Black Roots

It is clear to me that 2024 will be known for being a landmark year in the evolution of Black roots music. Not only has there been tremendous growth in the number of artists that are throwing their hat in the ring for roots music – whether it be country & western, bluegrass, folk or Americana – but it is also a time where the mainstream music world is responding to this outpouring of talent in a way that hasn’t been seen in a long time. In many ways, it’s not surprising that things have grown in this fashion. Since I started my professional music career back in 2005, I have seen quite a few changes in the general musical landscape that have set the stage for a Black Roots music revolution.

In the early 2000s, the musical fabric of Black Roots had already been woven into the tapestry of American culture. Hidden between the more well-known pieces of Black music, these acoustic styles that didn’t fit into the traditional mold of blues, jazz, and gospel remained unseen and unheard, relegated to the fringes. Even though it was simultaneously considered a quintessential piece of the larger puzzle of American popular culture, Black Roots music was held in greater reverence for its historical significance than for being a living musical tradition played by modern musicians of the African Diaspora.

There were great pioneers who set the stage back in the early 20th century. There were songsters, string bands, folk musicians, storytellers, songwriters, composers, and community historians who shared their stories for the early folk song collectors who were searching for the purest forms of black expression. This happened while the commercial recording companies sent their representatives out to the field looking for music that they could sell to a record buying public who wanted a sound that not only reflected the past, but the future as well.

With all that in mind, my goal in becoming a professional musician came not from a desire to be a stage performer alone, but to also expand the scholarship and visibility of Black Roots music. By becoming a touring musician I found I was filling a void that most people are not aware of today. Having the opportunity to evoke the names of people who had not gotten their due in their own time was empowering. Not only have I advocated for the music, I have played it and arranged it to reflect the rich history of American music while at same time writing my own songs that represent the modern Black experience in all of its phases.

When I first began performing in Arizona, there was no Black Roots community for me to lean on, so I had to teach myself everything. I had to learn to play the guitar, the banjo, and all of the other instruments in my repertoire on my own. Before the internet, the library was my main resource for music and I grew up in a time when a good portion of all of the world’s recorded music throughout history was not readily available on streaming platforms. Sometimes, I had to search far and wide through stacks of CDs, LPs, and 78s to gain access to the music, just so I could learn how to play it. As I began to learn more songs, I found out about the history of the performers and the legacies they left behind. Later on, I met others who held a similar passion and those individuals taught me how to play different styles and shared more parts of the history that I didn’t know about.

We are now in an era where people have access to the music that was once very hard for me to find. In many ways, I was at the forefront of these musical discoveries in the roots music community, because I took what I had learned and planted seeds all around the world with the Carolina Chocolate Drops and on my own as a solo artist over the past 25 years.

Once I left Arizona and we formed the Carolina Chocolate Drops, we were able to tap into a certain energy in the crowd that changed the paradigm for Black Roots music, so that now people can see the whole picture of American music in a different way. They could see a Black person playing the banjo in the modern world and be inspired to learn more about the African and Caribbean roots of the banjo. We did that for the better part of a decade and then I decided to move on into a new territory: Black Cowboys and Black Western music. This was a new area of music that the Carolina Chocolate Drops were not a part of in any way. The Chocolate Drops had focused on the music of North Carolina and this new musical venture was an exploration into my own family roots in the Southwest.

Back in 2010, I had come across a book called The Negro Cowboys, which encouraged me to research about African American cowboys of the West. In 2018, my research came together in my solo album, Dom Flemons Presents Black Cowboys, which came out on Smithsonian Folkways as a part of the African American Legacy Series. Having grown up in Arizona, I knew that the album needed to be a part of the National Museum of African American History & Culture so that future generations could appreciate and respect the history of the Black West as well as activate the communities that had been there all along.

Back when I released Black Cowboys, I was one of the few artists talking about the contributions of African Americans out west and their varied connections to country music. Not only was I sharing this lesser known history, but I was playing the music that we now celebrate as “Black Country” long before Beyoncé, Lil Nas X, the “Yee-Haw Agenda,” or any of the newer Black artists who have risen to fame in the TikTok era. Now that the concept of Black Cowboys has gone mainstream in music, television, movies, and fashion, it’s another reminder to me that the music I created had made a major impact on American culture in both a conscious and subconscious way.

