In the early 2000s, while most artists were chasing pop relevance, Dolly Parton was quietly executing one of the boldest reinventions in modern music. She had turned away from glossy country-pop and returned to Appalachian roots, committing herself to a trilogy of bluegrass and folk records that would redefine her legacy. The most shocking moment of that era came when she reached across genre lines and transformed a 1990s grunge anthem into a mountain hymn—without warning the man who wrote it.
That man was Ed Roland.
In 2001, Roland, the lead singer and principal songwriter of Collective Soul, was eating dinner in Arizona, entirely unaware that his biggest hit, "Shine," was being reborn on national television. The song, originally released in 1994, was defined by drop-D guitar riffs, post-grunge weight, and spiritual frustration wrapped in distortion.
Then his phone rang.
On the other end was his father, shouting in disbelief: "Turn on the TV! Dolly Parton is singing your song!" Roland scrambled to the screen just in time to witness something surreal. Where his version was heavy and brooding, Parton's was fast, joyful, and transcendent—banjos and fiddles replacing amplifiers, grit replaced by grace.
Parton had reimagined "Shine" for her album Little Sparrow, a record that leaned fully into bluegrass tradition. Instead of sanding down the song's spiritual core, she amplified it. The plea in the chorus—"Heaven let your light shine down"—was no longer an existential cry; it became a revival.
The risk was enormous. In the early 2000s, genre boundaries were still rigid. A country legend covering a grunge-era alternative rock song could have felt gimmicky or disrespectful. Instead, Parton treated the composition as sacred text. With elite acoustic musicians and a relentless tempo, she recreated the urgency of the original without copying its sound.
Roland was reportedly stunned—and deeply honored. He later said he was "blown away," noting that hearing someone of Parton's stature reinterpret his work felt like a validation of his songwriting at the highest level. For a rock songwriter, it was the equivalent of a benediction.
The industry agreed. At the 44th Annual Grammy Awards in 2002, Parton's version of "Shine" won Best Female Country Vocal Performance. What began as a surprise television performance ended as one of the most unlikely Grammy victories of the decade.
While Collective Soul's original peaked at No. 11 on the Billboard Hot 100, Parton's rendition carved out a second life for the song—one that bridged generations, genres, and audiences. It proved that a great song is not owned by its distortion pedals or its era.
For Ed Roland, it remains one of the most surreal phone calls of his life. For Dolly Parton, it was simply another reminder that true songwriting doesn't belong to rock, country, or bluegrass—it belongs to whoever knows how to let it shine.