off — we’re gonna give him one.”

Something you said in that earlier interview is that you felt you’d been “thrown to the wolves,” in terms of learning the ropes of the music industry. Two years later, does the experience feel less intense?
I’ve slowed everything down for sure. Everything’s not the end of the world — I’m not freaking out every morning.

Bailey Zimmerman in Beverly Hills.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

Was there a moment you realized you needed to dial it down a notch?
I called my dad. A little insight into my life growing up: My dad is the greatest dude, and he’s been successful and he’s been not successful — just kind of ebb and flow of life. In the low parts, we’d go to his house and it would be rough — sometimes we wouldn’t eat, only one pair of jeans for school, that type of thing. But you’d never see him upset. He’s drowning in debt, things aren’t going great, but he’s got a smile on his face, can’t wait to go to the ballgame. Just steady, bro.

So I called him: “My bills are paid, everybody’s eating good — things are amazing. And still I’m worrying about things I shouldn’t be worried about.” He said, “You can’t take back what you did yesterday, and every day is a new day.” That chilled me out. Then he said he didn’t learn that until he was 45.

Did you deal with anxiety as a kid?
Not too much. “What are we gonna eat tomorrow?” — that was always a thing, and that’s why I’m so fixated now on the future and making sure I’m doing the right things with money and not being ignorant with it. But I think it’s mixed with passion — I care so much that I actually care too much. It’s self-induced anxiety.

You told Bobby Bones recently that this new album comes after a rough patch in your life. What was going on?
Just growing up and doing dumb s—, then being like, “Why did I do that?” Drinking got a hold of me a couple times and kicked my a—. I’m a Christian — well, I don’t know if you’d technically call it a Christian — I just believe in God, I don’t really have a denomination. But with the rules of my faith, I had some things I needed to quit doing. I grew up in a small town — 16 years old, we’re drinking beer, that’s what we do. And it used to be fun, but now I’m looking for a wife. I want kids. You think your wife wants you getting hammered everywhere you go?

Suppose it depends on the wife.
It’s not the wife I want. I’m like, “OK, you keep bitching about not getting good girls. Well, what are you doing?” I’m drinking and I’m going to the bar and I’m not doing the right things to have a family. This is not what a family man does, right?

So I was just kind of down in a slump. I also checked myself and realized my ego was stopping me from having conversations with people I felt like I was better than. I was like, I gotta figure this out because I want to talk to people, but this ego is tricking me into thinking I don’t want to talk to anybody.

That’s the artist’s conundrum, right? You’re onstage every night, people gassing you up —
And if you’re not self-aware, that’ll just keep stacking up until your ego’s huge and you’re not the same person you were.

But in a way your ego is what gave you the juice to get onstage in the first place.
That’s the thing. I realized I’d built my confidence on leaning on myself with drinking, feeling like a rock star, feeling like I’m the s—. So now I have to rebuild this confidence through my faith in God, because he’s supposed to be the rock, not me. This is just my thinking about it — no sources or whatever. I didn’t read anything, I’m just raw-dogging this.

Is your instinct to turn to God because of the way you were raised?
Kind of? My uncle Brent, he knows the Bible — he was a pastor but got out of the big church because he didn’t like the way it was run. I definitely didn’t grow up in church singing in the suit and tie. I was rough around the edges. I was always the kid who was like, “Why can’t I wear a hat to church? That’s so weird.” God is supposed to be for everybody — we welcome everybody, no matter what you look like or smell like or talk like.

There was this lady at catering [at a show] one time, I’ll never forget this. I have this sick sweatshirt that says “Here to give Jesus glory.” And I remember I said, “Oh my gosh, dude, that chicken looks f—ing bomb.” And this lady goes, “You should watch what you’re saying if you’re gonna be a billboard.” I was like, “So because I’m not perfect, you want me to not spread the word and to keep it to myself? We’re all sinners, bro.” That’s the message I’m trying to spread.

You’re a deeper guy than I’d bet a lot of people would expect.
It’s the worst. Talking to girls at the bar — they just want to keep it light, and I’m trying to talk about something deep as f—.

Last thing: What’s the right amount of jewelry to wear?
Depends what your swag is. Sometimes I want to flex and feel good, but then sometimes it actually makes me feel like I’m doing too much. I never post anything to be like, “Look how great I’m doing and you’re not.” It’s more: “Hey, look at what can happen if you believe in yourself and you work hard.” I’m just a skinny-ass white kid from southern Illinois — this is not supposed to happen. But I’m doing as I’m led, and that means I’m doing the right things. They say that about God, you know — that even the bad things are good because it’s for something else.

“Sometimes I want to flex and feel good,” Bailey Zimmerman says of his jewelry.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

I do think that’s easier to believe in times of prosperity.
Very true. But it’s what keeps me going in the bad parts too. I almost lost my mom this year because she got super sick. It was awful — I was crying and stuff. But you need to trust that this is part of the plan.

Your mom good now?
Rocking, bro. It’s the best thing that ever happened to her, almost dying. She quit smoking, she goes to the gym now, she’s eating healthy. She’s crushing. But to wrap back around to the jewelry question: I don’t think there’s ever too much — I love big rings and gold and diamonds. But sometimes I take it all off to be like, “Yo, this means nothing to me — it’s not my personality.”

When I moved to Nashville, I had nothing to lose, and I said I’d live under a bridge before I quit writing songs because it’s something I love so much. Then when you have success, you’re scared to lose all this stuff that you’ve worked so hard for. I started trying to write a hit — writing not for the right reasons. I was supposed to drop this record last year, but I wasn’t feeling good about it. I was like, “You know what? I’m not putting out this record.” Then I wrote more over the next year.

Is there a song on the record that set off that second phase?
A song called “Chevy Silverado.” I was walking around the pool in the back of my house: F— this pool, f— this house, f— the watches and the cars — I’m just gonna be me and write songs that I love. It was real art, from the ground up. I wrote the first melodies and the guitar lick, then I called in my buddies and said, “OK, I need help, but I want it to be authentic, and I’m not stopping until it feels completely like me.” We sat down and finished it that night. I was like, “I’m back, baby — let’s go.”

Let Bailey cook.
Let him cook! Thank God I didn’t put this record out earlier — it’s so much better now. And it’s something I’m proud of. It’s one of those things where even if it comes out and nobody digs it, I’m still like, “Nah, this is fire, bro.”