Artist: Crys Matthews Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Latest Album: Reclamation Personal Nicknames (or rejected band names): Papa Bear to my future-wife, Uncle Bear to our youngest nieces, and just Bear to my chosen nephew, River.
What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?
Without question, the song that took me a while to get ‘right’ is my song “Suit and Tie.” This song was written in response to the drag ban being rolled out in Tennessee. Nashville is my home now, so having a front-row seat to the fallout from that bill definitely weighed on my heart. [The ban] was intentionally loosely worded so that law enforcement could have cause to harangue anyone who they saw fit, even a singer-songwriter like me who happens to dress in suits and ties more often than not.
Gender and gender expression are both deeply, deeply personal – they are nobody’s business and certainly not our government’s business. As a social justice songwriter, I take tremendous care to avoid “speaking for someone” or inadvertently appropriating something that I only meant to appreciate. In “Suit and Tie,” only one of the verses is about me directly and offers my perspective as a Butch-identified lesbian who has been wearing clothes that bucked the patriarchy since I was four years old. The other verses are about a nonbinary person, a femme-identified gay man, and a trans woman.
My friend Holly [Near] once called my songs “truth-telling journalism,” which I took as a badge of honor. The notion of being a faithful steward of the truth means a lot to a PK (preacher’s kid) like me, and so it took me about seven drafts before I felt like I had done that with this song.
If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?
My mission statement is: To amplify the voices of the unheard, to shed light on the unseen, and to be a steadfast reminder that hope and love are the truest pathways to equity and justice.
What has been the best advice you’ve received in your career so far?
Unsurprisingly, so much of the best advice I have received during my time on this planet is from my mother. One gem in particular that has seemed more and more profound is, “Babygirl, you better remember whose you are, so you don’t forget who you are.” It was (and still is) her way of reminding me that this industry and this world can try everything in its power to try to change the things about you that make you special, those things that, so often, are the very things that drew them to you in the first place.
You have to be steadfast and secure in who you are at your core. You have to remember your ancestors and your community and the people who knew and loved you before anybody who thought they could help you ‘make it big’ even knew your name. That advice from her is why I have managed to have an actual career that centers my ideals and values. And I think it is why the people in my corner seems to also reflect that ideals and values.
Does pineapple really belong on pizza?
Absolutely not! I keep telling my future-wife that, but she keeps insisting that I’m wrong.
What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?
Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” – before I realized I could write songs, I was fairly certain that I was going to be a high school band director. I have a deep love for classical music. I can conduct the 1812 like nobody’s business!
I know some musicians hope they get famous enough to sing the National Anthem at a Super Bowl or play at the GRAMMYs, but I’m just hoping that I get to conduct the 1812 with a philharmonic at least once before I die.
Music has and continues to be a form of healing for Fancy Hagood. The Arkansas-raised singer who takes his forename from the Drake song – not the Bobbie Gentry and Reba McEntire hit – first began writing songs as a queer junior high student struggling to fit in before dropping out of school at 17 to chase his newfound dreams in Nashville.
Despite growing up listening to everything from contemporary Christian music to The Chicks, Shania Twain, Tim McGraw, Destiny’s Child, and Missy Elliott, it was choir and theatre that brought Hagood’s own creative aspirations to life.
“I really found myself in those classes,” Hagood tells Good Country. “I was dealing with a lot of bullying at the time and writing music became one of the few ways I could truly express myself.”
But upon his arrival to Nashville, Hagood was told that a career as a queer country musician was unlikely. This was followed by a move to Los Angeles, coupled with a transition to pop, that led to him to opening for the likes of Meghan Trainor and Ariana Grande as he juggled a day job at Forever 21. Those opportunities coincided with a decrease in creative control over his own work, something he’s taken back for himself on 2021’s Southern Curiosity and his most recent project, American Spirit, which released October 25.
“I was hell-bent on this album not being a breakup record, but instead one about healing, moving forward, and finding yourself,” Hagood says of American Spirit. “I don’t want to be on the road singing songs about my ex, but I do want to sing about reclaiming your story, bouncing back, and that being the most powerful thing after experiencing something like that.”
Speaking on the phone from his Nashville home, Hagood detailed his ambitious Music City move, experiences with gatekeeping, his work with Apple Music, and more.
What was it like for you moving to Nashville so young? I imagine on one hand it’s quite empowering, but it can also be overwhelming too.
