Artist of the Month Archives - Page 2 of 24

Artist of the Month: Lucinda Williams

Posted on March 2, 2026March 31, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Among the 78 bands performing for thousands of fans at San Francisco’s 25th annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, our nation’s foremost Americana festival, in October of 2025, one of the largest audiences had gathered for Lucinda Williams. She took the main stage in the afternoon clad in a leather suit, studs on the hem of her pants. The groove from the band and her lyrics landed with resonant pounding, like the drop of a heavy set of books on a table. After more than 50 years of performing, her sound still hits.

Lucinda Williams grasped brilliance in 1998 with Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, but this was not some isolated incident. She has pursued the craft of album-making expertly for her entire career, and fans flock to her because there is always something more to scratch up. The singularity of her writing rings at a higher frequency today in our shallow digitized world. I see her current position in our culture to be similar to that of poet-songwriter Leonard Cohen in his final chapter. When she sings, we listeners get to grasp at something real, and we crave what Lucinda offers; intimate corporeal love, the palette of Southern backroads alongside broken-down juke joints, honest bewilderment at the state of the world while still loving it.

When I was 26, I set out on a road trip to trace Lucinda’s origins. Being a songwriter, I wanted to determine what I could do to strive and bloom, like she did. So I left California driving my 1995 Ford F-250. From Texas to Tennessee, I dug up characters from Lucinda’s early days. I was most interested in finding people who had worked with her in the beginning of her career.

In Jackson, Mississippi, I spent a day at Malaco Studios where Lucinda made her first record Ramblin’ On My Mind. While listening to outtakes, I happened upon the first-ever originals she recorded but never released. In those reel-to-reel tapes that had been sitting untouched in a concrete vault, I heard a voice from four decades ago that was clear and bold. Wolf Stephenson was the engineer from that session and he told me that in 1978 Lucinda was a resolute and present woman: “[In] day-to-day life, she was just as footloose and like she was on stage. And really there wasn’t much difference in sitting here talking [with her] or being on stage, very natural.”

In Austin, Texas, I was shocked to learn that well-known guitarist Charlie Sexton had played with Lucinda when he was just 11 and she was 26. At the Hole in the Wall where a booker once cancelled Lucinda’s gig because there were “too many girl singers that month,” Charlie and I discussed how he has learned from Lucinda as a writer. He reflected on his early impressions of her and told me, “…There’s no doubt that Lucinda was always going to be unique… I mean, she’s like a regional writer in a way… she’s the Flannery O’Connor of that era of singer-songwriter.”

Lucinda’s parents raised her in an extraordinary community. Her father Miller Williams was a professor, a translator, and a poet. He and his wife were descendants of humble traveling Methodist ministers with meager finances, but by the time their first daughter Lucinda was a teen, the family sat in the company of Nobel Prize-winning authors. Miller’s genuine passion for literature gave him the conviction to invite figures like Charles Bukowski and indeed Flannery O’Connor into his circle of friends and acquaintances. He hosted literary parties in the family’s Arkansas home. After drinks were served, Miller read some of his new poems out loud, and a young Lucinda sat and strummed her latest songs. Writers of the highest caliber listened at attention. Some of these writers gave Lucinda feedback. Perhaps just as important was that these writers also imparted genuine encouragement to Lucinda and told her that in spite of all of the suffering and uncertainties involved in being an artist, it was still a worthwhile pursuit in life.

Along my road trip I also discovered how committed Lucinda has been to her art over the decades. I spoke at length with some of the musicians and engineers that worked on Car Wheels On A Gravel Road. I learned from Lucinda’s recollections that when you have that itching worry that a sound just isn’t right on an album, you have to wrestle with the process to find the right timbre, the right soundscape that will thrill you. I found that a songwriter has to embrace change, even if they’re unsure of the career consequences. I found that artists can’t just make the same album over and over again. Well… they can, but they probably shouldn’t. A songwriter has to keep seeking out that sound, that story that pulls at their soul’s musical corners, like Lucinda did.

Lucinda’s latest release, World’s Gone Wrong, is a continuation of the directness I’ve known her for. She conveys her truth with her language of simplicity. So often in our era, bathed in a slurry of news and trends, opinions from artists can feel glued-on. But that’s not the case with Lucinda. She conveys her frustrations with the state of the world from a genuine and honest place and, when she sings, I believe her. As with so much of her writing, in her latest album I feel like I’m reading a book, inhabiting the imagined place of the viewer and the subject.

The characters in Lucinda’s songs are alive, bleeding, imperfect, and desirously wanting. We benefit from the chance to continue paying attention to the words she writes.

If you’d like to learn all about how I retraced the roots of Lucinda Williams, check out Finding Lucinda, my podcast released in partnership with the BGS Podcast Network. You can also watch the documentary film Finding Lucinda on AppleTV, Youtube and more.

Stay tuned as BGS and Good Country celebrate Lucinda Williams as Artist of the Month throughout March. Enjoy our Essential Lucinda Williams playlist below and check out an exclusive interview with Williams here. Plus, we’ll be diving into the BGS archives for all things Lu and exploring our favorite covers of her songs by other artists, too. Follow along right here on BGS and on social media for more.

Photo Credit: Mark Seliger

An Oral History of the Infamous Stringdusters

Posted on February 23, 2026March 5, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

BGS was founded 14 years ago and from the very beginning, we’ve been covering, collaborating with, and cheering on the Infamous Stringdusters. Our first posts about the group published to our site in 2013 – not even a year after our launch – spotlighting banjoist Chris Pandolfi’s Bluegrass Manifesto, the band’s only-four-years-old marquee event The Festy Experience, and their most recent album at that time, Silver Sky. Now, in 2026, they’re not only our Artist of the Month for the second time, they’ll be headlining our stage at Bourbon & Beyond this September, too. But, our love for the band – and the many partnerships we’ve built together – began, like most, back in 2007 with their now iconic debut album Fork in the Road and a banner year for the group at IBMA’s World of Bluegrass and the IBMA Awards.

Back then, when the Stringdusters took home trophies for Song of the Year (“Fork in the Road”), New Artist of the Year, and Album of the Year, perhaps no one – not even the band themselves – would have predicted the seismic, existential impact they would end up having on bluegrass and the as-yet-unnamed subgenre thereof: jamgrass. Twenty years on, the Stringdusters celebrate their duo of decades with 20/20, an album of 20 songs celebrating 20 years of defining and redefining bluegrass and jamgrass.

For our Artist of the Month coverage, BGS and Good Country co-founder Amy Reitnouer Jacobs sat down with all five members the Infamous Stringdusters for a wide-ranging conversation of a band that epitomizes bluegrass, jamgrass, and psychedelic string band music in the 2000s.

First of all, again, I wanna just thank you for doing this. We are so thrilled to have you guys as our Artist of the Month and congratulations on 20 years of the ‘Dusters.

I wanna start this with Panda actually, and this is not gonna be just an oral history interview, but I think, looking back on 20 years, it feels appropriate to start from the beginning. So let’s talk about origins and start back at Berklee [College of Music], if that’s cool. Tell us a little bit about the beginning of the band.

Chris Pandolfi: I arrived at Berklee in 2001, which was the year that Andy [Hall] had just left Boston for Nashville. I first met Critter [Chris Eldridge] through Zach Hickman, who was playing in Josh Ritter’s band. He went to Oberlin [University] with Critter. We got together and we were playing, and Zach had some free studio time at a spot in New Hampshire and we were gonna go record some music, just for fun. Our careers were not underway in any way, shape, or form. We didn’t have any grand designs here. We were just gonna go record some music and have some fun.

Then, on the precipice of this recording, we went down to the Cantab Lounge to meet this guy named Andy Hall. We went there and–

Andy Hall: [It was] The Plough and Stars.

CP: The Plough and Stars! Andy was playing–

AH: I don’t remember exactly if I was playing or if you were playing.

CP: And the next day we were in New Hampshire at this recording studio and we made this EP called Stable Horse. Essentially, Andy was already living in Nashville, so around that same time, he had met Jeremy [Garrett] and they were playing together. It was that recording session that got the wheels turning for me. Like, “Oh, we could do this thing with other people our age,” and not fall into the very sort of common thing in bluegrass where you get hired by someone else and you’re essentially a sideman.

We were recording and teeing things up, and we all had other gigs at that time. It was me, Andy, Jesse [Cobb], Critter, and Alan Bartram from the Del McCoury Band. But that was my earliest memory of “We could start a band with our contemporaries.” And Zach Hickman, I give him credit, he facilitated that.

I don’t even think we had the name “Stringdusters” yet. Alan got the offer to go play with Del McCoury and we had met Travis [Book] at IBMA, so we called him up and he came and lived in my driveway for a few months. True story.

Travis Book: You can really get away with a lot if you park your car in someone’s driveway and then try to stay outta the way.

So Andy and Jeremy, what are the origins of you guys starting to play together?

AH: Was it Ronnie Bowman? Was that the first time? I was in Ronnie Bowman’s band and the fiddle player and Ronnie had a bit of a falling out while we were on the road and–

CP: We were all at a festival, so we scooped up Jeremy and he got on the bus with Ronnie Bowman!

Jeremy Garrett: Yeah, I definitely knew about you two beforehand. And, of course, in bluegrass everyone’s a fan of Ronnie Bowman. He’s such a crooner and such a cool cat. I definitely had plenty of experience before, but this was like one of my first major Nashville gigs. And it was eye-opening very quickly that, as a sideman, it’s pretty limiting.

The conversations I remember started happening pretty fast in the back rooms: “Hey, let’s maybe consider doing something of our own. Long-term, how can we make this happen?” But it was just like whispers. I remember going to IBMA – that’s where I met Chris Pandolfi and he blew me away with his melodic banjo playing style and this futuristic sound that he had. I’d really never played with that before, because I came from a very traditional side of bluegrass.

CP: Didn’t I give you a copy of my record? I remember you telling me that.

JG: Yeah. And I listened to that record all the way home from IBMA – I’ll never forget – and my dad was riding with me. I was just like, “This guy’s awesome.” Overall, it felt like all of us coming together through our connection in Nashville and these music parties that used to happen on the reg. I don’t know if they still do. We would have huge jam sessions, especially at Panda’s Pad. There’d be 20-30 people all gathered up in somebody’s backyard, picking. And it was almost every night. So you can’t help but get tight and start seeing the writing on the wall, the possibilities, through those kind of connections.

CP: These days in Nashville are so different. It’s so much “cooler” now. There’s so many young people playing bluegrass and when you hear about a lot of the socializing in Nashville, it’s a lot of young musicians. When we were having these parties, it was a real diverse mix of ages. You had Sam Bush there, you had Scott Vestal, you had Ronnie Bowman, and the McCourys. We were the young cats around and there wasn’t a very vibrant young scene. We were intermingling with a lot of the elder statesmen of bluegrass.

That’s a really special time in Nashville. I can remember that’s when I started hanging out in town and there was like a magic in the air. That intergenerational mix doesn’t organically seem to be happening as much, but maybe it is and I’m just not invited to parties anymore.

So Travis, were you coming to Nashville from Colorado? Where were you before then?

TB: Yeah, I was living in Durango and Anders Beck from Greensky [Bluegrass] and I started playing music together in maybe 2002. There were gigs and we were learning this music and then Andy Thorn and some other friends – that’s Leftover Salmon – they just showed up in a music store one day. Andy was probably 19 on college break and we hung out with him for three days straight. When he went back to North Carolina, we called him up. We’re like, “Dude, you gotta come back! We gotta make a band! We’ll play RockyGrass, you’ll win the banjo contest, we’ll win the band contest.” Anders and I were like, “We can see the future, but we need Andy Thorn,” because he was such a compelling musician and just such a natural. Still is.

We started this band called the Broke Mountain Bluegrass Band with Jon Stickley, who’s also a visionary in our music. We were all picking and almost entering that same path as Leftover Salmon or Yonder [Mountain String Band]. We were already doing this like hippie bro band, just loving playing music and camping and playing festivals and going to hot springs and just fucking around. It was brilliant.

But then we went to IBMA, which at the time was the best way to show off your band and position yourself in the context of the larger [bluegrass] world. Try to get some gigs and go party your absolute brains out for a week. We were pretty rough around the edges, but one night I stepped off an elevator and Chris Eldridge came around the corner. [He] was like, “We need a bass player for this jam. Will you come jam with us?” I went into this little alcove and it was essentially the Stringdusters. It was Critter and Pandolfi and Andy Hall and Jeremy and Jesse Brock. I was just hanging out, holding on for dear life. I’m partying, I have a backpack full of beer, I have no shoes on, and I looked around and all my band mates were just there sitting along the hallway floor listening to the jam.