The most important part of it all is that no one owns Black Country music and nobody owns Black Cowboys or the roots of Black music. However, nowadays I am noticing that people are trying to take credit for exposing the history when they have only scratched the surface of it.

What I have learned is that there are so many parts of the Black Country and roots music story that are still missing and are being left out of the media. There are many other artists who should be considered in the conversation and yet they aren’t getting their flowers. I have noticed the Black Country music narrative that has sprung up recently has actively disregarded the work of the many Black artists who are deeply connected to the legacy, including myself on many occasions. My hope is that people will take the time to acknowledge the ones who have paved the way for the current movement and shed light on their individual stories, too.

The main reason I have included extensive liner notes in all of my albums, including my most recent, Traveling Wildfire, is because I always make sure to give credit where it is due. The sources for my traditional songs are clearly laid out for anyone to see and my original songs are exercises in expanding the existing palette of roots music so that both can be presented to a new generation of listeners. I have seen my talking points being used to fuel many of the current conversations, but oftentimes there is no back reference to the work I have done. All of the fanfare has forgotten to give proper credit to someone who has spent the majority of their career trying to set the record straight. As a well known musician in my community, this exposes a general trend that is problematic for the current state of Black Roots music.

If it is acceptable for a mainstream pop star or the media to sidestep and steamroll the pioneers of Black Roots music, it can only lead to a narrative of uplift that will ring hollow in the long term. It will teach the future generations that sleight of hand is the only way to get ahead and that surface level fame is the goal and key to being successful. Bad ideologies take a long time to disperse once they have become a part of the general fabric of society, and if people continue to spout it the integrity of the music can be undermined without them even knowing it.

This is why I am cautiously optimistic for the current state of Black Roots music, because oftentimes it feels more like a one-sided competition than a community of Black artists coming together to be celebrated collectively.

Yet, on a positive note, I believe the current state of Black Roots music is very exciting. People are being activated by the work that has been done by the pioneers of the past one hundred years. They are reinterpreting, reinventing, and showcasing music that is becoming a viable part of the mainstream music industry. They come with a variety of sounds, instruments, and songs that will shift the template of American culture as Black Roots music always has and always will.

More voices are being added every day in places and spaces that would have been unheard of even ten years ago. It can be clearly stated that there are now plenty of young musicians in every field of Black Roots music and there is no shortage of new talent who have proven their worth on the stage, on recordings, and on social media.

The holistic landscape of the modern Black Roots music community is something that I am proud to have helped establish over the past 25 years. Major growth is upon us, but I feel like it can only happen if everyone in the community gets acknowledged, not just the “favorites” or the ones making the most money while begging for all of the attention. The connecting of dots that bind the past and future are within our reach through the technology we have at our fingertips; it is essential for us to use it with great care and responsibility.

I started my journey as the American Songster building a legacy upon a dream. I got the notion to write songs and play the old styles back when I was sixteen years old and this eventually led me to sell everything I own, jump in my car, and drive across America to find where that dream could take me. It then took me all over the world and brought me much acclaim, but I have never lost sight of what inspired me to start this journey.

For me, I’m just getting started and I’ll always be here, no matter who stays and who goes. I’ve done the work to make the music more accessible for others and I can hope that it has reflected well on my own legacy as well as the entire community I have tried to uplift.


Photo Credit: Dom Flemons by Steven Holloway.

‘Urban Cowboy’ at 40: How a Mechanical Bull Changed Mickey Gilley’s Life

Mickey Gilley admits he wasn’t keen on the idea of installing a mechanical bull at his namesake honky-tonk on the outskirts of Houston, Texas. Nor is he shy about admitting just how wrong he was. That rodeo training device transformed Gilley’s Club into a cultural force. “The mechanical bull was never meant to be in an entertainment establishment like ours,” says the 84-year-old country star. “I thought it was a mistake, but it turned out to be a blessing. Without the mechanical bull, we never would have gotten that film with John Travolta.”

Every night there was a line for the mechanical bull. Demand was so high they installed a second bull and briefly considered buying the rights to the device in order to market it to honky-tonks around the country. Those would-be cowboys — called Gilleyrats after their favorite gathering spot — would compete to see who could stay on the bucking bull the longest, and that contest became the centerpiece of James Bridges’ 1980 film Urban Cowboy, featuring John Travolta in his follow-up to Saturday Night Fever. Exchanging the New York City discos for this dusty, Lone Star honky-tonk, he stars as Bud Davis, a small-town kid who moves to the big city and becomes a master of the mechanical bull.