Fancy Hagood: On my song “Fly Away” I sing, “You were scared as hell to take the highway/ You barely knew how to drive…” and that’s the truth. I got my driver’s license when I was 16 and I never drove on the highway until I moved to Nashville, so it was very much a culture shock. I know a lot of people don’t view Nashville as a big city compared to New York or Los Angeles, but when you’re coming from small-town Arkansas it felt like the whole world had opened up for myself. There were parts of it that were really intimidating, but for the most part I had so much enthusiasm that you couldn’t really tell me anything. I had this idea that I was going to be a country superstar and you couldn’t tell me otherwise.
I know things haven’t always been easy for you though. You’ve dealt with some gatekeeping and other hurdles along the way. What’s that been like?
Before I moved to LA, I was getting all this attention in Nashville, selling out shows on my own. A lot was going on for not having any music out in the world yet. I quickly got a publishing deal, but instead of things taking off from there I started getting a bunch of people putting their own opinions on me and putting their own stuff into my music, thus limiting me because of their own fears. That was something I never had going into all of this – fear. It’s a complicated thing when you start mixing art and commerce. The powers that be recognize you have talent, but in figuring out how to make money from it they start thinking of Middle America and who’s going to buy it, leading to a fear game rather than just letting the artist be an artist.
When I moved to LA and got a record deal, that’s where other people’s fears began sinking into my own train of thought and my delusion began slipping away. I was accomplishing all these things, from performing on Dancing With the Stars to hitting the road with Ariana Grande, but on the inside I felt miserable. I realized I’d sacrificed so much of myself and my art to get to a place where other people found it comfortable for me to be successful, but a year and a half into it I just imploded and lost all the deals.
It wasn’t until moving back to Nashville in 2016 that I was able to shake all that off. In 2018 I signed a new publishing deal and began work on my album Southern Curiosity, a slow burn that didn’t release until 2021. It was a really difficult transition having [to go from] a Top 40 hit and everyone treating you like you’re the king of the castle to no hits, no deals, and nobody wants to touch you with a ten-foot pole. It was a humbling experience that taught me that the industry in place was not set up for someone like me to be successful. Because of that, my train of thought stopped being about how do I fit into the industry to thinking about how to create my own, which is exactly what I’ve been doing since Southern Curiosity.
One way you’ve been building that community you speak of is through your role as the host of Trailblazers Radio on Apple Music. What’s that gig meant to you?
I’ve never experienced a company that puts their money where their mouth is quite like Apple. They were supportive of me and my first record before hosting a radio show was even a thought. They first came to me after I guest-hosted on the late Leslie Jordan’s Apple Radio show, which I did three or four times with him. After that, they approached me with the Trailblazers idea and threw me into the deep end. When they offered it to me in 2021 I’d never done radio before and just recently we were picked up for our fourth season. My idea is to feature artists who don’t typically get those opportunities, allowing country music to be for everyone. If you look at our playlist you’ll see all kinds of artists on there, not just what country radio suggests Nashville is.
It’s also been meaningful getting to sit across from actual legends and people who have shattered the glass ceiling in country music. Each artist that’s come through our doors has taught me that not one artist’s journey is the same, which has done a lot for inspiring, motivating, and informing me as an artist.
Are there any particular moments or guests from the show that stand out?
I’d never met Jelly Roll before he came in for his interview and his heart just blew me away. Who he is at his core is so full of joy and his philanthropic side was really inspiring to me. He had just sold out Bridgestone Arena and donated all the money to an organization that helps incarcerated youth. Even when we weren’t recording he was wanting to know more about me, my art, and what I do. He’s just a stand-up person.
A moment ago you mentioned Leslie Jordan, whose loss you touch on (along with your grandmother’s) on the song “Good Grief.” I guess that goes back to songwriting being a method of healing?
Yeah, it came about during a writing session with my friend Jeremy Lutito on a particularly solemn day. We were both in sad moods, but in typical fashion when two guys are alone in a room the last thing they’ll do is ask, “What’s on your heart?” We got to talking about a situation with his family where their dog had passed away the night before, which led to a conversation about grief and having to walk his kids through it for the first time. As he was telling me this I just fell apart thinking of how grief is such a hard thing to come to terms with and reckon with, but sometimes it’s ultimately a good thing. We’d been struggling all day, but that song came about in only an hour or so. It was pure magic.