Andy’s partner at the time, Janice, said, ” Do you ever think about moving to Nashville?” I just laughed. Absolutely not. But I had fixed myself in their mind and once they exhausted all the possibilities of people who could play bass in Nashville – at least this is my understanding – they dug into their collective consciousness and called me up to audition. They’re like, “We think you’re the guy. When can you move to Nashville?” So I went out there to work on Fork in the Road that summer. What was this, 2004? Am I right, guys?

AH: I think that would’ve been 2005.

TB: Yeah, you’re right. 2005. [I] moved out there in September and lived in this guy’s driveway. It was kinda wild.

Falco, I promise we’re getting to you. We’re almost there!

In pretty quick succession though, you’ve got the core crew with Critter and Jesse [Cobb] at that time, you record the album, and get signed to Sugar Hill. And then things just start happening! Can you walk me through the time between recording and the IBMA Awards in ’07?

CP: There’s a lot of extremely disorganized touring. We’re driving around in two cars. I still have the notebook from the gigs – we were getting paid a few hundred bucks a night, maybe a thousand on a good night. Doing everything that we could.

We didn’t have grand designs on anything. The IBMA Awards was a really big moment for our band. Thinking back, it was a moment of legitimacy, of just getting [to] one of the hardest things as a band, which is the collective feeling that this thing is gonna stick together. That’s the peril of starting a band with players who you think are really good: at any time anyone could get hired away for something. But we were playing gigs, we were loving life, we were working on our music, and we were poor as could possibly be. I just remember the IBMA Awards as a big moment of solidity, of that feeling like we could really do this, we could really be in this for a long time.

TB: There was that first summer we had a couple of big anchor gigs, but a lot of it was really just driving around and killing time in between these anchors and hoping that we could reach the right audiences. I think that the big bluegrass scene was ripe for some young pickers who were taking it seriously and committed to each other.

JG: Yeah, getting gas in the tank right off the bat was huge for us, that’s for sure. And we spent a lot of time in between those gigs just going to be in the wilderness and spending time together. I don’t know, for lack of a better way of explaining it, [we were] bonding like a band.

But man, when you’re a real band and you’re not just like a frontman or whatever, you’ve got a real synergy with other guys in a group. It’s special. And I feel like a lot of what brought us together and [what] makes us as tight as we are now was those off times where we were discovering our lives and just doing cool stuff like that. Creating this thing together.

I do need to know who came up with the name. Where did the name come from?

CP: Ben Eldridge.

AH: Yeah!

CP: We were working with a list of pretty mediocre names and Ben came up with “Stringdusters.” After 20 years, I can say there’s a lot of bad band names out there, but the Stringdusters – I think it’s a cool band name and it suits us.

All right. Now we bring Falco into the mix. So how did you get mixed up in all this? Tell us your origin story.

Andy Falco: So, Critter fell off the back of a truck and I got picked up – no! What happened was, I’d known Pandolfi and Andy Hall from the Northeast bluegrass scene. I was playing with this guy, Buddy Miriam, who’s on Long Island, and who actually was friends with Bill Monroe because he got struck by lightning at the Berkshire Mountain Bluegrass Festival, which of course was Grey Fox. And Monroe found out about it and reached out and they became friends. So he learned a lot of mandolin directly from Monroe.

My brother was getting into bluegrass and was like, “You should come to this bluegrass festival.” I went up there and saw Doc Watson and really got into playing bluegrass. I moved to Nashville maybe a year after Panda and Critter did. Andy Hall was already playing in Dolly Parton’s band. And I had met Jeremy, actually by accident, at SPBGMA. My first time in Nashville, some guy came up to me and said, “Hey man, how are you doing? How’s everything been?” I was like, “Great. This is my first time in Nashville. Everything’s been great.” Then he stopped and said, “Man, I thought you were someone else.” And he says, “Come meet my son.” That was Jeremy’s dad, and that’s the first time I met Jeremy.

When I moved to Nashville, these guys were starting the band. I was watching them doing their sets at IBMA. It was killer. Then when Critter left, they asked if I’d be in. I wasn’t gonna start until September and one month later was the IBMA Awards. So I just joined the band and here they are, winning all these awards.

JG: I would like to say, I’ll never forget your first gig. You killed it harder than literally anybody I’ve ever worked with to this day. Absolutely stepped into the role and blew it away. And it was very obvious at that moment that he was the right man for the job, for the Stringdusters.

AF: I had big shoes to fill with Critter – and Critter and I were friends. In fact, I knew Critter before I met anybody in the Stringdusters. We met at seven o’clock in the morning on the last day of IBMA, when we’d pick all night and our door was open. And here comes Critter with his guitar.

CP: Critter introduced us.

AF: Yeah.

CP: He said to me, “Do you want to go hear the fastest guitar player alive?” And I said yes.

AF: I worked with Critter, too. Critter was very supportive of coming over when I was preparing to join the band, showing me the parts that he played on the record. So I had a really good foundation, thanks to Critter, of what he had done. Then I was able to put my stamp on it.

So what is that pivot then? You all mentioned the kind of shift that occurred, moving you away from traditional bluegrass and more towards jamgrass. How did you find your own sound? What was the decision to pivot?

AH: I remember a specific show where we decided we were gonna try and extend some [of the] set. I think it was the Animus Theater in Durango and it was a Colorado bluegrass crowd, which was more of a dancing crowd. They were used to more diverse sounds. I don’t remember, we were just like, “Let’s try and put a jam in this one song,” or whatever. So we’re playing, we’re jamming, and we’re extending whatever song it was. The whole crowd was just dancing. The energy was feeding back and forth and it was like, “Whoa! This is so much more exciting,” in contrast to everyone sitting silently and clapping in between songs. We made a choice one night and we saw the crowd just light up and dance and lose themselves in the music, and that fed our energy.

CP: Also, we were into that stuff.

AH: Yeah.

CP: But we hadn’t really made that connection yet. The real moment that I remember is we opened three shows for Railroad Earth. We played the 9:30 Club. We played Theater of the Living Arts and, I think, and we played Burg Williamsburg, when our van broke down and we showed up last minute. Those are the gigs that I referenced in the Bluegrass Manifesto. When I did the IBMA keynote that grew out of that, it really referenced those. I remember a few shows, too, where we would come off stage and we’re like, “Oh my god, that jam. Let’s do that again.”

We played these shows with Railroad Earth and it connected some dots that didn’t connect automatically, even though we had Grateful Dead, Phish, playing all the time. We were really coming from that IBMA buzz and awards. And, like anything, it took some time to discover, [it took] some experience. That was when some real change started happening around our business. Then the music really followed that trend.

JG: I’ll say, you guys, don’t forget about the Zeltfestivals. They were beyond anything that I personally had ever experienced. We went out and these people were going absolutely bonkers for our music – they had barricades out there and stuff. I’d never seen any of that at a bluegrass show. To me, that was fire in the tank.

AF: I think that also a big part of that is just, I know for myself, not growing up playing bluegrass music and then getting turned onto it by Garcia and Grisman and people like that. But I think it was just like when I started learning bluegrass. There’s a way that you have to do it and then, finally, you get to a certain point where all these dots are being connected, where you start to let these other influences come out, because you start to get more comfortable as a band. You start to allow that like, “Yeah, why can’t we do it? Why can’t we mix these things?” Even just as individual players. Why can’t you play this style? Blending these kind of jammy elements and these rock elements and then seeing how it worked.

You all have such varied individual projects and influences. Do you still think that you’re shifting your sound? What are you listening to and is that influencing what you’re doing?

AH: It’s definitely influencing what we’re doing. I think, to Falco’s point, I feel like I’m allowing [in] more and more of my original influences that I grew up with. I was a metal dude in high school. I think the older I get, the more I enjoy letting in who I am.

AF: Getting away from the “that ain’t a part of nothing” bullshit, right? Like, what? Who’s to say, right?

JG: Yeah, at the end of the day it’s art and you gotta let that lead itself, if you’re a true artist. Otherwise, you’re doing a preservation society kind of thing in the bluegrass world. For the longest time, I felt we were all paying homage to this awesome music, but we’re not letting it breathe like it should sometimes. It’s very fun to be an artist and be able to have the permission to just kinda let it flow, which is what we let ourselves do. We let the art dictate what we did, and we were true to ourselves in that way. That was something that served us very well. Still does.

You all live in different places now. I know the band is not as centered in Nashville as it used to be, but you did talk about the off-times and how that bonded the group early on. How do you stay bonded as a band now? How have things shifted? Being a decentralized band, how has the writing recording process changed for y’all over the last 20 years?

JG: I think that’s an important point. Yes, we’ve changed a lot over the years, but we’ve been able to stay tight because of those early formative years when we were all just broke traveling around in a band. I didn’t have any brothers growing up, but these guys are definitely my brothers and they know more about me than anybody else in this world. To allow each one of us to have the freedom to live where we wanna live and come together the way that we want to come together, I think that has been really one of the main things that have kept us together.

Over the years we’ve all developed little side things outside of the band. I think that’s been healthy. For me, I like to do my own solo music, music that I write and I like to perform – and stuff that wouldn’t necessarily fit within the confines of the Stringdusters. But I still want to get that art out there. We continue to challenge each other. Music can be competitive in a not-healthy way. But I feel like we do it in a healthy way, in the sense that we drive each other to just be the best that we can be at what we do.

CP: I got married last fall and in the run up to my wedding, one of my aunts asked me, “Are all your bandmates gonna be there?” In my mind I had this moment where I was like, “Are my band mates gonna be there?” You might as well ask me if my family is gonna be there! It’s just life at this point. After 20 years, it’s cool to observe the level to which you become each other’s family.

That’s the definition of community and you don’t think about these things when you’re going into this life, but there are some incredible unintended consequences. That informs the music and that informs all the life experiences too.

And here we are, 20 years later. That’s pretty cool.

Explore more of our Artist of the Month coverage of the Infamous Stringdusters here.

Photo Credit: Daniel Milchev

Two Decades of ‘Dusters Discography

Posted on February 12, 2026March 5, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

With over a dozen studio credits and even more EPs and live albums to their name, the Infamous Stringdusters have been one of the most persistent forces in bluegrass and roots music ever since staking their claim with 2007’s Fork In The Road.

Even as members changed in those early years, the band quickly found its core – Andy Hall (Dobro), Andy Falco (guitar), Jeremy Garrett (fiddle), Chris Pandolfi (banjo) and Travis Book (bass) – and rapidly began homing in on a sound that’s equal parts traditional and progressive bluegrass with a touch of country, jam, and other influences along the way. That variance has led to each of the band’s recordings having a distinctly different flavor than its predecessors, from the harmonious bluegrass symphony of Silver Sky to the feature-rich Ladies & Gentlemen, hope-fueled Laws of Gravity and Rise Sun to the somber Toward the Fray.

“Making a record that sounds like the Stringdusters isn’t the challenge,” Book told me in 2022 for No Depression. “The challenge is seeing just how deep we can get on each song in order to make it the best, most authentic version of itself it can be. This requires us all setting aside our egos, being open to suggestions, and trusting one another to create the best music as possible.”

In celebration of our Artist of the Month, we take a look back on the Stringdusters’ sonic evolution and essential tracks from their two decades in service of bluegrass and the song.

“Fork In The Road” – Fork In The Road (2007)

On their emphatic 2007 debut, Fork In The Road, the band – then comprised of eventual Punch Brother Chris Eldridge (guitar) and Jesse Cobb (mandolin) alongside Book, Garrett, Hall, and Pandolfi – quickly struck a chord with bluegrass aficionados on songs like “No More to Leave You Behind” and the album’s title track. The latter of which positions the band’s fiddle maestro front and center as his high-pitch croon carries the weight of being at a crossroads. Whether it’s a hypothetical take or one rooted in the group’s own musical experiences, it’s safe to say the path the ‘Dusters have taken since has more than paid off with a legacy 20 years strong and counting.