The film culminates in a showdown with his nemesis, played by Scott Glenn, over the affections of a scene-stealing Debra Winger. As drama goes, this test of saddle skill is anticlimactic, as there is nothing at stake beyond macho pride. Bud isn’t fighting to escape his life (as his character in Fever did) nor to stay at Gilley’s. He’s just fighting. Though never quite satisfying as drama, Urban Cowboy is still fascinating 40 years later as a documentary about Gilley’s and the particular culture that grew up around it.

Gilley and his business partner, Sherwood Cryer, opened the place in 1970. At the time Gilley was only a regional star, with his own TV show in Houston and enough name recognition to open a club. (Being cousins with both Jerry Lee Lewis and Jimmy Swaggart didn’t hurt, either.) In 1974 he had a surprise hit with “Room Full of Roses,” which only brought more attention to his honky-tonk. He played there regularly and invited friends to fill in for him when he was on the road. The place grew into something like a theme park, with a dance floor roughly the size of a football field, several bars, tons of games, even a rodeo arena. “This place is bigger than my whole hometown,” Travolta’s character says when he first steps foot in the place.

Urban Cowboy captures the energy of Gilley’s Club in frenetic long takes that put you right at the bar or out on the dance floor. You can almost smell the sawdust and beer. Gilley even performs during a couple of scenes, as does Charlie Daniels, and the shots of couples shuffling across the floor in tight, fluid choreography are among the film’s highlights.

By the time a suspicious fire destroyed Gilley’s in 1990, the place and the film had already left a deep impression in popular culture. It introduced western wear as high fashion: tight jeans and big hats worn by guys who never rode the range (or a bull, for that matter), but still bought into the mythos of the American cowboy. And its soundtrack, featuring Bonnie Raitt, Boz Scaggs, and Kenny Rogers, peaked at No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and produced chart-topping country singles such as “Lookin’ for Love” by Johnny Lee, “Could I Have This Dance” by Anne Murray, and “Stand by Me” by Gilley himself.

For our latest Roots on Screen column, we chatted with the club’s namesake about accidentally recording a hit single, flying with Travolta, and assaulting the sausage king.

BGS: How did you get to a point where you could open a massive honky-tonk with your name on it?

Gilley: I grew up in Louisiana and got two famous cousins, Jerry Lee Lewis and Rev. Jimmy Swaggart. Jerry Lee was my hero, because without him I probably wouldn’t have gotten in the music business. He came to Houston in ’57 and I saw how well he was doing. I was working construction making $1.25 an hour and that’s when I threw my hat in the ring. Seventeen years later I cut “Room Full of Roses” by mistake and it turned out to be my first No. 1 song. After that I got to tour with Conway and Loretta and next thing I knew John Travolta came knocking on my door. Everything broke loose.

How does somebody cut a hit single by accident?

I had a little TV show in the Houston market. One night I walked into Gilley’s and the lady who had the jukebox called me over and says, “Today on your TV show you did my favorite song, ‘She Called Me Baby All Night Long.’” It’s a Harlan Howard tune. She told me she’s in the jukebox business and if I would record that song, she’d put it on every one of her jukeboxes. I said, “Ma’am, I ain’t made a record in probably three years. The show is doing well. The club is doing well. I don’t really make records anymore.” She said, “Just make that one song for me.”

Well, as you know, back then they had 45s and you had to have an A side and a B side. I went in to cut “She Called Me Baby All Night Long” and for the flip side, I picked “Room Full of Roses.” It’s an old George Morgan song from the late ‘40s or early ‘50s. Lorrie Morgan’s father. I started the arpeggio on the piano and got maybe 30 seconds into it and then stopped. My bass guitar player looked over and said, “What’d you quit for?” I told him it sounded too much like Jerry Lee. And he says, “Who cares? Nobody’s going to hear it. It’s a B side!” So I recorded it. Didn’t think anything about it.

I took the record around to radio stations where we were buying time to advertise the club — “Gilley’s! 4500 Spencer Highway! Pasadena, Texas!” — and I asked if they would play the record when they did the spot on the club. I remember Bruce Nelson at WKNR asked me which side I wanted him to play. I said, “Either side you want. Doesn’t matter to me.” He looked at both sides and said, “I think I like that flower song.” He played it and it shot up the charts. Playboy Records picked it up and took it national for me in 1974.