I’ve seen you refer to this album as a “breakup record,” and I feel like one song that really captures that essence is the title track, “American Spirit.” How’d it come about?
I wrote that with Gina Venier and Summer Overstreet. It started with this idea of cigarette season or a time in your life where you’re smoking and stressed. But with Gina, who’s also a queer artist, it evolved into a song about becoming someone else’s vice. It’s not an unheard-of story in the South, people not being able to fully speak to who they are or how they feel – there’s a lot of closet cases among us. I’ve dealt with that a lot in my time in Nashville and I know others have, too. The song is mostly a nod to those experiences and being an openly queer person dealing with others who aren’t open but are addicted to your openness and freedom and not being able to let that go.
What has music taught you about yourself?
It’s taught me that I’m resilient and can get through anything along with the power of believing in yourself. I’ve gone through a lot in this industry, but I keep coming back. This is what I love and I’m never going to stop.
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Last month, Sam Gleaves released his latest album, Honest, with the intention of sharing his truth. Sam was born and raised in southwest Virginia.
Songs from the project, like “Queer Cowboy” and “Fear,” were written for his partner and detail queer experiences. Lyrics like “Love is stronger than fear” point toward the challenges of being part of the LGBTQ+ community and the need for authentic love. Other songs address his parents, like “Walnut Tree,” written for his father, and “Beautiful” for his mother. Both songs feel nostalgic and share the value of simple things like gratitude and a day outside, under the trees.
In our Out Now interview, Sam shares his current state of mind, his favorite LGBTQ+ artists, the best advice he’s ever received, and more.
What is your current state of mind?
I feel grateful. After years of work, the new record Honest is out in the world! I am fortunate to have worked with a bunch of my dear friends in the creative process. They are all world-class musicians and singers. Hasee Ciaccio and Josh Goforth were the core team in the studio. We arranged the songs together and recorded most of them as a trio. Josh Goforth is a genius producer and his vision really made the songs shine. A number of my favorite musicians and singers guested on various tracks, like Carla Gover, Linda Jean Stokley, Jared Tyler, Jeff Taylor, and Chris Rosser. I’m proud of every second of music we created together.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
What a great question! I create music because I need it. I love storytelling. I walk through memories in my writing process. In the songs I selected for my new record, I wanted to honor the people who have shaped my journey: family, musical collaborators, and lovers. All of those people are tied to places etched onto my heart, especially southwest Virginia and central Kentucky. I process grief through my songwriting, because there is great injustice in our world and that affects the people and places that I love. Most of all, songwriting is restorative and the songs become a mode of connection.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
To try to laugh or smile when I make a mistake. I feel that applies in my musical life and the rest of my life!
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
I have too many favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands to name! I am grateful for friendships with my mentors, who are also pioneers, like Cathy Fink & Marcy Marxer, Peggy Seeger, and the members of Kentucky’s own Reel World String Band.
Over the past decade or so, it has been a great joy to see the many roots musicians that are celebrating their identities, folks like Justin Hiltner, Jake Blount, Jared Tyler, Tyler Hughes, Amythyst Kiah, Pierceton Hobbs, Larah Helayne, and many others. The list goes on and on!
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
When I was in my early twenties, I met Cathy Fink & Marcy Marxer. Cathy and Marcy have been the two most generous, supportive, and loving mentors in my musical life. Cathy produced my first record, Ain’t We Brothers, and Cathy and Marcy both played on it. Their mentoring helped me to learn to believe in my art and pour myself into it. By being life partners and musical partners in the traditional music world, Cathy and Marcy created space for musicians like me to be part of the community. They are committed to celebrating diversity and advocating for social justice through their music. I think that all young LGBTQ+ people should hear Cathy and Marcy’s recordings, especially Cathy’s song “Names” and Fred Small’s song “Everything Possible.” I am one of many folks who have benefited from Cathy and Marcy’s wisdom and friendship.
Around the same time that I met Cathy and Marcy, I heard Gaye Adegbalola perform. Gaye’s music, her luminous personality, and her openness about her identities made a great impact on me. I was deeply moved to witness an artist so firmly rooted in blues traditions telling her story as a queer Black woman. At that time, Gaye had recently recorded an album called Gaye Without Shame, one of my absolute favorite records. I didn’t realize how much shame I held around my queerness until I heard Gaye sing her brilliant songs with such confidence and verve. From the moment we met, Gaye encouraged me and poured out love. As she says herself, Gaye has a whole lot of mojo to give!