“Magic #9” – Things That Fly (2010)

The band show off their picking prowess on the whimsical “Magic #9,” a track that resulted in their first-ever GRAMMY nomination at the 53rd annual awards in 2011. While the ‘Dusters can thrash and sing bluegrass harmonies with the best of them, songs like this also showcase the group’s knack for crafting their own instrumental compositions. Their tunes pack just as much story and emotion – if not more – into a three-and-a-half minute burst than most of their counterparts with vocalized accompaniment. Coincidentally, the GRAMMY the song was up for was not in a bluegrass category, but rather for Best Country Instrumental Performance. Given the band’s penchant for string music, unreal levels of improvisation, and the consistently inconsistent award nominations process, it’s the least bit surprising, if not even a bit fitting.

“Rockets” – Silver Sky (2012)

The song that first unlocked my captivation for the Infamous Stringdusters (and still my favorite to this day) is “Rockets.” It was around the time the album it’s included on, Silver Sky, dropped that I began seeing the band in concert for the first time and this song was always a staple. The uplifting temperament and optimistic nature of Book’s vocals combined with the meticulous instrumental timing – from Garrett’s fiddle interjections to Pandolfi’s hard-driving banjo backbeat and Hall’s slick Dobro tones – culminate in a joyous, borderline spiritual experience every time I hear it.

Because of this and other tracks on Silver Sky like “Fire,” “Night On The River” and “Walking On The Moon” I consider the record without a doubt their most essential project to date. Although, as you’ll see, the great tunes haven’t slowed down in the years since.

“Still the One” (featuring Nicki Bluhm) – Ladies & Gentlemen (2016)

The ‘Dusters’ 2016 effort Ladies & Gentlemen stood out for many reasons – most notably its more folk-leaning bluegrass numbers and star-studded list of collaborators ranging from Mary Chapin Carpenter and Lee Ann Womack to Sara Watkins and Jennifer Hartswick (Trey Anastasio Band). However, the most frequent collaborator from the record was Nicki Bluhm. Her contribution on “Still The One” blossomed into frequent support songs on the road performing not only that track, but several other cuts from the breakthrough album. It wound up taking the band’s already spectacular knack for partnering with others to another level. As for the song itself, “Still the One” is a powerful rallying cry about a love that persists even when heavy rain, or life’s difficult moments, try to get in between and tear you apart.

“Gravity” – Laws Of Gravity (2017)

After a decade of slinging bluegrass, country, and roots-adjacent bangers, the ‘Dusters finally reached the musical mountaintop with their 2017 album, Laws of Gravity, which earned them their second GRAMMY nomination and first-ever win for Best Bluegrass Album. Central to that accomplishment was the album’s de facto title track “Gravity,” an anthemic adventure.

Similar to the aforementioned “Still the One,” the song focuses on the story of two inseparable lovebirds charting out a future life of memories together, even if they don’t know exactly when, how or why it will all happen. Most important to them though is the memories being made in the current moment, whether that be together, at a Stringdusters show, or something entirely different.

“Rise Sun” – Rise Sun (2019)

With the lead and title track to their 2019 album Rise Sun, the Infamous Stringdusters make a late entry to folk music’s stomp-clap party, combining the early 2010s trend with heated string music like few 2010s contemporaries could muster. The track also features a noticeably hopeful hue set in motion by the metaphor of a rising sun not only spawning a new day, but bringing change and the opportunity for a fresh start, as well. In that sense, the band had no idea how much hope people would need the following year, when COVID shut down the world. The result of which inspired the band’s next original entry to this list. But first, the ‘Dusters pay homage to the father of bluegrass…

“My Sweet Blue Eyed Darling” – A Tribute to Bill Monroe (2021)

The bluegrass ballad in pole position on Bill Monroe’s 1977 album Sings Bluegrass, Body And Soul, was “My Sweet Blue Eyed Darling,” a track that holds the same spot on the Stringdusters’ 2021 recording, A Tribute to Bill Monroe. On it, Pandolfi leads the way with his steady, blistering banjo while Garrett and the others hit home on the signature high and lonesome harmonies that Monroe is legendary for.

Fittingly, this collective album honoring the bluegrass legend wound up earning the ‘Dusters their third GRAMMY nomination in 2022, though they came up short to Béla Fleck’s My Bluegrass Heart. Their foray into recording covers isn’t anything new for the band, who later went on to record a Flatt & Scruggs tribute along with a series of Undercover EPs (more on that later) in addition to weaving other folks’ material into their live sets on a nightly basis.

“Pearl Of Carolina” – Toward the Fray (2022)

While the Stringdusters’ members call many places home, there may not be a more appropriate individual place with which to associate the band than Western North Carolina. Touching on that connection to the Old North State, Book sings about love and longing to return home on “Pearl of Carolina.” The song’s title stems from an intro script he was crafting for his musical talk show podcast, The Travis Book Happy Hour, as a way to describe the region.

In addition to being grounded in a person or place, similar to “Gravity” or “Still the One,” “Pearl of Carolina” is also a reminder to search for the places and small things in life that bring you joy. While much of Toward the Fray takes on a darker tone, “Pearl” stands out as a burst of much-needed normalcy on a project otherwise finding inspiration in a world of disarray.

“Touch Of Grey” – Undercover, Vol. 3 EP (2024)

The band has covered a bevy of artists on their Undercover series of EPs, from Tom Petty to The Highwaymen, The Cure, and ZZ Top, but none fit the band’s style and sound (with the exception of the Monroe and Flatt & Scruggs stuff, perhaps) than their rendition of The Grateful Dead’s “Touch of Grey” on Undercover, Vol. 3. Released in 2024, the ‘Dusters’ take on the Dead’s most commercially successful hit combines the best of both groups, further adding to the song’s timeless nature – a message that, 40 years after its original release, feels just as relatable and relevant as ever.

“Working Man Blues” – 20/20 (2026)

Much of the Infamous Stringdusters’ journey over the past two decades has been inhabiting the role of blue-collar road warriors playing anywhere for anyone who would have them. With that in mind, there’s no more fitting song to kick off their next album, 20/20, than “Working Man Blues.” The band sings about a man clocking in before sunrise and doing hard labor all day before clocking out and heading to the bar in search of fun. It’s a combination of rugged, resistant, and rowdy that embodies the Stringdusters’ entire sound and ethos for 20 years now – and, if we’re lucky, will continue for another 20 more (and then some).

Continue exploring our Artist of the Month coverage of the Infamous Stringdusters here.

Photo Credit: Daniel Milchev

Artist of the Month: The Infamous Stringdusters

Posted on February 3, 2026February 23, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

During the Infamous Stringdusters’ recent holiday gig at The Orange Peel in Asheville, North Carolina, the storied venue was packed out with jamgrass freaks, the performance itself a kickoff of sorts for the band’s 20th anniversary in 2026. I found myself standing sidestage when show opener Bronwyn Keith-Hynes came up next to me. A smile emerged on her face taking in the band and the audience.

“The Stringdusters made me want to start a band,” the GRAMMY-winning fiddler said, turning to me. “The Fork In The Road album was the most influential modern bluegrass album for me when I was at Berklee.”

Keith Hynes’ sentiment conjured numerous memories and moments I’ve been lucky enough to be a part of when it comes to the ‘Dusters. The first time I ever laid eyes and ears on them, it was the 2008 Targhee Bluegrass Festival in Alta, Wyoming. I was 23 years old and a rookie reporter for the Teton Valley News, based just down the mountain in Driggs, Idaho. By that point in my life, both personally and professionally, I was diving deep into the jamgrass world – the intersection of ancient tones, psychedelia, improvisation, and a collective love of the Grateful Dead.

The initial spark of the modern jamgrass movement was lit by Yonder Mountain String Band, Leftover Salmon, and the String Cheese Incident, all three acts coming into the national spotlight by the end of the 1990s. A musical template had been formed, and the ‘Dusters would emerge in the early 2000s to throw gasoline onto that melodic fire, ultimately becoming a missing link (alongside Greensky Bluegrass) between jamgrass originators, those ‘90s propagators, and folks currently carrying the torch into new, exciting realms: Billy Strings, Sierra Ferrell, Molly Tuttle, Sierra Hull, and more.

“That’s what’s so beautiful about bluegrass music, in particular,” Stringdusters fiddler Jeremy Garrett told me recently. “You pass it on to the next generation and they take it and they do their thing with it. Luckily for us, we were around at a time that [that] was very important, and a transitional time in the industry.”

In 2010, a couple of years after my introduction to the band at Targhee, when I returned to my native North Country of Upstate New York, I found myself covering a show at the intimate Showcase Lounge at Higher Ground in Burlington, Vermont. I was there to see the ‘Dusters once again. Their sound and energy immediately transported me back to the Rocky Mountains that I missed dearly. (Sharing the bill was another rising jamgrass act, Trampled by Turtles.)

I remember walking away from that gig feeling in awe and refreshed with a genuine feeling that something was happening. Something was on the horizon when it came to bluegrass and string band music. This wasn’t a traditional bluegrass band in matching suits, standing like statues. It was a rock show with acoustic instruments. Baseball caps and long hair, grins ear-to-ear. More provocative than standstill, more vibrant than just going through the motions of what past generations were instructed to do.

“Being able to showcase our own songs, in our own way, [our] writing skills, and making the decisions on what was chosen to play and how to play it [were] foremost for most of us at the beginning,” Garrett says. “Over time, we realized that we were actually growing a community. And after all these years, that honestly has become the most important part, the most important thing that we could possibly do.”

What I witnessed in Wyoming and Vermont years ago is what I’ve continued to experience with the Infamous Stringdusters, in person and in method, from Florida to Colorado and beyond. They set the pace then for where we stand with jamgrass right now, built on a full-throttle approach, one which remains sonically elusive as well as paying homage to the architects of bluegrass and those who broke from the pack and made something all their own.

Aside from the talents of the Stringdusters, either as individuals or the sum of their parts, you also have a unique setup. Alongside founding members, banjoist Chris Pandolfi and Dobroist Andy Hall, who emerged from the prestigious Berklee College of Music in Boston, you have the tradgrass pedigree of Garrett, who was born and raised in a traveling family bluegrass band hailing from Idaho. This fusing of road-tested grit and grace with conservatory-style techniques is at the heart of what this group does best: jam.

All of which circles back to the Asheville Orange Peel performance in late 2025. There were tightly knit melodies and freewheelin’ improvisational explorations. They broke down the invisible walls between themselves and the audience, maintaining a two-way street of momentum, energy, and inspiration from both sides of the microphone – a vortex of sound and scope, all revolving around a deep sense of community.

“The band is stronger than ever and making some of the best music we’ve ever made,” Garrett says. “But, the thing I see that is the most important being carried on is that community factor. We certainly didn’t invent that, but we took note and applied the philosophy to our scene, and hopefully the next generation realizes how important that piece is.”

Ultimately, this 20th anniversary celebration for the Infamous Stringdusters is a culmination of a tried-and-true effort to bring this hallowed music into the unknown and unfolding musical landscape of the 21st century. With their upcoming album, 20/20 (out February 13 via Ameriana Vibes) they continue their efforts to break new ground and forge ahead, together, whatever the next 20 years hold for jamgrass and the ‘Dusters.

The Infamous Stringdusters are our Artist of the Month. Below, enjoy our Essential Infamous Stringdusters playlist and stay tuned as we share brand new and archive content on the ‘Dusters throughout the month of February here on BGS – and across our social media channels. Like our exploration of their 20-year discography or our oral history of the band featuring all five members in conversation.

Photo Credit: Daniel Milchev

Courtney Marie Andrews Doesn’t Fear Vulnerability

Posted on January 13, 2026March 5, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Courtney Marie Andrews’ story begins in Phoenix, Arizona. An only child raised by her mother, she found solace and an outlet for her creativity and imagination in music. She planted her music roots in a self-described “feminist punk band” and began touring while in her teens. Along the way, she recorded a number of albums – best known are Honest Life (2016), GRAMMY-nominated Old Flowers (2020), and Loose Future (2022) – lived in a number of cities, and worked and toured with a number of musicians, including rock band Jimmy Eat World.

Andrews eventually made her way to Nashville, where she now resides. There, she creates music and other art, fueling her soul and inspiration with long walks and her love of animals, bonding with friends’ dogs, and feeding an assortment of “porch animals,” mostly cats, who take up residence outside her door.

In addition to music, Andrews expresses herself through painting and poetry. She has published two collections: 2021’s Old Monarch (2021) and the recent Love Is a Dog That Bites When It’s Scared. Her music, writings, and artwork explore a broad scope of emotions and experiences: loss, grief, fearless love, deep darkness, pure joy, and acceptance of the entire spectrum.