What was a typical night like at Gilley’s during its heyday?

After the film Urban Cowboy came out, it was packed every night. I never seen anything like it in my life. It went on for about three and a half years. It was totally jam-packed, seven nights a week. People wanted to be a part of what it was all about. They just came out to have a good time. We had a lot of things in the club you could do, too. We had the two mechanical bulls, plus we had quite a few pool tables spread out through the club. Pinball. Punching bags… you know, things of that nature that people would get a kick out of.

How many stages did you have?

We had just the one big stage for music. Of course, my business partner built a rodeo arena back in ’85 or ’86 and hitched it onto the club, because he wanted to stay ahead of Billy Bob’s down in Fort Worth. The concerts we had in there worked out pretty good, because we had Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, George Jones, George Strait. People like that do real good in a rodeo arena, but other than that, it was just a big building that we didn’t need.

How often were you playing the regular stage?

I worked the club up until 1985. But I got into a squabble with him about the way the club was running and what was going on, and we got in a lawsuit. I got the club closed down, I got my name off of it, and later it was set on fire and burned. It was arson, but I don’t know who did it, you know? It went up in flames and no more Gilley’s in Pasadena, Texas. But we have a Gilley’s in Treasure Island in Vegas. We have two in Oklahoma and one in Dallas.

What do you remember about filming at Gilley’s?

The main thing I remember was that we had to do it during the day, daylight hours, because we operated the club at night as the regular nightclub. They closed all the doors and tried to make it as dark as they could. I remember the director hollering, “More smoke! More smoke!” to make it look more like a night at the club. They’d start early in the morning and go all day, shooting the parts they had to have. I never had been in a film of that caliber before, so it was different for me. But it was fun.

Was the Urban Cowboy Band something you put together especially for the film?

We had a band there that was playing the club, but I took them on the road with me and renamed them the Urban Cowboy Band when the film came out. Paramount Pictures told me it was OK to use it, so that’s what we did. We were awarded a Grammy for the song “Orange Blossom Special,” which I played piano on. But there were some great songs in the film. “Hello Texas” was written by a Texas guy by the name of Brian Collins and sung by Jimmy Buffett. That’s a great song. We also had Charlie Daniels doing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” in the film.

Your version of “Stand by Me” was a big hit as well.

It was originally recorded by Ben E. King and written by Leiber and Stoller. The song was brought in by the producer, who was wanting to do what he called a “grudge dance” in the film. They picked “Stand by Me” and asked me to do the song. I was a little reluctant but the arrangement they put on it made it a different song than the Ben E. King version. When we got the song recorded, people were raving about it, and it turned out to be a hit. Now I close my shows with it.

What was it like having someone like John Travolta in your club every day? What was he like to work with?

Well, the one thing that John and I had in common was we both loved aviation. At the time, he was working on his pilot’s license, and I got to fly with him. I was so excited about the fact that I was getting to fly with the star of Urban Cowboy. He had just come off of Saturday Night Fever and Grease, so I’m in awe. I’m just an old country boy that’s had quite a few No. 1 songs, but I never had the popularity John Travolta had. He was working on his pilot’s license at the time, so I went up with him a few times. He went on to fly the big jets, which I’m sure is exciting for him. I never got that far in my career. I got to fly some jets, but they were like the LearJet and the Citation — nothing like the 747 he was flying.

How did the success of that movie and the soundtrack change your career?

It changed my life, because the record company put me with a different producer and he started picking songs like “You Don’t Know Me,” “That’s All That Matters to Me,” “Headache Tomorrow (Heartache Tonight),” and “Put Your Dreams Away.” They were all hits for me and opened more doors for me, as far as casino dates in Reno, Vegas, and Atlantic City. I wasn’t just known as a honky-tonk piano player anymore. I was known as a country performer and it gave me a little more clout. I got to play for two presidents. They gave me a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, invited me to come to Hollywood and do some acting roles, and I did The Fall Guy, Fantasy Island, The Dukes of Hazzard, and Murder, She Wrote. I had a scene in Murder, She Wrote where I grab Jimmy Dean, the sausage king! I grab him by the collar and shake him. Sometimes I show that clip in my show and say, “Look at that! I’m trying to shake the sausage out of Jimmy Dean!”