Welcome to the playlist you probably didn’t have on your bingo card this year: a series of songs spanning from gospel music to ’90s folk to contemporary singer-songwriters, all curated by a drag queen with a number one Christian album under her belt. I’m Flamy Grant, and I’m honored that BGS invited me to share the songs that healed my very gay, very religious trauma.
My first record was called Bible Belt Baby, so I know a thing or two about growing up in the shadow of a religious fervor that wants boys to be boys, girls to be girls, and gays to keep it in the closet. Here are a few of the songs that helped me not only to come out, but to let this little light of mine keep shining in the faces of a lot of people who’d prefer it were hidden under a bushel. Not today, gatekeepers. Not today. – Flamy Grant
“If You Ever Leave” – Flamy Grant
Oh, hello darling. I’m a drag queen with wares to sell. Of course I’m starting off this playlist with my new single! It is, at least, very much on topic. This ballad from my forthcoming record, CHURCH, pretty much speaks for itself, but I will offer this one, brief, supplemental thought: if there’s a God demanding your worship, but as you get to know him you discover that you are capable of loving people better and more completely than he is… don’t worship that God. Girl… it’s a trap.
“Undamned” – Over the Rhine
Outside of Amy Grant, no artist has had as much of an impact on me as Ohio-based duo Over the Rhine. Karin and Linford have saved my life ten times over. “I’m not your little lost lamb, God might still get my world undamned.” This song somehow manages to be both defiant (personally, my favorite posture) and repentant. Brazenly owning your apostasy while unabashedly surrendering to a cosmic, supernatural love at the same time? Slay. (Bonus: Lucinda Williams delivers an absolutely divine featured vocal. Undamn me anyday, Over the Rhine.)
“Wrap My Arms Around Your Name” – Sarah Masen
When I was growing up, I was only allowed to listen to Christian music. Sarah Masen was always a bit of a square peg in a round Christian music industry hole, and one of the first songwriters I encountered who addressed the conflict, doubt, and dissonance inherent to the faith everyone else around her was putting such a sheen on.
From the first line, “Mystery’s walking on my head again,” I was hooked on this song about yearning to feel deeply spiritually connected. “Does hallelujah wear the same old face?” Excellent existential question, Sarah. Thanks for giving my teenage angst a place to freely ask it.
“Amy’s Song” – Matt Simons
Back in 2018, I was a worship leader for a queer-affirming church in San Diego and we decided for Pride month that year that we would put on a worship service that was 100% produced, led, and delivered by our queer members. I even wanted to make sure every song we sang had been written (or co-written, in this case) by a card-carrying member of the alphabet mafia. I found “Amy’s Song” and loved the music and the message: “Does your God really give a damn” about who I love?
The twist for me was in discovering that one of the song’s co-writers, and its namesake, Ames, and I had played a show together years before in when we were both closeted and going by different stage names. I led “Amy’s Song” at our church that Sunday and Ames and I have since reconnected online. We’ve even been talking about writing something together one of these days. “Amy’s Song 2: The Ballad of Flamy,” perhaps? (Pro tip: after you listen, go watch the music video and making-of mini-doc, both on Matt Simons’ YouTube page. Bring Kleenex.)
“breathe again” – Joy Oladokun
Honestly, it was hard to pick just one song from Joy Oladokun’s extensive repertoire of musical remedies for the religiously wronged. She is both plainspoken and poignant, capturing the heartbreak so many queer people experience when we grow up in families and cultures that suffocate us in a shame-inducing, manipulative desecration of divine love. Joy’s voice in this song just melts me, and it’s a breath of fresh air for the closeted kid I used to be when she uses it to sing, “If I hold my breath until I’m honest, will I ever breathe again?”
“Someday You’ll Wake Up Okay” – Spencer LaJoye
This is inner child work of the highest order and nobody translates the specific into the universal with such clarity as my friend Spencer. “You won’t hear me, but I’ll think it from the future.” Oof. Also, who knew healing your inner child could be such a bop?
“Holy Sunlight” – Steven Delopoulos
Something about the music of Stephen Delopoulos, who fronted the ’90s Christian band Burlap to Cashmere, just feels reverent. It’s like high-church Paul Simon. This song reminds me that even when we’re leaving, we’re really not. “Pack my luggage, fake a smile/ Don’t cry, we’re all connected like the ocean sea.”