These outpourings are at the essence of her new release, Valentine (out January 16 via Thirty Tigers). Written in the throes of anticipatory grief, the album plummets into the vortex of her trajectory. While the message is raw, the recording is anything but. Valentine is an unfiltered look into Andrews’ heart, filled with waves of sounds and layers of instrumentation.

Among the numerous instruments she plays on Valentine, Andrews is featured on an assortment of guitars and basses, including a 1973 Martin D-28, 1968 Gibson B-45 12-string, 1970s high-strung Japanese Epiphone, Gibson J-45, Epiphone Casino, 1972 Fender P-Bass, 1960s Kay K5915 bass, and 1960s Teisco six-string bass. Longtime friend and colleague Jerry Bernhardt joins her on various instruments, with drummer Chris Bear rounding out the trio. The album was recorded by Michael Harris at Valentine Recording Studios in Los Angeles and produced by Bernhardt and Andrews.

BGS reached Andrews via Zoom for an Artist of the Month conversation.

Has Nashville changed you as a songwriter?

Courtney Marie Andrews: I thought it would deeply shift everything for me, but if anything, it made me want to do other things as well, maybe subconsciously. I started painting and focusing on poetry. But that core sense of self, that songwriter self, will always be with me wherever I go. It’s hard to say how it has shaped me until I’m looking back on my life 20, 30, 40 years from now.

But I will say the community I’ve found here is profound. I’m a Western girl. I’ve lived in Arizona and Seattle up until pretty much my 30s, and I didn’t realize how lonely the West can be. I think that’s apparent in my early work as a songwriter. That subject is throughout the work. When I moved here, I was almost overwhelmed by how much people wanted to hang out. It took a while to adjust and now I can’t imagine it any other way, not having that community to feel into and understand this work, because it is a strange career. So I think more [that] it has affected me personally, but I’ve always continued to write and been on this journey on my own and in my own time.

This is a stripped-down album – only three musicians, including you, and one of them is also your co-producer. Did you know, when the songs were written, that this is how it needed to be done?

I completely funded this album on my own, so if I’m being frank, it was an economical choice. Originally, we would have loved to have a band, but in hindsight, ultimately it created the record it created and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. There’s some power to it being a very condensed group of people, because the focus is a little bit more zoned in, and it becomes a vibe if it’s coming from a few core people, rather than everybody adding their stroke to what you’re doing – which I think is also valid. But looking back, it was probably the best thing we could have done, having Jerry and I playing all the instruments and Chris Bear, of course, on drums.

You played a number of guitars on Valentine. Do the songs determine the guitar, or does the guitar sometimes direct the song?

The songs ultimately lead the way on feeling and vibe. Jerry and I wanted to layer the record. There are a lot of different layers of guitars. We would varispeed one guitar up, so it’s super-high, and then we’d varispeed one guitar lower, so it’s super-low, to create the rounder sound, especially if you’re listening in headphones or on a high-definition speaker system.

But it’s definitely song-driven, whatever the feeling. “Best Friend” is just my guitar and Jerry’s twelve-string. We didn’t go much further than that, because the song was meant to be a bit sparser as far as the depth goes.

“Everyone Wants To Feel Like You Do” is about a certain type of misogyny where it’s, “I do whatever I want and I don’t care about the consequences, nor am I held accountable for the consequences.” The song was written with that feeling, and I thought it would be funny if I played guitar like that, where I didn’t care, so I over-distorted my guitar and played as crazy as I could to assert my power.

How do songwriting, poetry, and painting each fulfill a different side of your artistry and emotions? Is there ever some cross-pollinating?

I wanted to tell the same story with a different perspective, so there is cross-pollinating in terms of the source of the material, where it’s coming from, where I’m at in my life, whatever darkness or lightness I feel. It all sources from the same well of emotion and experience. But there are different ways of telling the same story. I found that when I was songwriting exclusively, I would write the same song over and over again. Whereas if I take a step back, do a different medium, and come back to songwriting, I feel fresher.

Ultimately and forever, I’ll always identify and feel the deepest connection with songwriting. That’s the first thing I fell in love with. It’s the thing I understand the most. But the mystery of these other mediums has really flourished.

There’s a natural through-line between poetry and lyrics. What about painting? Do lyrics sometimes inspire a painting? Does something you create on canvas ever become words in one of the other mediums?

There’s not a lot of crossover. I don’t look at painting like I would look at a page or a song. Painting is, for me, a place to describe emotions that are unexplainable. That’s why painting is so cool. It’s almost equivalent to jazz; it’s more of a feeling that you can’t describe. That was enticing to me. To express myself as a word person who ultimately values words so much, it was important to think outside of the box a little bit. Painting allows that. To not be confined by words is really interesting.

Tell us about your recent Artist in Residence at the Iowa City Songwriters Festival. You performed and did a reading from your new book, but what does “artist in residence” mean at this particular event?

Because Iowa City is a UNESCO World Heritage City of Literature, there’s a heavy college-funded element. I’m not sure if that was their direct funding, but they definitely have more of a collegiate approach to an artist in residence. I’ve done some residencies where they don’t want anything from you. They just say, “Come up and write whatever you want. We don’t care.” But this one was definitely a bit more mentorship-driven. I led a class, a songwriting workshop. I also had one-on-one mentorships with young songwriters, people who are just getting started. They had a packed schedule for me, but it was so lovely.

I think their ultimate goal is to prop up songwriting among the other literature of the world, having songwriting classes in college, and having it there with poetry, fiction, nonfiction, memoirs, memoir writing, and all that. I think that’s ultimately what they’re trying to attain with the residency program. So it was great.

I’ve found that I really love to talk about songwriting in that way. I think that, in our culture, it’s a dying thing, at least from where I’m sitting, to seek out opportunities to learn from elders, from people who’ve been doing it a long time. The more we can do that in our culture, the better off we’ll be. It’s an incredible festival, and I would highly recommend people going. The people who run it are just wonderful.

When you lead workshops and do one-on-one mentoring, is it as much a learning experience for you as it is a teaching experience?

Absolutely. I think to teach is to be a constant student. The moment you feel like you’ve figured it all out … I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Even as I speak about songwriting, I say things that open doors all the time to myself. It’s good to be endlessly curious.

Do you think being an only child contributes to your storytelling ability through songwriting and poetry? Living inside your head, escaping into your own head, in a way that might have been different if you had been surrounded by siblings?

Oh yeah, absolutely. Because I was a latchkey kid, I spent a lot of time alone. If I didn’t have a friend to play with, I had to go into the inner landscape of my mind. That was my way of communicating in a deeper way that I couldn’t quite get in my home life if my mom wasn’t home. I can attribute a lot of my childhood to that. I was a deeply imaginative kid and would create stories all the time. So I think the loneliness also fueled what I do now.

Do you draw from those past emotions when expressing what you’re currently experiencing?

How it manifests is that it’s like a period of reckoning when I’m writing songs. I’m generally alone. I find it very hard to write if I know somebody is even in the next room. I’ve had weird moments in my life where I wrote at soundcheck and stuff, but when I listen back to those things that I’ve written around people, it’s not as dialed in. So when I’m writing, I’m alone and reckoning with the life that I’m leading, or the life of others. It feels like this very quiet thing that needs to happen.

Are you an old-school pen-and-paper writer or have you gone the way of voice memos?

I do both. I exclusively use a green book to write in. It doesn’t matter what color green. They all are green, though, green-colored notebooks, generally the Moleskine variety or that look. I have plenty of them in a pile. [And] I love Micron, the ballpoint art pens. I really don’t like the standard DMV pen. I’m a little bit bougie when it comes to my pens. I like the flow of a Micron. I write and then voice memo. Generally, once I’m done writing a song, I try and always get it down in its unproduced form. I think it’s important to have that, and the phone happens to be the easiest way.

Is playing guitar, just playing, as much a part of songwriting as writing lyrics?

Oh, yeah. I love the guitar. I love open tunings. I love acoustic guitar music, Hawaiian slack key, and classical Spanish-style guitar on a nylon. I love to play and try and emulate that style. And so in certain works, it’s the first thing that happens. There’s many ways to come to a song, but one of them is [to] play a chord progression I like and sing gibberish, and that sometimes leads to a song. In that case, absolutely I need the guitar. But yeah, the instrument can definitely lead the way. It just depends.

When you spoke earlier about adapting to the Nashville community, it brought up the thought that growing up as “an only” maybe affects our social skills to a degree. It can make community something new, as opposed to something you’re used to having around you.

Yeah. I feel that. I have a hard time with small talk for this reason. I want to go immediately for the jugular, as far as intense conversations. I go from zero to a hundred. It’s really hard for me to be like, “Hey, how are you doing?” I feel like such an actor in those circumstances. Of course I’ve learned to do it by way of being a musician – you have to talk to new people every day. But small talk doesn’t do it for me. I have a hard time going in a simple, surface level.

In the bio accompanying this album, you said, “I was in one of the darkest periods of my life and songs were the only way I could reckon with it. I felt cursed and the only mental cure felt like songwriting and painting.” Have you always felt that darkness?

Obviously, as a teenager, I went through a pretty wild part of my life where I felt dark, but I think I actually denied my darkness for a very long time. I lived in a haze of denial and hope, which is a beautiful thing. It can do wonderful things for your mental health. But you also can’t really grow if you’re living in that state.

When I was younger, especially in my early twenties, I always had this hope – “Oh, one day things are going to change.” That denial, that hope, kept me in this holding place, which for a time was really nice, and as a matter of defense and self-preservation, I stayed there for a long time. It wasn’t until I started therapy that I realized I always had this underlying darkness. When I had that, we worked on that, and real things started to happen. Things in life that are so hard that happen to all of us – it became deeply dark and profound to experience that in a more awake state.

How did that help with writing this album?

During a lot of writing this, I was caretaking for my family member who was terminal. If you’ve ever been in that situation, it is all-consuming. The only way I could turn my brain off from that was to write. It wasn’t “I need to write an album.” It was “I need to get back to myself for a moment.” I wouldn’t say it was a conscious decision. It was just I know how I am, and I know that songs are my only way of regulating in these crazy times.

You once said you felt embarrassed by the vulnerability of your songwriting. Where do you draw the line, or do you draw one, between what needs to be said for yourself and what needs to be said for listeners for whom you are the voice? How do you do this and protect your mental health when performing these songs every night?

I’ve always said that once the song is written, it’s not mine. It also transforms for me as I sing it. There are songs I wrote fifteen years ago that I still perform, that have taken on completely new meaning and feel different to me when I sing them. I honestly can’t remember the headspace I was in when I wrote them, or the origin of them, or who I was thinking about, to a strong degree, but I feel differently about them.

As far as what needs to be said, ultimately I try to relate to people, or first myself, and then you put the song out and it becomes a different thing. I try, in an artistic space, to be as true to myself as possible. I try not to put up any walls in that space. As far as my life where I’m not playing music, that’s a different thing. But music is a safe space to say whatever the hell I want to say. That’s the reason it’s such a powerful thing. It’s a safe place for me to communicate. Whatever walls are up in a song are walls that I have up with myself. That’s always very apparent when you write a song. It’s not quite clicking and you’re like, “I’ve got some walls up to my subconscious, clearly.” So the extent to which the boundaries, the walls, are up is truly only the stage at which my heart is at in that moment.

Did that happen with Valentine – the walls, maybe the fear of the vulnerability? It’s deeply personal and powerful, going deeper and deeper into those emotions as your journey is sequenced.

I hate to say it, because I don’t want to sound trite, but making albums, making bodies of work like this, fear is the last thing on my mind. Obviously, natural fears come up: Is it going to be what I wanted, what I envisioned in my dreams? But as far as songwriting and being vulnerable in a song, that’s not the fear. In fact, if I got very close to the heart in a song, it’s generally the ones that I’m like, “That’s a good one. I got there. I got to the essence of this thing I was feeling.”

Being vulnerable in life can be really hard in my personal life, in some ways, and I think that is more where the fear is. But, for whatever reason, the way I direct it is okay in a song, and I’ve made up my mind for that to be true. I don’t know why; I guess it just makes sense to me. Human emotion makes the most sense to me in the backdrop of music.

As far as sequencing, Jerry and I argued quite deeply about the sequencing, but ultimately it did go to a place where once we got the sequence, it was undeniable. Side A and Side B are completely different frames of minds. Side A, you’re fighting for love and you’re desperate. Side B is a resignation – this is how it is, this is how it’s always been, and this is my childhood. By the end, in “Hangman,” you’re just “This is how it is, and you can fight for it or you can walk away.” So the sequencing was purposeful. I wanted it to be a journey. I think records should be like that. They shouldn’t be all one color or palette the whole way through.

