Brett James, Grammy-winning ‘Jesus, Take the Wheel’ songwriter, dies in North Carolina plane crash

Songwriter Brett James performs onstage during NSAI 2022 Nashville Songwriter Awards at Ryman Auditorium on September 20, 2022.
Terry Wyatt/Getty Images

Grammy-winning songwriter Brett James, known for penning hits including Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus, Take the Wheel,” died in a plane crash on Thursday, according to the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. He was 57.

A plane registered under James’ legal name, Brett Cornelius, crashed into a field in Franklin, North Carolina, about 270 miles southeast of Nashville, around 3 p.m. Thursday, according to data from flight-tracking website FlightAware and a statement from the Federal Aviation Administration.

All three people on board – the pilot and two passengers – died in the crash, the FAA said. The National Transportation Safety Board is investigating the cause.

The small aircraft took off from John C. Tune Airport in Nashville, according to FlightAware. It crashed into a field near Iotla Valley Elementary School, where students were inside the building preparing for dismissal, district spokesperson Renee Burt told CNN.

A plane carrying three people crashed in Franklin, North Carolina, Thursday.
WYFF

James, who worked with megastars including Taylor Swift, Bon Jovi and Keith Urban. He also cowrote Kenny Chesney’s “Out Last Night” and was regarded as one of the industry’s most sought-after collaborators.

“I am absolutely devastated at the loss of one of the best writers I’ve ever written with and recorded several of his songs, Brett James,” wrote Sara Evans. Her song “Cheatin’” was written by James and reached the Top 10 on the Billboard Hot County chart in 2006.

His more than 500 songs have appeared on albums with combined sales of over 110 million copies, according to the Nashville Songwriters Association International.

James was elected to the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame in 2020. He also owned the publishing company Cornman Music and served on the board of the Country Music Association and as a national trustee of The Recording Academy, according to the Nashville Symphony.

“He was a kind, giving, delightful soul,” Mark Ford, executive director of the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame, said in a statement. “We join Brett’s family and our entire industry in mourning not only his untimely passing but also the songs that he had left to write – the songs that would have made us smile, laugh, and cry in the years and decades to come.”

James had late start to music success

James did not play guitar until he was already on a pre-med track at Baylor, he told the university’s alumni magazine. He was in his first year of medical school at the University of Oklahoma when he received a recording contract from Arista Records.

Failing to find success after a seven-year grind in Nashville, James returned to medical school, only to see his songwriting career improbably take off from afar. Getting 33 of his songs recorded in a single year convinced James to leave his studies for good.

“I’d had two recorded in the previous seven years, so 33 in a nine-month period was a pretty good run,” James said.

His biggest break came in 2005, when “Jesus, Take the Wheel,” a song he cowrote with Hillary Lindsay and Gordie Sampson, was attached to the debut album of Carrie Underwood, fresh off her success as “American Idol” champion.

Brett James and Carrie Underwood pose for a photo in 2021 after James was inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame.
Bev Moser/Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame

“She debuted it on the CMA Awards, and it turned into something special for all of us,” James told The Tennessean in 2020.

Starting as nothing but a title scribbled down by Sampson with no lyrics, James helped craft the story of a woman who recommits to her faith after a near-death experience on a highway.

James admitted he “didn’t think that much” of the song at first, but it became Underwood’s first number one country single and earned Grammys for both Underwood and the songwriters.

“I tell you what’s crazy is how many people have that story of driving in a car and almost crashing, or feeling like they were pulled out by an angel,” said James. “I’ve heard that story multiple times, like, ‘I had that happen to me.’ It’s interesting that it really touched a nerve.”

James’ influence went beyond country music. He cowrote two songs on Chicago’s 30th studio album, which was produced in Nashville by Jay DeMarcus of Rascal Flatts, following a 15-year studio hiatus for the band.

“I have no words for this one,” DeMarcus said Thursday on Instagram. “I am heartbroken. Brett and I wrote a TON of songs together.”

“Brett was a trusted collaborator to country’s greatest names, and a true advocate for his fellow songwriters,” the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers said in an Instagram post announcing James’ death.

“Rest in peace pal. Total stud. Fellow aviator. One of the best singer-songwriters in our town….total legend,” country musician Dierks Bentley wrote on Instagram

In the rolling hills of western North Carolina, where the autumn leaves are just beginning to turn shades of crimson and gold, a routine flight from Nashville turned into a scene of unimaginable tragedy. On Thursday, September 18, a single-engine Cirrus SR22T aircraft plummeted into a quiet field just west of Iotla Valley Elementary School in Franklin, claiming the lives of three souls aboard. Among them was Brett James, the Grammy Award-winning songwriter whose lyrics had touched millions with songs like Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus, Take the Wheel” and Kenny Chesney’s “When the Sun Goes Down.” James, 57, was piloting the plane he owned, registered under his legal name, Brett Cornelius. The other victims were identified as Melody Carole and Meryl Maxwell Wilson, though details about them remain scarce amid the outpouring of grief for the music icon.

The crash, occurring around 3 p.m. local time, sent shockwaves through the small mountain community of Franklin in Macon County. Eyewitness accounts describe a clear afternoon sky suddenly shattered by the roar of an engine failing, followed by a deafening thud as the plane nosedived into the earth. Miraculously, the school—home to young children whose laughter typically fills the air—was unharmed. The Macon County Sheriff’s Office quickly issued a reassuring statement on social media: “To the parents that have children that attend Iotla school. The students, and staff are safe. There was an airplane accident on the neighboring property. Again all students and staff are safe.” A school resource officer, positioned nearby, witnessed the descent and radioed for help, ensuring a swift response from emergency services. No ground injuries were reported, a small mercy in an otherwise devastating afternoon.

