8 SEPTEMBER 25-OCTOBER 1, 2025 westword.com WESTWORD | MUSIC | CAFE | CULTURE | NIGHT+DAY | NEWS | LETTERS | CONTENTS | Scared Silent MUSICIAN COLES WHALEN CONFRONTS HER FEARS AFTER THE SUPREME COURT REVERSED HER STALKER’S CONVICTION. BY BENNITO L. KELT Y Coles Whalen misses her music, but not as much as she misses Colorado. “I miss it so much,” she says. “I’m still heartbroken that I don’t live there and won’t be making my life there.” Born in Philadelphia, she moved to Den- ver with her family when she was one. She started chasing a music career when she was seven, took up the guitar when she was eight, and then learned the piano when she was thirteen. She began writing music in 2005, when she was 21; that year, she released the Coles Whalen — EP, a short collection that showed off her vocal range and the infl uence of play- ing jazz piano in Denver clubs as a teenager. Her lyrics swung from pained and lonely to hopeful, with her powerful voice pining for a lucky break or love. “Providence, be a friend to me,” she sang on “Providence.” “Help a poor girl see. I don’t want to walk alone anymore.” She soon decided that the only way she would fi nd any real success was to get out there and show off her talent. So she bought a pickup truck and camper, then set out to perform at Borders bookstores around the country, as the chain regularly hosted live events that were easy to book. She sold enough copies of the EP to cover her trav- els, with some left over to record her fi rst album, Gee Baby. The album, which was also released in 2005, left the piano behind and relied on Whalen’s guitar and the high notes of her voice to deliver songs that were encouraging, uplifting and, at times, even pumped up. “Look outside, all Manhattan is dancing for you/Keep your eyes on those lights,” she sings to a female fi gure living alone in “Manhattan.” “On a tiny tree she keeps in her apartment corner/Hangs an ornament I sent from the Colorado border.” In 2009, Whalen moved to Nashville, where more country and bluegrass vibes slipped into her music. She traveled to Mon- treal and won the HITLAB showcase that same year, which led to her recording the album Whistle Stop Road Record with pop star Akon as the executive producer. “You might be my ticket into that country market I’ve been hoping for,” he told 25-year-old Whalen on the televised showcase. “She’s the shit.” By the end of 2009, her gigs were growing and so was her fanbase. She shared news of her burgeoning stardom on Facebook, the dominant social media of the time. “The industry advice was ‘let people in,’” she remembers. “So I did.” So many friend requests came in that Whalen’s account was set to automatically accept them. In 2010, Whalen received a Facebook friend request from a middle-aged Colorado man she had never met, Billy Raymond Counterman; no picture was attached. Counterman subsequently sent Whalen a message claiming he was a promoter put- ting on a disaster relief benefi t concert, and said he wanted her to headline. “Your FB friend,” he signed it. Before she could respond, Counterman sent more Facebook messages insisting that Whalen call him to talk about the concert, promising that it would make her a star and that she could name the event whatever she wanted. “It gave me a bad feeling,” she says. “He felt pushy and off, but it didn’t seem scary at the time. So I just ignored it.” Soon Counterman seemed to disappear. Meanwhile, the music industry was taking notice of Whalen. Known as an openly bisexual artist, she was invited to open for Joan Jett at the 2010 Phoenix Pride Festival’s thirtieth an- niversary. The touring was nonstop; she was playing more than 200 concerts and festivals across the country a year, at both small venues and large, opening for popular acts like Pat Benatar and Rufus Wainwright. She was meeting “tons of people every night,” she remembers, signing autographs and taking photos with fans. “I was really grateful for all of it,” Whalen says. In 2012, she released her fi fth record, I Wrote This for You, and continued touring while working on her sixth, Come Back, Come Back, to release it the following year. “Then out of nowhere he comes back,” Whalen says. Facebook Faceoff “Knock knock...” In 2014, Counterman sent his fi rst mes- sage to Whalen in years: “Five years on FB. I miss you, only a couple of physical sightings, you’ve been a picker upper for me more times then I can count...” Counterman then started messaging her about the places she’d been over the past three years, with whom and what she was wearing on certain days. “That’s when it hit me,” she says. “He never left. He’s been watching me the whole time.” Counterman began messaging her “re- lentlessly,” even past midnight, and the mes- sages were never about her music. “I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?” he’d write. “Can you play along? Good morning, sweetheart.” He would say that he “can’t talk right now. Text me,” and then tell her, “Okay then, please stop the phone calls!” even though she never replied to any of his messages. “It became terrifyingly clear he thought we were a couple,” Whalen recalls. In 2014, the messages started coming in “clusters,” according to court documents. Whalen describes them as shifting from “angry” and “delusional” to “threatening” and “dangerous.” He told her to “Fuck off permanently,” and said that “You’re not being good for human relations. Die. Don’t need you.” Whalen blocked Counterman, but he created new accounts. And he started to hint more and more that he was watching her. “Was that you in the white Jeep?” he asked. “Five years on Facebook. Only a cou- ple physical sightings.” Since she was still touring constantly, Whalen would post information about where she’d perform and when. When she was standing in front of dark crowds, she’d wonder if he was out there. She was unable to see the faces – but she didn’t know what he looked like, anyway. Between 2014 and 2016, Counterman sent hundreds of thousands of Facebook messages to Whalen. Finally, at a show in Dallas in March 2016, she broke into a sweat and was unable to breathe. For the fi rst time, she left the stage mid-performance; she went backstage and cried for hours. She couldn’t take it anymore. After talking to her aunt, an attorney, Whalen contacted Arapahoe County law enforcement that May. The offi cer who responded looked at one screen of messages and contacted his supervisor right away, saying that it was a serious case of harassment and suggesting that Whalen take a concealed carry class to protect herself. That night, Counterman was arrested in Arapahoe County. As offi cers approached, he asked: “Is this because of Coles Whalen?” Detectives told her that Counterman believed he had been in a relationship with Whalen for several years, that they had mar- ried and divorced a few times, and that she was the mentally unhinged one who clawed him back every time he tried to leave. He’d said he was saving her from suicide. According to NEWS continued on page 10 KEEP UP ON DENVER NEWS AT WESTWORD.COM/NEWS Coles Whalen started her musical career in Colorado. COURTESY COLES WHALEN