Explore more of our Artist of the Month content featuring Courtney Marie Andrews here.

Photo Credit: Wyndham Garnett

Artist of the Month:
Courtney Marie Andrews

Posted on January 7, 2026March 5, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

On singer-songwriter Courtney Marie Andrews’ upcoming album Valentine, you can hear her letting go.

It’s a process she ostensibly started – at least, musically or outwardly – on 2022’s Loose Future, a collection on which Andrews also reckoned with being in a period of transition, personally and professionally, letting go of former five- and 10-year plans and recentering in the present.

Approaching four years since that most recent studio album, with Valentine it seems Andrews is intent on reinforcing and revisiting the same lessons she taught us and herself on Loose Future. The new album, which will be released on January 16 by Thirty Tigers, begins with a grand, tone-setting opener, “Pendulum Swing.”

Reminiscent of ‘60s pop-folk and rich with arpeggiated 12-string guitars, Andrews vocally soars into the verses and murmurs each contemplative chorus:

If I get what I want
Gotta let the pendulum swing
Can’t be good for too long
Let the pendulum swing…

It doesn’t exactly strike a listener as the sort of Loose Future Andrews formerly envisioned, but the song also doesn’t seem to wallow in the apparent feeling of impending doom, or the instinct that imbalances of “good for too long” must be righted. Instead, to this writer, it rather sounds like she’s focusing on the instinct itself. On her belief, conscious or subconscious, active or passive, that “karma” or “deserving” necessitates inevitable negative responses to anything positive.

As with all of her impeccable albums, Valentine finds love as a frequent subject – as well as community, perception, expectations, and how all of these topics touch on or intersect with existential dread. But Andrews seems to be letting go of her ideals of what love is or what it can be, as well. Thankfully, her perspective on the subject is always expansive, never simply reduced to just romance or sex or heteronormativity – or some slurried combination thereof. But Valentine is more direct in its approach to love than some of her LPs.

“[Valentine is] a record in pursuit of love,” Andrews explains via press release. But that love “is a lot more than I gave it credit for,” she continues. “It’s built over years, it’s built with trust, with changes, it becomes something new and unrecognizable, the deeper you go.”

Songs like “Keeper,” “Cons and Clowns,” and “Everyone Wants to Feel Like You Do” follow in tight formation behind Andrews’ past songs on love, connection, and romance – especially the masterful album, 2020’s Old Flowers. But other tracks, perhaps chief among them “Best Friend,” indicate that expansion on love as an idea and point back to the creative process here also being one of letting go.

You can sense that surrender, the gradual unclasping of fists and de-whitening of knuckles, in almost every aspect of Andrews’ creative output. It has, after all, been quite a few years since she last released an album. Her prior rhythm of abject road-dogging and releasing LPs every year or two has been replaced by much more thoughtful and intentional tours, performance forays, and product launches. She’s leaned more into another medium, painting, and has gone full-bore as a published poet, too. She’s released two collections of poetry – Love Is a Dog That Bites When It’s Scared having arrived this past August – and has built up her creative, community infrastructure to feed more than just her itinerant musical pursuits and former wall-to-wall, year-round tour schedule.

It’s almost like you can hear the retooling of Andrews’ idea of success happening in real time, from Loose Future through to Valentine. Like you can hear her realizing that giving up the version of herself who existed on Honest Life (2017) through May Your Kindness Remain (2018), and the version of herself from Old Flowers and Loose Future, doesn’t ever mean net loss. Like being on the road less means one could grow flowers, feed stray cats, and build a support system in her new home of Nashville that, especially as an only child and retired nomadic busker, she’s always craved.

The sense of letting go was perhaps infused into Valentine by the specific circumstances that gave birth to these songs. “I was in one of the darkest periods of my life,” Andrews continues in the project’s album bio, “and songs were the only way I could reckon with it.”

“I felt cursed, and the only mental cure felt like songwriting and painting.”

It’s why this album, like almost all of her prior releases, also feels as self-directed as it is outward-facing and primed for wide audiences. Andrews has learned that letting go – of control, of her past self, of expectations, of legalism around or criteria for love, of the “power” (and curse) of individualism, of freneticism and frantic ladder-climbing, or of life itself – is a process we don’t ever graduate from. We never muster out. We have to return to ourselves, to introspection, to the very constructions of our selfhoods over and over again to do that work.

The redemption and sheer beauty of this album are not because Courtney Marie Andrews has found her Valentine, but because she can hold up her wants, needs, and dreams as valid and wholesome goals on one hand, while stripping – and re-stripping – them of any power they may hold over her on the other. It’s an impressive duality, one that wouldn’t be nearly as successful without Andrews already having done so many reps in finding herself and of letting go.

Andrews is our January 2026 Artist of the Month, an auspicious start to a brand new year of roots music. Here, you can read our feature interview with Andrews all about Valentine, its making, and the unique way she and her collaborators went about recording these fantastic songs. Below, enjoy our Essentials Playlist and tune in on social media as we dip back into the BGS archives throughout the month to share all things Courtney Marie Andrews.

Photo Credit: Wyndham Garnett

Doc Watson’s Legacy in Collaboration:
8 Essential Performances

Posted on December 10, 2025December 12, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

Few musicians have ever moved as fluidly between eras, genres, and generations as Doc Watson. From front-porch duets to grand-stage bluegrass revivals, Watson’s collaborations have a way of dissolving categories entirely.

His flatpicking precision, rhythmic calm, and vocal warmth made him the kind of performer who elevated everyone within earshot – young prodigies, genre pioneers, folk-tradition torch bearers, and musical iconoclasts alike. His reputation as a consummate accompanist was built not on showmanship or flamboyance, but on musical generosity and an intuitive sense of timing, phrasing, and expression that allowed others to shine while retaining his unmistakable voice.

Part of Watson’s power lies in the consistency of his musical identity. He never strained to fit into a new format or trend; instead, others bent gratefully toward his center of gravity. Whether playing an old-time fiddle tune, trading licks with a jazz-influenced mandolinist, or harmonizing with a younger bluegrass singer, he brought a sense of ease and groundedness that anchored every ensemble. That stability gave his collaborators the freedom to explore, improvise, and innovate – knowing Doc would be right there, steady and sure.

This sense of balance between precision and freedom made him a model collaborator for musicians across generations, and his impact can be traced through countless recordings, festival lineups, and mentorships of younger players.

Watson’s influence was not just technical but communal. He could guide a performance without overwhelming it, offering the ideal blend of authority and humility. In his guitar, listeners hear the voice of the North Carolina mountains, the pulse of Appalachian tradition, and the adaptability of a musician able to engage any genre without losing authenticity.

Today, YouTube’s patchwork archive of footage allows us to witness these collaborations anew: small moments of musical connection, sometimes real-time, sometimes reconstructed from archival sources. Below is a curated set of eight standout filmed or recorded collaborations that illustrate Watson’s reach. From storied duets with Chet Atkins or Earl Scruggs to meetings with newer-generation players.

“Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms” – Doc Watson, Earl Scruggs & Ricky Skaggs
(The Three Pickers)

This relaxed but virtuosic performance features Watson, Scruggs, and Skaggs playing with the ease of a porch jam made public. Watson’s crisp flatpicking forms a warm foundation, while Scruggs’ banjo drives with characteristic agility and Skaggs adds mandolin flourish and bounce.

The trio exhibits mutual respect and joy, and their lines interweave with natural conversation.
The recorded performance comes from the 2003 album The Three Pickers. The energy and clarity of the musicianship exemplify Watson’s ability to anchor an ensemble while remaining entirely supportive, a model of intergenerational teamwork. It is a performance that displays the combination of technical mastery and intuitive musical empathy that defined Watson’s career.

“Tennessee Stud” – Doc Watson & Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
(Will the Circle Be Unbroken)

Watson’s performance of “Tennessee Stud” on the Will the Circle Be Unbroken project exemplifies his ability to blend seamlessly with both established musicians and a younger ensemble eager to learn from him. His deep, resonant vocals float over understated but fluid flatpicking, supporting the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s harmony vocals and rhythmic drive.

Watson’s musical sensitivity allowed for a dialogue that bridged generations, bringing traditional songs into a contemporary context while retaining their original heart and vibrancy. This track also highlights Watson’s ability to adapt to the studio environment, shaping a sound that was both authentic and polished. The 1972 studio album is well-documented, though various YouTube versions may mix studio, rehearsal, or live takes.

“Tennessee Rag / Beaumont Rag” – Doc Watson & Chet Atkins (Reflections)

In this medley, Watson and Chet Atkins engage in a playful, masterful guitar dialogue. Watson’s flatpicking exhibits crisp, percussive articulation, while Atkins’ thumb picking introduces a smooth, jazz-inflected counterpoint. Both artists navigate tempo and dynamics with precision, creating a performance that is both technically dazzling and deeply musical.

The track appears on the Reflections album and while some online performances derive from live shows or reissued audio, the studio recording itself exalts the collaborative interplay. This duet demonstrates Watson’s ability to move effortlessly between folk and jazz guitar traditions, honoring both while creating something uniquely their own. The performance underscores his adaptability, an essential quality in a musician sought after by so many genres and generations.

“Black Mountain Rag” – Doc Watson & Merle Watson

The father-son dynamic between Doc and Merle Watson is in full display in this live rendition of “Black Mountain Rag.” Merle’s nimble, rhythmic energy dances atop Doc’s grounded guitar tempo, producing an interplay that is conversational, playful, and intricate. Their shared history and years of touring allow for spontaneous embellishments and musical commentary woven into the tune.

This performance captures the essence of the Watson family legacy, showing how Doc nurtured both musical skill and expressive interpretation in the next generation. The piece also serves as a lesson in ensemble sensitivity, as Doc balances his playing to give Merle ample space while maintaining rhythmic and harmonic cohesion.

“What Would You Give in Exchange for Your Soul?” – Doc Watson & Bill Monroe

Watson and Monroe’s pairing on this traditional tune combines the latter’s piercing, high-lonesome tenor with the former’s warm baritone, creating a striking emotional contrast. Watson’s guitar provides steady, unobtrusive accompaniment, allowing the vocal interplay to take center stage.

This recording exemplifies Watson’s ability to adapt to any partner, responding in real time to vocal phrasing and tempo shifts. The performance demonstrates his interpretive sensitivity, highlighting how he could honor a song’s emotional core while integrating his own stylistic voice.

“Shady Grove / Summertime” – Doc Watson & David Grisman

Watson’s collaboration with David Grisman blends Appalachian folk with progressive acoustic styling. In this rendition of “Shady Grove,” Watson’s rhythmic guitar backgrounds Grisman’s mandolin flourishes, resulting in a lively, conversational back-and-forth. Improvisation is key, as both musicians respond to each other’s phrasing, demonstrating mutual respect and spontaneity.

This collaboration underscores Watson’s versatility, showing he could navigate between traditional melodies and innovative interpretations, elevating both in the process. It is a reminder of his role in bridging traditional and progressive acoustic music for audiences and colleagues alike.

“Amazing Grace” – Doc Watson & Jean Ritchie

Watson and Jean Ritchie’s collaborations were well-established, including performances at venues like Folk City in the early 1960s. However, the specific attribution of some YouTube uploads titled “Amazing Grace” is ambiguous. The Live at Folk City album recording is the most reliable source, showing their complementary styles: Watson’s gentle, precise guitar lines support Ritchie’s clear, expressive vocals, blending Appalachian tradition with personal interpretation. They represent the transmission of Appalachian folk music to wider audiences and the seamless melding of their similar sensibilities.

“Summertime” – Doc Watson & Mark O’Connor

Watson’s influence on multi-instrumentalist Mark O’Connor is well-known; O’Connor cites him as a formative inspiration and their collaboration remains significant as a symbolic bridge between generations. Watson’s teachings and style informed O’Connor’s fiddle mastery, illustrating Watson’s mentorship and the continuity of American acoustic tradition. Indeed, their shared repertoire speaks to the passing of musical knowledge and the sustaining of tradition through personal and professional interaction.

These eight performances above collectively highlight Doc Watson’s role not only as a primary musician, but as a profoundly generous collaborator. He created space for others to excel, whether alongside legends like Bill Monroe, Earl Scruggs, and Chet Atkins or with younger rising stars such as Alison Krauss and Mark O’Connor. Watson’s approach combined technical mastery with emotional intelligence, allowing him to respond intuitively to fellow musicians in real time.