You’re still playing a lot of those songs from Urban Cowboy on tour, right?

Johnny Lee and I have done well by doing the music from that soundtrack and we called it the Urban Cowboy Reunion Tour. I wish we could have gotten more people involved, maybe Charlie Daniels or Bonnie Raitt. But we did pretty good just the two of us. I remember playing a casino down in Louisiana, and at the end of the show I looked at Johnny and said, “Do you realize those people out there dancing wasn’t even born when we did the film?” I think they come out here to see if we’re still alive!


Photo credit: Courtesy of 117 Entertainment

Dom Flemons: Many Pieces to the Puzzle

It’s fitting that Black Cowboys, the latest record from writer, storyteller, historian, and songster Dom Flemons, was released on Smithsonian Folkways, the non-profit label arm of the eponymous museum and its Center for Folklife — the album plays and reads like a museum exhibit in musical form. This collection of songs, from traditional Western folk melodies to African slaves’ field hollers to Flemons’ timeless originals, celebrates the heritage of African American cowboys in the Wild West.

The existence of black cowboys has largely been omitted from the greater historical record, relegated to forgotten dime store novels, dusty biographies, and seldom-sung songs. The commercial narratives that took the nation by storm in the last century, such as Wild West rodeo shows, singing cowboys, and myriad television shows and films, largely centered on whiteness and white heroes as the keystones of the pioneer West. Flemons understood the larger, more complicated picture — in part due to his African American and Mexican American heritage and growing up in Arizona. With this record and its exhaustive liner notes he brings these integral stories, these neatly interlocking puzzle pieces of black identities shaping the American West, out into the mainstream.

When I listen to this record and read through the liner notes it strikes me that the crux of the entire project is revisionist history and figuring out how to undo it.

One of the things I’ve found most interesting about the issue of revisionist history is that it creates even more weight to the work of people like Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, because you start to understand why they were working for civil rights and first-class citizenship, compared to second-class citizenship. Up to that point, no matter how far you got in the status as a citizen, you could not be considered a first-class citizen if you were an African American person. This becomes extremely prevalent when speaking of early Western history. To put a black person on the same level as a white person was taboo up until even the late 1970s and early ‘80s. Nowadays it’s really hard for people to grasp that concept. When you aren’t in control of the narrative, you’ll find there are holes in it. My notion has been to add and to elevate different parts of the narrative so that when you bring all of the narratives together you get a truer picture of what the history is supposed to be. That was part of the reason I felt that this album was very important to get out there.

Being from the Southwest, I know that it’s a diverse community. The story isn’t just black and white. There are the Native American populations as well as the Mexican American populations and the different refugee groups as well. The Southwest and Western culture tends to have a very diverse population, because the open expanses of land give a lot of room for people to build a new life for themselves. Where there aren’t a lot of people, you don’t want to upset your neighbor, because they could help you in your time of need. When you read about the cowboys you start finding that the ideas of discrimination and segregation in the classic sense break down in certain situations where, because of the lack of numbers, everybody had to be working together. That called for a brotherhood and a kinship between all these different cultures, in a way that is very unique and is very reassuring, especially in modern times when it seems that the whole world is connected, but we still feel like, “Why have we never been able to get along?” But you find in different situations along the way people have figured out how to work together and get along with each other just out of necessity.

Are people surprised by the concept of the album? I can just imagine someone saying, “Black cowboys? That’s a thing?” How do you unpack for people that black folks have been everything and everywhere, just like white identities?

It’s a matter of perspective and a matter of representation in the mainstream. When it comes to cowboys, three things happened. First, you had the birth of dime store novels, sensationalized Western fiction that were written by people [back East]. They took Western stories and created a sensational picture of Western culture. It’s interesting to read about these too, because you do have several pulp novels that feature black cowboys in them, so you still have a bit of that culture in there.

The second wave was Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show. It was the first internationally recognized Western program. [Buffalo Bill] was definitely a Confederate-leaning individual, even though he was part of the communities in Kansas that fought against slavery. Buffalo Bill, he had black friends, he had Native American friends, he was good friends with Sitting Bull. But at the same time, ideologically, when the Wild West show went out there [on tour], it painted Buffalo Bill as a white savior, at the forefront of all of this. With it being presented at Madison Square Garden and all over the world, including Australia, Germany, England, France, and Spain it painted the picture of Western American culture being a white phenomenon and having white heroes that are in the forefront. That’s the second level.