But as first responders cordoned off the site and investigators from the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) and National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) descended upon the wreckage, a chilling discovery emerged—one that has left even seasoned crash scene veterans reeling. Scattered amid the twisted metal and smoldering debris was the first identifiable remnant of the tragedy: James’s well-worn leather-bound notebook, its pages splayed open like a final, desperate plea. The notebook, a staple of the songwriter’s life, was found mere feet from the cockpit, its cover emblazoned with faded ink: “Brett James – Songs from the Soul.” Inside, amid half-finished lyrics and chord progressions, was a poignant, unfinished verse that read: “In the quiet crash of waves on shore, we find our way back home… but what if the wheel slips from grace, and the sky turns to stone?” The words, scrawled in James’s distinctive looping handwriting, seemed eerily prophetic, as if penned in anticipation of the very fate that befell him.

This heartbreaking find has amplified the sorrow rippling across the country music world and beyond. “It’s like he knew,” one anonymous NTSB investigator whispered to reporters at the scene, their voice cracking under the weight of the moment. Photos leaked from the site—quickly circulating on social media platforms like X (formerly Twitter)—show the notebook partially singed but remarkably intact, its pages fluttering in the breeze as if whispering secrets to the wind. Parents picking up their children from Iotla Valley Elementary that afternoon caught glimpses of the recovery efforts, their faces paling at the sight. “We heard the boom, felt the ground shake,” recounted local resident Maria Gonzalez, whose daughter attends the school. “Then they found that book… it’s like his last song was screaming for help. My heart breaks for his family—and ours, too.”

The flight’s origin traced back to John C. Tune Airport in Nashville, departing at 12:41 p.m. CST—barely two and a half hours before the fatal impact. FlightAware data indicates no distress signals were issued, leaving investigators puzzled. The Cirrus SR22T, a sleek turbocharged model popular among private pilots for its advanced avionics and parachute system, failed to deploy its emergency ballistic parachute, a feature designed to float the entire aircraft to safety in mid-air. Preliminary FAA reports confirm the plane was registered to James, a licensed pilot with a passion for aviation that mirrored his love for the open road in his songwriting. The NTSB has dispatched a “go team” to Franklin, where they are poring over black box data, weather logs (which showed clear skies), and maintenance records. North Carolina Highway Patrol is assisting, combing the field for additional clues.

As the sun set on the crash site that evening, the notebook’s discovery became the emotional epicenter of the unfolding story. It wasn’t just an object; it was a window into James’s soul—a man who poured his life’s joys and pains into melody. Born in Columbia, Missouri, James had traded the stethoscope of medical school for the guitar strings of Music Row, rising from aspiring artist to powerhouse hitmaker. His credits boast over 300 songs, including chart-toppers for Tim McGraw (“Real Good Man”), Jason Aldean (“The Truth”), and Taylor Swift (“I’d Lie”). But it was his collaborations with Carrie Underwood that cemented his legacy. “Jesus, Take the Wheel,” co-written in 2005, became an anthem of redemption, earning him a Grammy for Best Country Song in 2007 and countless ASCAP Country Songwriter of the Year nods in 2006 and 2010.

Tributes poured in faster than the responders to the scene. Underwood, whose career James helped launch, posted an emotional thread on X: “Some things are just unfathomable. Brett wasn’t just a co-writer; he was a brother, a guide through the storms of this industry. That notebook… God, it’s like he left us one last verse to hold onto.” Jason Aldean echoed the sentiment: “Heartbroken to hear of the loss of my friend Brett James tonight. I had nothing but love and respect for that guy and he helped change my life.” Even ESPN’s Kirk Herbstreit, a close friend, learned of the crash mid-broadcast during Thursday Night Football, his voice faltering as he dedicated the halftime to James: “Brett was the soundtrack to so many of my road trips. This one’s for you, brother.”

The Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame, where James was inducted in 2020, issued a statement calling him “a Music Row giant… a consistent powerhouse for over 30 years.” ASCAP mourned him as a “2-time Country Songwriter of the Year,” while the Recording Academy remembered his board service and production work. James wasn’t just a writer; he owned Cornman Music publishing and mentored emerging talents, often hosting songwriting workshops that felt more like family gatherings.

Yet, beneath the accolades lay a man of quiet depth. Friends describe James as a devoted father to his two children and a partner who cherished simple joys—flying his plane over Tennessee’s hills, scribbling ideas on napkins during diner runs. That notebook, recovered so prominently, symbolized it all: unfinished business, raw vulnerability. “He always said songs are like prayers,” recalled producer buddy Paul Worley in an X post. “This one feels like his last prayer, unanswered.”

For the Iotla Valley community, the crash’s proximity adds layers of trauma. Franklin, a town of 4,000 nestled in the Nantahala National Forest, isn’t accustomed to such headlines. “Our kids play in fields like that,” said Principal Elena Ramirez, her eyes misty during a press briefing. “Seeing that book… it’s a reminder that life, like a song, can end mid-chorus.” Counselors were on hand Friday, helping students process the “big boom” some heard from classrooms. Vigils are planned, with local musicians covering James’s hits under the stars.

As investigations continue, questions linger. Why no mayday? What role did the terrain play? And that notebook—will its words inspire a posthumous release, a final gift from James? For now, the shocking find serves as a haunting coda to a life cut short. In a world that often feels adrift, Brett James’s music—and now, his last lines—remind us to take the wheel, even when the sky darkens.

The music community rallies, but the silence where his voice once soared is deafening. Rest in melody, Brett. You’ve left us a song we won’t forget.