His collaborations illuminate the breadth of his influence. Watson moved with ease between old-time Appalachian tunes, rag medleys, gospel-inflected ballads, rocking hillbilly sounds, and improvised jam sessions. Across these contexts, he remained unmistakably himself: grounded, warm, and adaptable.

By mentoring younger musicians, bridging generations, and seamlessly adapting to new musical contexts, Doc Watson demonstrated that tradition is not static; it is a living, evolving practice. His legacy continues to teach musicians the art of generosity, the importance of listening, and the beauty of musical dialogue. Perhaps in every collaboration, Watson’s spirit resonates, ensuring that his contribution to music endures across time, space, and audience.

Lead image courtesy of MerleFest.

Artist of the Month:
Doc in December

Posted on December 3, 2025December 11, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

For the past few years, as the music industry goes quiet, spooling itself down for a two-week sleep over the Christmas and New Year’s holidays, the team here at BGS has taken the opportunity to utilize December to spotlight a few of our heroes. We began the series with Dylan in December in 2018 and followed up the success of that nontraditional “Artist of the Month” pick in following years with Dolly in December, Del in December, Dawg in December, and last year’s incredibly popular Dead in December.

What better way to spend a cozy, holiday-filled, wintry month than celebrating some of the legends – artists, songwriters, musicians, and bands – that have made our roots music scene what it is today? This year, it’s clear who our December Artist of the Month should be: “Doc” Arthel Watson, himself.

Born in Deep Gap, North Carolina, in the heart of Appalachia in 1923, Doc Watson started playing guitar – and other instruments, too – as a child. Doc lost his vision in his youth, but would go on to become one of the most important American guitarists in history even with his disability. His position in modern roots music, especially in bluegrass, old-time, and folk, is canon. He is a legend to any and all, from the diehard lifelong acolytes to the recently initiated neonates. He’s one of our Americana music figures who tends to get lost, like the forest for its trees, within his own ubiquity and universal adoration. But no matter from which angle you drill down into his career, discography, artistry, and legacy there’s always more to find. To explore. And to enjoy, of course.

Over the course of December, we’ll be doing just that. Our writers and contributors will offer new articles considering Doc’s songs and output and his career as an American guitar hero. And, how even after his passing in 2012, he continues to be a definitional stylist on flat-top, flatpicked guitar. But don’t sell him short, either. Though most known for his fiddle tunes, folk songs, and old-time and bluegrass licks, Watson was accomplished in many genres across the roots continuum; he dabbled in and conquered sounds from hillbilly and rockabilly, electric guitars, blues, ragtime, fingerstyle, chicken pickin’, and more. He collaborated with artists from well within his own circle and far outside it – sonically, socially, and geographically. Watson was incredibly dynamic, a characteristic that has contributed greatly to his lasting, ongoing appeal.

We will also be dipping back into our BGS archives to share past features, playlists, and articles about Doc, and his son Merle; about his festival MerleFest, which continues to this day; and about the albums and offerings celebrating the 100th anniversary of his birth that were released in 2023. Truthfully, there’s nearly an endless supply of BGS content that touches on, focuses on, or mentions Doc. Because of course there is – these genres we all love and hold dear wouldn’t be what they are today without him.

You also won’t want to miss perhaps the most exciting aspect of our Doc in December Artist of the Month celebration. In 2023, BGS was invited to Bryan Sutton’s Blue Ridge Guitar Camp in Brevard, North Carolina. Sutton, alongside his friend and peer Billy Strings, is one of the most prominent proselytizers for Watson in the 21st century, so it’s no surprise his annual camp just up the mountains from Watson’s hometown of Deep Gap is usually dripping with Doc’s music.

That year, one of Doc’s most famous guitars, “Ol’ Hoss” – a 1968 G-50 Gallagher Guitar Watson played in the late ’60s and early ’70s and on many recordings – was also at the Blue Ridge Guitar Camp. The instrument was one of the first of a few Gallaghers that Doc owned. BGS made the trip to Brevard to capture special video performances and interviews with many of the event’s instructors and pickers, each of whom played Doc tunes and shared stories and memories while picking Ol’ Hoss. It was a magical week in the mountains. Now, for the very first time, we’re making select songs from these tapings available in a new series, the Ol’ Hoss Sessions. Three sessions pulled from the shoot celebrates Doc in December and features Bryan Sutton, Courtney Hartman, and will also feature Billy Strings. Stay tuned as we share those videos right here on BGS and on our YouTube channel throughout the month.

It’s not that Doc Watson is underappreciated or underrated, or that he needs any of the visibility that being a BGS Artist of the Month might afford. In our neck of the woods, seemingly everyone knows and loves Doc Watson already. But with so many folks and institutions shouting Watson’s praises from the rooftops lately – artists like Sutton, Strings, and a host of guitar pickers and roots musicians from across our community and scene; the folks who put on and attend MerleFest; the communities of Boone and Deep Gap, North Carolina; projects like I Am a Pilgrim: Doc Watson at 100 – it’s clear there’s always more to learn, love, and enjoy about Arthel Lane Watson.

Get started with Doc in December with our Essential Doc Watson Playlist, below. Plus, follow along right here on BGS and on social media as we share Doc Watson content throughout the month. We’ll have a new feature on Watson’s status as American guitar hero, and you can see our YouTube playlist of his incredible musical collaborations here. Plus, of course, our very special Ol’ Hoss Sessions, exclusively available right here on the Bluegrass Situation. (Watch Bryan Sutton here. Watch Courtney Hartman here.) Plus, we’ll be combing through the BGS archives for everything Doc Watson for y’all to enjoy. Buckle up for a mighty month of guitar pickin’ glory, it’s Doc in December!

Lead image courtesy of MerleFest.

100 Years of Grand Ole Opry
Makes a Mighty Book

Posted on November 21, 2025November 21, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

The sheer variety and singularity of the Grand Ole Opry – whether in just one of its shows or in just one of its many eras – would be paralyzing enough, if tasked with telling its complete, unabridged story to a broad audience. The assignment of taking the entire century-long history of the world’s longest running radio show and condensing it between the covers of a book would have to be heart-stopping. How could one ever take such a complex story full of twists, turns – and plenty of the idiosyncrasies found in human beings who make and love country music – put it down in 350+ pages?

It’s hard to imagine, but that’s exactly what writer Craig Shelburne, historian Brenda Colladay, and a host of Opry members have done with the brand new book, 100 Years of Grand Ole Opry. Shelburne – a BGS contributor and former managing editor for our website – worked with Colladay to penetrate the vast, lush archives of the Grand Ole Opry to posit its history decade by decade, chapter by chapter in the new hefty, coffee-table-ready tome. They completed dozens and dozens of interviews with Opry members, artists, musicians, employees, executives, and broadcasters and, as a result, the history book feels remarkably alive and vibrant – just like the show itself.

The book, released in April of 2025, demonstrates and reiterates time and again that the Grand Ole Opry isn’t a relic – nor has it ever been. It’s a living, breathing, adaptive being that’s enacted by a strong community of stakeholders not only from across the company that owns the brand, Ryman Hospitality, but the music industry as a whole, too. 100 Years of Grand Ole Opry showcases a country and cultural icon not waning or winding down after a century of triumphs (and trials and bumps and scrapes, too). No, instead, this book finds the Opry, beloved by all of us, merely at its next transition point, moving purposefully from the last 100 years to the next 100 years.

We sat down with Craig Shelburne on the phone to chat about the immense undertaking of writing this book, the surprises found and lessons learned along the way, and what makes the Grand Ole Opry so special, all for our Artist of the Month celebration of Opry 100.

This is such a gargantuan task, staring down the entire 100-year history of the Opry and being asked to turn it into a book. Where do you even begin? How did you take that first bite? What did it feel like to you to enter this process of creating a book?

Craig Shelburne: Yeah, 100 years is a massive undertaking and we – my co-writer Brenda Colladay and I – spent some time at Frothy Monkey in East Nashville sketching out some of the important Opry milestones in those eras when things really seemed to be shifting. As we did that, we realized that we could probably have each chapter be roughly a decade. At one point, we realized we wanted to have some breakout sections, but we didn’t know how to do that.

I wanted the book to be very readable, [without] a whole bunch of sidebars. So instead of designing sidebars, we have these pages that are interludes in between the decades, in between the chapters. You have the history of bluegrass, or the ways that the Opry has been on television, or what the Opry looked like when it went into the 21st century and a new era of technology. [That] was our chance to expand on one particular theme, rather than try to weave [those themes] into the narrative or take away from the narrative. It could be distracting if you dropped [a sidebar] into the manuscript every time the Opry was on television. Those interludes also gave us a chance to use some of these magnificent color photos [from the Opry archives] just because they’re beautiful photos. We didn’t have to necessarily set them up within the text. …

It was intimidating for a while until one night, late at night, I was writing and I realized that the main character of the story is the Opry itself. There are so many people that have passed across the stage, from Roy Acuff and Minnie Pearl up to the modern era. I wanted the artists and the cast members to be represented well, but really the main figure throughout this 100 years is the show itself. And it’s a show. It’s not a stage, it’s not a building. It’s a show.

Once I could get my head around the fact that this was the leading character in a 100-year story, the narrative started to fall into place. That was a breakthrough for me.

I also love how that format parallels the structure of the show itself. That you have segments, sets of artists performing, you have commercials and announcers and little games with sponsors, and you have talk-back sessions from artists. When you go to a show, it’s not just one thing from start to finish, it’s a bunch of different things – and there are obviously lots of interludes built in. So there’s something about the structure of the book that parallels the show in a nice way.

And telling the story of how the segmented portions of the Opry came to be was one of my favorite parts of writing the book. Basically, the Opry hired their music librarian – who was a very organized individual – to try to reign in some of the chaos from when the Opry was at what is now the Belcourt Theater [in the 1930s]. I think back then it was called the Hillsboro Theater. His name was Vito Pellettieri and he realized if he could wrangle three or four artists within the same timeframe, then these performers would now have a rough idea of when they needed to be standing side stage, instead of disappearing as musicians might have been wont to do.

Then of course, being the Opry, owned by an insurance company, the business people sensed an opportunity there and thought, “Let’s sell those segments to sponsors and advertisers.” And so that’s how the 30-minute segments came to be. Whether it was dog food or condensed milk or tobacco, if there was a sponsor for each segment, the Opry made more money that way, too. The Opry has been pretty creative in how it positions itself and how it can take advantage of good ideas quickly.

I know you spoke to dozens of artists, stakeholders, musicians, executives, broadcasters, and announcers. You and your co-writer Brenda Colladay must have done hours and hours of interviews for this book. Can you tell us a bit about that process and who you most enjoyed or were most excited to sit down with?

On one hand, the general narrative crafting you’re talking about sounds like really grueling work, but on the other hand, it sounds like doing that through these interviews was probably the most fun part of this process.

I would say the interviews were the most fun. I agree with you on that. I have the Opry show schedule as a shortcut on my smartphone now, because I would always try to figure out who was playing and who we needed to talk to.

As it should be, we started our interview series with the one and only Jeannie Seely. We felt like she needed to be first, and she deserved that. She only got about halfway through what she wanted to say [during our first meeting], so we set up another interview. It was wonderful to talk to her. Both of those afternoons were great, because with Jeannie, she’ll tell you the way it actually was. Some of it was very positive and some of it was critical, but it’s her perspective. And she was there! I didn’t get to see the Opry in the ‘60s or ‘70s, and she did. Getting to hear it directly from her was fantastic. She was also hilarious, when you got to sit down and joke around with her a little bit.

It was really important to talk to people firsthand and to go deeper than just, “Hey, what do you think of the Opry? Why is it important?” So the Opry opened up its entire archive to me, which was videos, books, newspaper clippings – pretty much anything that I wanted to look at, read, or watch. When I knew I had an interview coming up, I would spend several hours reading clippings and reading stories in order to come up with questions specific to their Opry experience. Rather than just, “Tell me about when you moved to Nashville. Tell me about this. Tell me about that.” Those aren’t questions, those are just prompts. When the people came in to talk to us, we were usually in pretty much a supply closet for camera equipment. It was a really small room. We didn’t have any cameras. We wanted everybody to be casual and comfortable and not worry about makeup and hair.