“Faith” – Semler
No one is more emblematic of a reckoning for the Christian music industry to me than my pal Semler, who was the first out queer artist to have a number one Christian record a couple years back. In “Faith,” they are eye-level with the abusers of power in the church they’re confronting. “Don’t pretend I’m not your body.” GOOSEBUMPS, HUN. And it’s a song that somehow doubles as a powerful worship anthem of sorts for the disenfranchised? We’re here, we’re queer, and we still have faith, dear. I live.
“Shiloh” – Audrey Assad
I had stopped listening to CCM by the time Audrey got her record deal with juggernaut Christian label Sparrow Records back in 2010, so I missed most of her early career. But during the pandemic, I learned about this (wildly-talented) artist that Christian media outlets were criticizing for “backsliding.” Don’t tempt me with a good time, I said. Audrey and I have become friendly on social media since then, and she’s so much more than a good time. She’s a healer. This song in particular patches up a new part of me every time I hear it. God bless the ones who leave the church but never stop providing care for souls.
“The Way You Get Found” – Story & Tune
I’m proud to say I was the first person to ever hear this excellent song, in the basement of the San Diego house I shared during pandemic with its writers, Karyn and Ben. The line that got me then still gets me today: “I bless the way you carve your name on the gate-kept inner sanctums where they said you couldn’t stay.” Absolute pros, these two, crafting an artful turn of phrase that not only perfectly fits the demanding cadence of the song, but delivers a well-placed gut punch to folks who know what it’s like to stand up to religious bullies when they say we can’t be on their playground.
“Jacob from the Bible” – Jake Wesley Rogers
This song came through my Spotify algorithm one day and stopped me in my tracks. Of course, now Jake is a world famous colorful crooner and besties with Elton John, etc., but when this song came out, I was able to reach him online and successfully petitioned him to be on my podcast. You can still listen to that conversation. We talk about this song, where it came from, what it meant to each of us, and why Jake should definitely be our first gay president. For me, it feels like a life-giving extraction from all the oppressive weight of religious expectation. “I don’t want to be held down by a heavenly man.” Makes me think of Jacob from the Bible when he defeated the angel in an all night wrestling match. (Hot!) And honey, wrestling with God? Relatable.
“Testify to Love” – Wynonna
Okay, this might be the only bonafide CCM hit in the mix. It was originally recorded by Christian supergroup Avalon and if you were anywhere near Christianity in 1997/98, this song is In. Your. Bones. Every once in a while when I’m playing to an audience of a certain age — the ones who were in youth group about the same time as me — I’ll bust this out as a cover during my set and, well, let’s just say it’s so cute to watch half the room have a dramatic That’s So Raven-style flashback. But I propose to you that at the end of the day, it’s a gay song. I mean, the opening lyric is, “All the colors of the rainbow!” It’s all about how love wins!
What really seals the deal is Wynonna Judd’s countrified cover of the song from a very special episode of Touched by an Angel. I dare you to listen and not agree that Christianity peaked in 1997 and we should frankly just ignore everything that’s come out of evangelicalism since this song ruled the airwaves.
“House of Spirits” – Allman Brown
London-based singer-songwriter Allman Brown taps right into all of our generational trauma and father wounds with this achingly gorgeous spiritual about how it feels to sit vigil by the deathbed of a parent who “damned my soul to the fires.” As someone with a damaged and deeply strained relationship with an ultra-religious father who’s still alive, this song gives me a glimpse into the journey ahead, and I find myself praying along with Allman that one day that house of spirits “will feel like home.”
“What You Heard” – Amy Grant
An Amy Grant song on this list was inevitable, but far less likely is a song from a parent who learned better communication skills by going to family therapy with her kids. But that’s exactly what we have in this, the first new song from the Queen of Christian Pop in a decade. I saw Amy perform it last year and she told the story of how group therapy with her family helped her understand that some of the ways she thought she was communicating love to her kids weren’t exactly landing that way on their ears. It’s the kind of thing most survivors of religious trauma can only dream of: a God-fearing parent gaining perspective later in life and using therapy tools to change behavior? A better relationship through effective communication? May we all be so fortunate. But even if we’re not, my favorite diva (she would never call herself that, so someone has to) has gifted us with this beautifully-written song that shows it’s possible. Amy and amen.