The third thing that really cemented the image of the cowboy in place were the singing cowboys: Gene Autry, Tex Ritter, and a whole slew of other folks following behind — like Jimmie Rodgers, the father of country music. That set the stage for the cowboy being a white man in a cowboy hat and chaps, saving the day. It caught on with the adults and the kids, and the kids carried on these same traditions. Once you see that sort of representation and there’s no narrative that conflicts with that, there’s no need to consider that there might be a different narrative.

Now we’re over a hundred years down the road from all three of those things. The idea that black cowboys are representative of cowboy culture is something that’s been chipped away for many years. When it comes to representation and African American culture in the West you’ll find that there are a lot of pieces to the puzzle.

How do you take an album that might come across as a “time capsule” or historic novelty music and show it’s more than just a bridge to yesteryear? How do you view this music today, in a modern context?

There was one thing that really set this off. At first I faced that problem. Of course, I had my interest in cowboy music in general; I love Willie Nelson, Marty Robbins, Riders in the Sky, etc. That interested me in general, but I came into this particular issue as I started trying to make this into a compelling narrative so that people won’t just pass it off as nostalgic music.

I was talking with my father about one of the cowboys I was reading about, a fellow by the name of Nat Love, who was one of very few black cowboys to write an autobiography. He worked out of this town called Holbrook, Arizona. Then he became a Pullman porter working on the railroad lines. The history of Pullman porters was what we would call a catalyst for the early civil rights movement. One of the main Pullman porters, a man by the name of A. Philip Randolph, started the very first all-black union called the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters. Black people who were Pullman porters were able to elevate themselves socially, because they began to know the most prominent white patrons from traveling with them. At first they just worked for tips, but then they wanted to work for a salary, so A. Philip Randolph helped the porters raise their wages.

The porters were also the connecting point between every black section of town in the United States. When it came to delivering the all-black newspapers and when it came to 78 RPM records, the porters had supplies that they would sell to people. They connected the North, South, East, and West of the United States. Later on, in the 1940s, ‘50s, and ‘60s, Randolph was one of the people who helped Martin Luther King Jr. organize the bus boycott. My father told me that; he was a porter for a chair car, the local/regional train car.

Seeing that someone like Nat Love was a cowboy and later a Pullman porter connected this ancient story of dusty old cowboys on the range into a very modern African American context. That was how I connected the narrative so it would be modern. This gave me a strong sense of why we don’t think about black cowboys. White cowboys continued to ranch and become proprietors on their ranches. But of course in the African American community nostalgia, looking backwards, thinking about the old home place is a whole different story. Cowboy music is connected to country music and one of the biggest parts of country music is nostalgia. In the African American community, nostalgia has always been a double-edged sword.

When I hear you talk about your connection to your music, the dots seem to connect pretty directly, but you’ve put in time, done the research, given it care, and given yourself an in-depth education. How do we make it as easy as possible for people to also trace those threads without all of the rigorous work you put in? Or do you think that work is necessary and maybe something everyone should experience?

Well, I think technically everyone should work through all of that. That’s something that I would like to have happen.

Especially since there are so many of us who haven’t had a choice but to put in that work.

Absolutely. [It all started for me by] being a big fan of Texas country blues music, which is part of my grandfather’s culture. It was very natural to listen to people like Lead Belly, Henry Thomas, and Lightnin’ Hopkins even. All of that stuff is black Western culture from the descendants of these cowboys. I wanted to bring that stuff into a single room. I also went to the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko, Nevada, and I met several of the cowboys. Don Edwards, a legendary cowboy singer who has spent a lot of time talking about the influence of black cowboys, told me about how all the black cowboys were called black vaqueros. He told me about Mexican vaqueros and how they were the original cowboys. It opens up Spanish and Mexican culture being part of Western culture starting three hundred years before the time period we cover on the album. That’s a piece of the puzzle.

It’s obviously a very complicated and complex puzzle, but it’s not necessarily more complicated than just the narrative of America we’re already familiar with — the melting pot of cultures and backgrounds. It’s a matter of putting those pieces together. You’re adding more colorful pieces to the puzzle they already have half-built in their heads.