Then it became a very comfortable conversation. We started every interview with the same question, which was, “What is going through your mind in those moments before the curtain comes up?” Everybody had a different answer. That put them in the frame of mind of talking about the Opry, I think, more than talking about themselves. They went pretty deep, back in their memories, of how they discovered the Opry and what it’s meant to them. Quite a few of those artists went to the Opry as kids. So then they started talking about their family and what the Opry meant to their family, there were a lot of emotions.

I think some of those artists expected it to be like a 10 or 15 minute interview to grab that [sound] bite that says, “I sure do love the Opry.” But we went really deep and spent more than an hour talking with some of these artists. You don’t get to put everything like that into the book, but suddenly now we have an oral history from these modern contemporary performers that will live forever. When somebody writes about the Opry in 50 years from now, they have it straight from the artists, [speaking] about their path to that stage.

I think that’s one of the best accomplishments of this book, that it tells the story in such a rich, full way that isn’t just the mythology and isn’t just the good parts and the glitzy parts. It sounds like part of how you were able to accomplish that is by having these interviews set up in such a way that you could build trust with folks, so they didn’t feel like they were just giving you that marketing sound bite. They could really tell you those full stories.

I think a lot of that came from the Opry headquarters. They wanted us to tell [it] the way it happened. A woman named Jenn Tressler, she handles a lot of the talent requests there and I think she primed most of these artists about what the interviews would be like and what the goal was. Just [so they would] be comfortable and [know] no topic is off limits. Artists were asked some pretty sensitive questions sometimes about the relationship with the entertainment industry in general, including the Opry and the artists rose to the occasion.

We wanted to tell the actual story. I’ve often felt that nobody wants to read a book where everybody’s happy and there’s no conflict. There’s conflict in this one.

From your interviews or from writing this book, what was a story or two about the Opry that stuck out to you or surprised you? Or, that brought you to learning something new that maybe you wouldn’t have tripped over into if you hadn’t done this book? Is there a story or two that stand out to you?

The first one would be just how young everybody was when they got involved with the Opry. George D. Hay was a young man; Harry Stone, who was one of the early program directors, had just turned 30 when he took on that role. The artists were [in their] 20s and 30s. You had a very young Bill Monroe, Roy Acuff, Minnie Pearl, coming on the stage and changing the game for country music.

Sometimes the Opry is perceived as the elder statesman of country music – and that’s true and they’ll always have a place there, it’s wonderful. But a lot of the shake-ups at the Opry and a lot of the progress that’s been made was because of these young, innovative perspectives. That happened over and over. I think without that viewpoint from people who were younger, the Opry would’ve struggled through the last hundred years. There would’ve been times somebody might’ve said, “I want it to stay the same way, ’cause this is how we’ve always done it.” It’s never the right answer, to do it just because it’s always been done that way. I think that was pretty fascinating to me.

The other thing I didn’t realize was that it was not until I believe 1978 that the Opry was ever aired on television. It was a PBS special. If you wanted to see the Opry, you had to come to Nashville for the first 53 years. After that one night on the PBS special, it didn’t happen again until the following year. Being able to see the Opry, you had to come to Nashville, and I think executives at that time feared that if you put it on television, people would stay away from the show and they wouldn’t sell tickets anymore. But time has proven just the opposite. People saw it on television, how exciting it was and they felt like they needed to be there, myself included. I watched it growing up in Nebraska as a teenager and I just was fascinated by it. By that time, of course, it was on TNN.

I watched it many a Saturday night with my grandparents and I didn’t always know who those legendary figures were that were sharing the stage with Alan Jackson or Clint Black or Alison Krauss. But because of the Opry, I got a country music education as a teenager before I moved to Nashville in 1994. By the time I got here, I feel like I had a leg up on other people who wanted to write about country music that were my age.

You’re pointing out another fact that we often forget about country music, hillbilly music, these traditions that made these musics. It’s that all of them are constantly changing and growing, morphing and adapting to the future – and responding to the present.

Like, the reason the Opry became what it is today was because of technology, because of the “Air Castle of the South.” Because of radio, because there wasn’t a lot of competition on the literal bandwidth, and because the tower was so tall it could reach so many people all across the country. To think that, nowadays, when we view “tradition” in 2025, we think that means not changing something.

Wrong!

But the Opry has always been changing and always been using cutting edge technology to do that. And country wouldn’t exist without technology, without the railroad, without industrialization, without radio, without recording technology becoming portable and handheld.

Oh, absolutely. Well said. It has to change, and the Opry does figure out a way to reach new listeners and engage with people that have never been there. Obviously, when you go to the Grand Ole Opry House for a show now, the emcee will say, “Who’s never been to the Opry before?” And a lot of hands go up. They’re constantly marketing the show – as they should be. They want people to have a seat in the Ryman or the Opry House to see how special the world’s longest running radio show is. I give them a lot of credit for always trying to reach new people and not just looking for what they’ve done already in the past. They take a lot of pride in the fact that no two shows have ever been the same.

I was just listening the other night [on the radio] and I was able to catch the Opry debut of Grupo Frontera. I thought it was such a perfect example of what you’re talking about, that a Spanish-speaking, Spanish first language group that makes country. Of course, it’s Mexican folk and Tejano and Latin folk and all these other things as well – but it’s certainly country & western. [They were] making their debut and you could hear the building shaking through the radio. It felt like one of those iconic ovations we hear about from the old days, with everybody stamping their feet in the balcony of the Ryman. The Opry is still doing that. And not only are they doing it, but this year for Opry 100, they’re doing it over and over again where they’re having these shows with these special moments, reaching new audiences.

And it was a brilliant move, because those fans now have a general idea of what the Grand Ole Opry is, how it is performed, and they got to hear some music from people they maybe hadn’t heard of. I know Frank Ray was on the show that night, he might’ve gained some fans from those who came to see Grupo Frontera. It’s a win for everybody when an artist of that caliber plays the Opry.

There was a great moment, after doing some digging, where I found the full performance of when Porter Wagoner invited James Brown to come play the Opry. It was like a 20-minute segment – there are some things online where you hear bits and pieces of it. But the Opry archive had it from start to finish, so I just sat there and listened to it. There was some screaming and hollering going on that night, too. It was exhilarating to listen to it. Then I found an oral history from Porter Wagoner – I quoted it in the book – that said, when you bring someone of world-renowned stature to the Opry, it benefits the Opry. You want the Opry to be in the news, because it draws attention to the show.

We’ve already talked about Jeannie Seely, but I wrote my concluding question with her in mind, as well. She passed in August of this year and when she did she had performed on the Opry almost 5,400 times. (The number is 5,390-something.) That longevity is incredible. So thinking about longevity, we’re standing here at the milestone of a hundred years of the Grand Ole Opry, looking at potentially another 100 years of the Grand Ole Opry coming up.

Do you see this modern era of the Opry as its golden age? Do you think the golden age of the show is yet to come? And who are you seeing that’s just getting their start “in the circle” nowadays that is gonna be like Jeannie Seely in a few decades, thousands of appearances into their Opry career?

Yeah [the future] looks strong to me, too. Something I never put into context until I wrote the book was that in the 1990s the Opry lost Roy Acuff, Minnie Pearl, Grandpa Jones, Bill Monroe, and Dottie West. And you just think, “How do you recover from that?” They did. They figured out a way to press on.

There were definitely growing pains and bumps, but some of those figures that they picked out in the early 2000s have become advocates for the Opry, champions for the Opry. The ‘90s country stars that I love, like Lorrie Morgan, Pam Tillis, Vince Gill, Steve Wariner, and Marty Stuart are still out there. They still play the Opry – and they’re the elder statesmen now. I do think the cast members that joined in the ‘90s and 2000s are gonna become a foundation for the show.

I think you’ll be seeing Trisha Yearwood out there quite a bit as she settles into the “twilight years” of her career. I sense that she will be out there singing alongside Kathy Mattea and Suzy Bogguss. I think Opry is in really good hands with the young women that they’ve invited to be part of the cast. More than once, without any prompting, artists like Carly Pearce and Lauren Alaina have said they feel the responsibility to be here. And I think Lauren Alaina is very likely to inherit the comic routines of Jeannie Seely – she’s pretty much already there. She had us rolling in laughter in her interviews. She’s got the natural timing of a comedian, but she’s got hit songs, too.

I think the Opry is in really good shape right now. They’ve done a good job of connecting to a younger audience that wants to play it. It’s a career goal now for a lot of inspiring artists. I think when I moved here in the ‘90s it was seen as living history and you had to have some history to get on that stage. But now you just have to have a good story, some musical talent, and an ability to connect with an audience. That’s easier said than done, but if you can have those three things, the Opry will take a chance.

I think they’ve found a recipe for success. They set themselves up to succeed. There are times in the music industry where it seems like things are crumbling or those pillars are not as strong as they used to be. But I think right now the Opry is as strong as it’s ever been. I don’t see it going anywhere anytime soon.

Lead image courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

How-dee! And Happy 100 to the Grand Ole Opry

Posted on November 12, 2025November 28, 2025 by Justin Hiltner

In 1925, world leaders were signing the final treaties coming out of WWI; Congress authorized work on Mt. Rushmore as a national memorial; the Scopes Trial was held in Tennessee; and the first patent on radio transmission was only 28 years old.

And, in 1925, WSM first broadcast its barn dance – soon to become the Grand Ole Opry.

One hundred years later, the Grand Ole Opry is the world’s longest-running radio program. After a century that saw changes unparalleled in world history, audiences are still drawn to the Opry. Every week thousands make the pilgrimage to the Grand Ole Opry House in Nashville while others tune in around the world. The show continues to inspire new generations of performers to aspire to step “into the circle” on the Opry House stage.

President Jimmy Carter on the Grand Ole Opry stage with Kelly Foxton, Hank Snow, Mel Tillis, June Carter Cash, Skeeter Davis, Bill Monroe, Jeannie C. Riley, and others on October 9, 1980. Photo courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

In The Beginning Was Insurance

In the 1920s, Edwin Craig was watching radio stations emerge across the nation – and seeing the money-making potential for sponsors and owners. He convinced Cornelius Craig, his father and founder of the National Life and Accident Insurance Company, that a radio station could sell a lot of insurance.

Soon, the fifth floor of the company’s downtown Nashville building held a radio studio. The call letters WSM stood for “We Shield Millions,” the company’s motto. A program that would become the lifeblood of country music started as a way to promote life insurance.

The hiring of George D. Hay away from Chicago’s WLS was the beginning of the WSM Barn Dance. The 30-year-old who called himself The Solemn Old Judge and started every show with a steamboat whistle would set the tone for much of the Opry’s 100 years – including its name.

Which all started with a clash of cultures.

Some upper-crust Nashville residents complained the only radio they could hear on weekends was string band programming from the dominant WSM station. In response, WSM began carrying the syndicated “Music Appreciation Hour.”

The Barn Dance slot followed the classical program, and Hay, not one to pass up a good line, said, “For the past hour, we have been listening to music largely from Grand Opera, but from now on, we will present ‘the Grand Ole Opry.”

George D. Hay is pictured at microphone with a whistle and Uncle Jimmy Thompson is seated in this 1925 photograph from when the Grand Ole Opry was still the WSM Barn Dance. Photo courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

For years, the Shield Men – door-to-door National Life and Accident insurance salesmen carrying the company’s shield logo – introduced themselves as representing the Grand Ole Opry. They would even listen outside windows to see who was tuned in to the Opry – and who would be a likely customer.

The earliest WSM shows relied on local talent, running heavily toward fiddlers and string bands. But Hay would invite whoever he thought the audience would like.

DeFord Bailey, a Black musician grounded in both the blues and old-time string band music, became a regular, wowing audiences with his harmonica. Kitty Cora Cline, the first female soloist, performed on hammered dulcimer, and Fred Shriver played the accordion. Uncle Dave Macon on his banjo with Sid Harkreader on fiddle and guitar set the stage for the comedy that would remain central to the Opry’s success, with songs like, “Keep My Skillet Good and Greasy.”

A Beacon

As the recording industry grew, the variety of musicians available to the Opry grew, as well. The show began featuring brother duets, cowboy music, Western swing and solo crooners. Bill Monroe & the Blue Grass Boys were featured stars for decades.

Opry singers expressed the joys of new romance, the happiness of Sunday dinner on the lawn, the sorrow of lost love, and the loneliness of leaving home. Audiences across America listened – and related. The Opry became a focus of family life.

