COUNTRY WOMEN

THERE is something reassuring about the self-confidence Trisha Yearwood exudes. In 1984, aged 20, she arrived in Nashville from her native Georgia, not to stroll down dusty boardwalks in the hope of being noticed, but to pursue a music-business degree at Belmont College. The daughter of a banker (father) and schoolteacher (mother) obviously didn't want to join the ranks of the many financially dispossessed country and western acts past.

"I was a smart kid, an A-student," she says of her decision to go to Belmont after two years of junior college. "I thought the clever thing would be to go into accounting or banking, or something practical like that. But I always had this desire to sing, and it kept following me.

"At 14, when I started to think about what I wanted to do after high school, I thought if I could get to Nashville then I would at least have the opportunity. If it hadn't worked out, I knew I'd have my college education. But I didn't want to live my life wondering what might have been."

Trisha reckons more singers and songwriters are obtaining college degrees, and cites the growing awareness of education in business matters as proof that people are tiring of poor industry practices. "Education was always very important to me. Getting the degree helped me a lot," she says. "We read all the time about artists who get taken in by record labels, managers, accountants, and agents, because they don't know anything about the business. I've always valued that I have a tiny knowledge as to how the business works. It meant I knew what questions to ask."

Yearwood differs from many of her female country counterparts in being thoroughly aware of how visual image can alter public perceptions. In 1992, her agent, the renowned Ken Kragen (who helped shape Kenny Rogers career from country corn to pop superstardom) advised his new charge to lose weight, - and signed her up to a high-profile contract with Revlon to promote her own perfume.

"I try not to focus on the visual side.

Anything in entertainment is so image-driven. And in America more than any other country, which is pathetic, really, when you think about it," she says. "I would so much prefer to be judged on my musical talent and the work that I do than what I look like in a photograph. I understand it, but I'm more concerned with what kind of person people think I am. My so-called image on stage is very much who I am - it's not something created. I don't turn into `Trisha Yearwood' as soon as the spotlight hits me.

Record labels often try to manipulate artists into sounding like other acts because formulaic music sells records. Has Trisha ever felt herself being manipulated by the business, creatively or otherwise? "That's something you have to fight against," she says in a voice that sounds as if it has been in battle more than once. "For instance, there's a serious manipulation in country radio to try to get artists to cut certain kind of records, and to be a particular type of artist. That's something I've always rebelled against.

"I maintain if someone else can dictate the kind of music that I make, then I'm not really an artist any more.

ALISON KRAUSS is a jewel in popular music, a child prodigy who has grown up unaffected by the demands of the music industry.

Usually, success at such a young age brings its own problems, but there are no signs of arrogance, egotism or studied indifference throughout our conversation.

Instead, modesty and democracy prevail.

This same fair play extends to Alison Krauss And Union Station's latest album, the excellent So Long So Wrong.

Krauss is at pains to explain that the band is as much an integral part of her musical life as she is.

Unusually for a singer in a name/backing band scenario, she hogs neither the vocal or instrumental limelight.

"That would not be deserved," Alison says, matter-of-factly. "My feet are firmly on the ground I can't imagine them being anywhere else, to be honest. I don't think there is anything too exciting going on with us where our feet couldn't be on the ground. We enjoy playing music, and we're really grateful that we can do that for a living. None of the band forgets that."

And the ego factor so prevalent in the creative arts - is that completely missing? "Of course, you're proud of what you do, but we're with an independent label, and things are different because of that. Rounder is more into the longevity of somebody's career than fast results. I've been with the label for over to years now. Back then, we had no idea that the records were going to sell. . . we still don't have. I appreciate that from my record label. We're into making good records and not quick profit."

Approached by the label at 14, Alison recalls the conflict generated by the offer. Yes, she wanted her music to reach as many people as possible, but she was also a teenager without responsibilities. "When you're 14, you're sure about some things, and uncertain about other things. It's a difficult topic to think about. My lite is so much different now. I was a completely different person at 14, and I'm not really sure what my attitude was. I remember I was really excited. I was probably a jerk! I felt I would do the music thing at the weekends. I didn't think I'd make a career out of it."

So no teenage aspirations or hopes? "No. I just remember liking to play music.

I was into eating cheese and potato-chips, and being a teenager.

Aspects of Alison's life have changed, of course. She and her band are critically and publicly acclaimed, and have a string of awards as proof of their popularity. A defining career moment for Alison came six years ago, when she realised she could make a decent living out of playing and recording music. "I thought, wow, this is my job. I don't see it as a job, though. I have a really good time. You have to be careful in not getting too wrapped up in whatever success you're having. Otherwise, the hobby becomes a chore. Doing that would be the wrong thing for us.