Overall, I really wanted to be able to give Black Cowboy 101. Like the quote from Mike Searles that I used in the introduction. When people think of the birth of the West they think of it as the birthplace of America. If you think of it as only white America, you would get the impression that only white people are true Americans and everyone else is an interloper. If you start adding these other people — Mexican vaqueros, African American cowboys, and even Native American cowboys — you get a better sense that it’s not only the birthplace of America, but it’s always been multicultural, from the beginning.


Photo by Timothy Duffy

Caleb Caudle’s Casual Country Combos

Having grown up between the mountains and the sea in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, Caleb Caudle would have had a difficult time not developing a deep love and appreciation for the great outdoors. The singer/songwriter’s love of nature is evident in both his sound and his style. Caleb’s style is relaxed, rugged, and, on occasion, a little refined. At any given moment, he is appropriately dressed to ride off on a horse or, with the quick change of a jacket, ready for dinner at an upscale restaurant.

The rugged style breakdown:

  • Textiles, like denim or chambray
  • Work-style leather boots that have acquired a beautiful patina over the years (Pro Tip: look for oil tanned leather, and be sure to condition once a year.)
  • Classic wide-brimmed hat — nothing too cowboy
  • A substantial jacket
  • Worn-in denim

For the most part, Caleb sticks to his well-fitted standards, while keeping it fresh with jackets and accessories. Living a good portion of the year out of a suitcase, he tends to favor clothing with consistency, durability, and adaptability. Nine times out of 10, you can count on seeing him wearing broken-in denim jeans, Red Wing Iron Rangers, a blue button-up (most likely denim), a custom Havstad, some assortment of silver jewelry, and a jacket you’ll most likely want to steal. Caleb’s latest obsession is the one-of-a-kind handmade statement jackets by Manuel Couture. This golden mustard jacket with black embroidery fits him like a glove, even though it was taken right off of the rack (which is very unusual).


Manuel has been creating beautiful pieces here in Nashville, Tennessee, for celebrities and musicians since the 1970s. A Manuel jacket is the perfect piece to instantly elevate an outfit with little to no effort.

By the way: You don’t have to be a musician or celebrity to wear a Manuel piece.

Here are a few styling tips from maker himself:

  • Keep the jacket unbuttoned to loosen up the look. Keep it casual.
  • Although the jackets are expensive, don’t let that stop you from wearing them to everyday events. Wear your jacket anywhere and everywhere! Don’t be afraid to make a statement.


Manuel’s jackets can be paired with a nice tailored shirt for a polished look or with a V-neck shirt to keep it casual.

I love the look of Manuel’s glitzy jackets combined with Caleb’s rugged standards. The combination is a 100 percent Casual Rhinestone Cowboy.

A special thanks to Caitlin Arabis, Manuel, and Marathon Village for working with us.

WATCH: Michaela Anne, ‘Bright Lights and the Fame’

Artist: Michaela Anne
Song: “Bright Lights and the Fame”
Album: Bright Lights and the Fame
Release Date: May 13
Label: Kingwood Records

In Their Words: "Hank Williams once said 'I love you, baby, but you gotta understand when the Lord made me, he made a ramblin’ man.' I’ve always wondered what the song would have been from the wife who stayed behind and may not have even wanted a life on the road. So this is for all those women who loved and lost a wandering cowboy and never got to tell their side of the story." — Michaela Anne


Photo credit: Angelina Castillo

WATCH: Julie Mintz, ‘The Reason’

Artist: Julie Mintz
Hometown: Corpus Christi, TX
Song: "The Reason"
Album: The Thin Veil
Label: Manimal

In Their Words: "Love is so unreasonable that one person can be both our reason to have hope and, almost simultaneously, our reason to despair. So the song is an expression of the extremes to which love takes us. At least that’s how I’ve experienced love … maybe i’m doing it wrong!

Speaking of love (or lack thereof), I met the director/cinematographer of this music video under romantic pretenses. Although we never made it past our first date, a friendship and working relationship endured, and he shot this magical video for me on a horse ranch in Acton, California. The rider in the video is a seasoned rodeo cowboy who insisted on addressing me as 'ma’am' during the entire shoot (no matter how many times I asked him to call me Julie) which sort of made me feel old, but mostly made me long to move home to Texas and fall in love with a real-life cowboy." — Julie Mintz


Photo credit: Oden Roberts