Dolly Parton, like many rural listeners, grew up without electricity. Her family faithfully listened to the Opry on a battery-powered radio. Waylon Jennings’ dad would hook their radio to the car battery. Jeannie Seely’s family would pile in the car and drive up a hill until they could get the signal. Opry history is filled with stories of musicians who listened as children – and dreamed of growing up to perform, like their idols, on the iconic stage.

Opry member Dierks Bentley, who gracefully moves between country and bluegrass, told BGS, “Being invited to join at all is the biggest honor – especially for me, personally. I grew up listening to all the Opry greats on the radio with my dad, so becoming a member is like having the ultimate backstage pass to see the best musicians in the world. And to be invited by Marty Stuart … hands down, it was one of the coolest nights of my life.”

Dan Rogers, the Opry’s senior vice president and executive producer, said the Opry has always been a place to celebrate the good times and be uplifted during the tough times. “Think about,” he said, “the folks who tuned in on Saturday nights during World War II. That was their only source of entertainment throughout the week.” Minnie Pearl, with her signature “How-dee,” and Roy Acuff gave them respite from war news.

On the first show after the 9-11 attacks in 2001, Rogers said, “Our background singers sang an a cappella version of ‘God Bless America.’ And one by one, the people in the audience stood and sang along. And I remember thinking, I bet everybody tuned in across the country is singing along to ‘God Bless America.’”

The Opry’s response to the COVID-19 crisis created desperately needed connection during a frightening time of isolation.

Just a week after deciding that live audience shows weren’t safe, Opry staff arranged a pared-down streaming production with no audience and a skeleton crew. Longtime cast members Bill Anderson, Jeannie Seely and Connie Smith held down the first night alongside Mandy Barnett, Michael Cleveland & Flamekeeper, and Sam Williams.

For the second weekend of restrictions, veterans Vince Gill, Marty Stuart, and Brad Paisley sat on stools spread out across the stage and pulled off what Rogers called “a beautiful, beautiful show.”

Watching from his office, Rogers started reading comments from grateful listeners. For months, people marked their calendars to tune in. They wrote, “I’m in Europe. I set my alarm. It’s 2 a.m. here, but I wanted to experience this with a community.”

Marty Stuart, Vince Gill, and Brad Paisley perform for an empty Grand Ole Opry House during the COVID-19 lockdowns in 2020. Photo by Chris Hollo, courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

Kathy Mattea, the newest Opry inductee, feels those connections whenever she performs there.

People may have sung along to her hit “18 Wheels and a Dozen Roses” in their car or in the shower, but at the Opry, she says to BGS, “Here’s your chance to sit with an audience and sing this song that everybody knows. Nobody knows who the person next to them voted for and it doesn’t matter at that moment.”

“The Ellis Island of Country Music”

In the early days of radio, what was called hillbilly music was as limitless as the range of a 50,000 watt radio station. And the Opry remains dedicated to maintaining those wide open spaces.

Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood, in their forward to the book 100 Years of the Grand Ole Opry, refer to the show as the “Ellis Island of Country Music – a place where all are welcome.”

Contemporary country often has been accused of being homogenous and limited. But despite the factors that have controlled commercial country, the Opry maintains its open-arms attitude. Rogers said, “The two core tenets of an Opry show are celebrating the past, present, and future of country music, and also showcasing multiple genres under the country music umbrella.”

In any show, he said, “You might have something that’s on the top 20 of the country charts today. And you’ll have country classics. You might have a contemporary Christian song, Americana string music, or even something from outside the genre by somebody who just happens to be a country music fan or was influenced by country music.”

In 1974, the R&B-oriented Pointer Sisters included an original country song, “Fairytale,” on their second album. The cross-over hit earned them an invitation to the Opry stage, where they became the first Black group to perform.

Ringo Starr appeared for the first time in 2025 and James Taylor’s debut on November 11 will be remembered as a big part of the 100th anniversary celebration.

And, Rogers said, “Because we can do it, it’s fun to take a chance on a new artist.”

Before his first Opry appearance in July 2022, Zach Top had no hits to his name. But Rogers remembered the programming team saying, “You don’t see an artist like that every day. It sure feels to us like our audience would absolutely eat that guy up!” Today, Top’s music is everywhere.

Bluegrass has been a staple since before it had a name and it has never lost its place on the stage. Bentley and Del McCoury played “Roll on Buddy, Roll On” when the Grand Ole Opry House first reopened after the 2010 flood closed its doors for months.

Charlie Mattos is a 10-year veteran Opry announcer and longtime co-host and producer of WSM’s morning show. He said that on any given night, a portion of the Opry House audience “may truly have never seen a bluegrass band play.”

“And when Del McCoury and the boys finish with an incredible instrumental,” Mattos continued, “or Sister Sadie blisters the stage … the enthusiasm that comes out of that crowd, the immediate standing ovation for the insane musicianship that they have just witnessed …” Mattos said, “it blows their minds.”

Mattea said, “Bluegrass is front porch jazz – the virtuoso playing and the vocals and the harmonies and the trading off of licks. That’s how I fell in love with bluegrass.” And the Opry exposes millions to that brilliance.

A Good-Natured Riot

The Opry show is a complex set of acts and sets requiring precision planning, flexibility, and good nature on the part of the announcers – and commitment on the part of the performers. Rehearsals are brief or non-existent. Timing is everything.

Borrowing a phrase from George D. Hay, the Opry is still sometimes called a “good-natured riot.”

Mattos said, “When you come to see the show live, you see it all. The set changes. The artists leaving as the announcer sends them off. You can see the stage crew out there and usually in 90 seconds they can completely swap things around.”

But while reading a commercial during set changes, Mattos may notice the stage manager giving the “stretch” signal. He might have to keep talking for as long as four minutes – a millennium in radio time.

Sometimes the commercials themselves become the entertainment.

The first time Glad Wags sponsored an Opry segment, Chuck Morgan was announcing. While he stood off-stage reading the dog food commercial, house bassist Bill Linneman came up behind him and started barking. “By my last year there, there were like 20 people behind me going at it,” Morgan said. (The consensus is that Connie Smith does a great chihuahua imitation.)

A Family

Jeannie Seely – who racked up nearly 5,400 performances on the Grand Ole Opry before her passing in August 2025 – remembered it was more than the music that fueled her desire to join the Opry: “That’s hearing these people, like Mr. Acuff and Minnie [Pearl] and Jimmy Dickens and all of them, coming together every week,” she says in 100 Years of the Grand Ole Opry. “They always sounded like they were so glad to be together. They picked on each other and joked, and I thought, that’s just like a family.”

And they were family. When the plane Jim Reeves was aboard crashed in a wooded Nashville suburb, Marty Robbins and Ernest Tubb joined the search party, as did the elegant Nashville socialite Sarah Ophelia Colley Cannon – known as Minnie Pearl.

Opry star Jean Shepard was expecting her second child with husband Harold “Hawkshaw” Hawkins when Hawkins died in the plane crash that also killed Patsy Cline and Cowboy Copas. After months feeling adrift, as Shepard was quoted in the 100 Years book, “I looked down my driveway one day and here come two big black limousines full of the so-called ‘higher-ups’ from the Grand Ole Opry. They said, ‘We want you to come back to the Grand Ole Opry.’ And it really meant a lot to me.”

The family feeling is no accident. In earlier years, Opry members had to perform a specified number of Saturday nights a year. While there’s no set number today, Rogers said they look for a sense of commitment in new members. “It truly is about that relationship,” he said.

Rogers quoted Mattea, upon her invitation to become a member, saying, “These people treat you like family, no matter what.”

One of Mattea’s favorite Opry memories involves a bass player who toured with her. “He was sitting on a stool, playing and singing some old Western swing chestnut, and suddenly Riders in the Sky leaned into the dressing room in full regalia and started singing harmony.

“He was gobsmacked. He felt it was the highlight of his life,” she said.

Bluegrass performer Kody Norris’ music is influenced heavily by first- and second-generation bluegrass. But the band’s preference for flashy suits dates back to a family-friendly welcome Norris received 25 years ago.

His parents took nine-year-old Kody backstage at the Opry, “and I met Bill Anderson. And he had on a red rhinestone suit. That’s the first one I ever saw up close, where I could touch it.”

Later that day, upon meeting his equally rhinestone-clad hero, Porter Wagoner, young Kody got so excited he spit out his chewing gum. Wagoner graciously grabbed two Opry-logoed napkins, one of which the little boy used for his gum. The other one the grown Norris still keeps in perfect condition.

The Circle is Unbroken

In 1974, the Opry left its revered home of decades, the Ryman Auditorium, to move to the deliciously air-conditioned 4,400-seat Grand Ole Opry House.

To honor its longtime home, the Opry crew cut a circle out of the Ryman stage and inset it in the new Opry House stage. The circle symbolizes the Opry’s continuity, respect for the past, and optimism for the future.

Mattea experienced that sense of a completed circle on the day she became an Opry member.

“Suzy [Bogguss] was there. We’ve toured together and sung on each other’s records. She’s my closest artist friend, and she was the only one at the ceremony who was not a member. And I thought how generous it was of her to be there.

“So, while I was overflowing with celebration, to get to invite my friend to the party publicly in the name of the Opry was the sweetest gift. It was a moment I’ll never forget, and I’m going to be there for her induction, too.” Bogguss will officially be inducted as an Opry member in early 2026.

Braid Paisley and Little Jimmy Dickens return the Circle to the Opry stage after the 2010 flood. Photo courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties.

Join The Celebration

There’s nothing low-key about the Grand Ole Opry – so in the classic Opry spirit, fans have had plenty of opportunity to celebrate the centennial all year long.

Earlier this year, NBC broadcast a three-hour anniversary special, with dozens of stars ranging from Reba McEntire to Jelly Roll to The War and Treaty. The Opry also took the show to London’s Royal Albert Hall for the very first time. You can stream clips of these and other Opry events on YouTube and social media.

With the Virgin Music Group, the Opry has produced the album Opry 100, Country’s Greatest Songs (released November 7). Among the unforgettable recordings are Vince Gill singing his heart-rending “Go Rest High on That Mountain,” Dolly Parton singing “I Will Always Love You,” and Ashley McBryde covering the classic “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” You can order the album from the Opry site.

Craig Shelburne, Brenda Colladay, and Opry members and employees collaborated on 100 Years of the Grand Ole Opry, a book filled with anecdotes and photos that vividly illustrate the Opry’s remarkable history. And to teach your children well, there’s also a new childrens’ picture book written by Emily Frans and illustrated by Susanna Chapman. Find them in your local bookstore.

And, on November 28, 2025, the official 100th anniversary of the Grand Ole Opry we all hold dear, the Opry is celebrating with two huge birthday party shows featuring country stars and Opry members like Vince Gill, Ricky Skaggs, Trace Adkins, Dailey & Vincent, Bill Anderson, Jamey Johnson, Marty Stuart, and many, many more. Tickets are available here.

Of course, the celebrations will continue in 2026.

“The Opry is the core and soul of country music,” Bentley said. “It’s a place where the past, present and future of our genre all come together. There isn’t anywhere else like it.”

Continue exploring our Artist of the Month coverage of Opry 100 here.

All photos courtesy of Ryman Hospitality Properties, credits and attributions as marked. Lead image: Bill Monroe & the Blue Grass Boys and the Opry Square Dancers take the Opry stage at the Ryman Auditorium in the 1960s.

“Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms” – Doc Watson, Earl Scruggs & Ricky Skaggs (The Three Pickers)

“Tennessee Stud” – Doc Watson & Nitty Gritty Dirt Band (Will the Circle Be Unbroken)

“Tennessee Rag / Beaumont Rag” – Doc Watson & Chet Atkins (Reflections)

“Black Mountain Rag” – Doc Watson & Merle Watson

“What Would You Give in Exchange for Your Soul?” – Doc Watson & Bill Monroe

“Shady Grove / Summertime” – Doc Watson & David Grisman

“Amazing Grace” – Doc Watson & Jean Ritchie

“Summertime” – Doc Watson & Mark O’Connor

In The Beginning Was Insurance

A Beacon

“The Ellis Island of Country Music”

A Good-Natured Riot

A Family

The Circle is Unbroken

Join The Celebration

“Roll in My Sweet Baby’s Arms” – Doc Watson, Earl Scruggs & Ricky Skaggs
(The Three Pickers)

“Tennessee Stud” – Doc Watson & Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
(Will the Circle Be Unbroken)