“May I Suggest” – Susan Werner
I’ll leave you with the best benediction that’s ever been spoken (sung) over me. I wish someone had invited me to the Susan Werner party years ago, so I’m making it my mission to bring as many plus-ones as possible now that I’m here. Actually, in a way, I’ve been here since high school, I just didn’t know it. The first time I heard this song was as a cover by Ellis Paul and Vance Gilbert back in the late ’90s, but I just assumed it was theirs. Then about a year ago, a friend sent me a track by Susan called “Our Father,” in which she expertly/hilariously reimagines the Lord’s Prayer (“Deliver us from those who think they’re you”). I was hooked and started working my way through her catalog, but it wasn’t until I saw her live at the Kerrville Folk Festival earlier this year that I learned she was the composer of this song I loved when I was 17.
When she sat down at a baby grand and soulfully set out to convince a field full of festival-goers that “this is the best part of your life,” I openly wept. It’s tempting after you escape from oppressive, high-demand religion to fall into the trap of regret for a lost youth and years of missed chances. Susan invites us to consider the other side of that coin: thanks to the trauma you’ve survived, “Inside you know what’s yours to finally set right.” The next time Susan is anywhere near you, drag yourself (yes I said DRAG) and everyone you love to the show — and hope that she sings this benediction over you, too.
Ally Westover is a Nashville-based artist known for a blend of lullaby-like sounds and groovy indie-folk tunes, stitched together with warmth, imagery, and honesty. Her new single, “Rotten Milk” (available September 6), is an exploration of queer identity. The lyrics circle relatable themes like love gone sour and compulsory heterosexuality – a term coined by Adrienne Rich to describe societal expectations queer women face around conforming to heterosexual norms. The concept resonates with many queer women who struggle to navigate their identities.
It’s exciting to feature an artist who is opening a discussion around these ideas. Ally’s EP, Changing Room, dives further into these themes and is to be released in January 2025. In our Out Now interview, she shares her current state of mind, what it means to her to be an LGBTQ+ artist, and how she balances the business and creative aspects of being an artist.
You are releasing an EP in 2025 titled Changing Room. What was the process of creating this project? And, what do you hope listeners will take away from this collection of songs?
I created this project with my friend and musical mentor, Oliver Hopkins. He is one of the people that inspires me most in this world and to make a record with him is an absolute dream come true. I came to him with a few songs that I loved and believed in, but wanted him to help me make them sound more focussed and sonically interesting.
We wrote “Rotten Milk” in his backyard in the height of the summer heat after I had just gotten out of a relationship with a man that felt like a stranger. The track that follows is “Waterbug,” which is my absolute favorite. It encompasses queer desire and yearning. The last song is called “Digital Body” and it’s all about decompressing and slowing things down. I hope that listeners enjoy the songs and feel maybe a little more understood in their own lives. More than anything I am just happy to have the songs in the world!
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
Songwriting itself is pure magic. The energy present during the process is what propels me to dig for more songs. I create music because I have to! It is the way that I work through my emotions and thoughts and fears. It is the time capsule for my life. It is the way that I cope with being human.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
Initially, I create music for myself. And when it is done, I look forward to sharing the songs with other people so that they may feel less alone as I believe we all have similar struggles. It’s my hope that through sharing music, we all feel more connected to each other at a soul level.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Courtney Barnett, MUNA, Big Thief, Chappell Roan, Katy Kirby, Arlo Parks, Tash Sultana, Cassidy Maude, Ab Lag, Molly Martin, Erin Rae, Liv Greene, Purser, Jobi Riccio, and Saltwater Baby are some of my favorites. Wow! There are so many! I am so grateful for queer visibility!
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
The band MUNA saved me! Chanting songs about being gay and worthy of love really helped me feel empowered. I have an incredible sister, friends, and therapist who have stood by me through the hardest moments. The queer community in Nashville is amazing. Shout out to Jonda, the owner of Lipstick Lounge, for creating a safe haven for queer people. It was only when I realized that it is not my job to make other people comfortable, was I set free.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
I would not be openly making music as a queer person had it not been for the Black lesbians and trans people of color that fought back during Stonewall riots. Thank you to Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, and Stormé DeLarverie for fighting for my right to exist and to love who I love. Being an LGBTQ+ musician means that “no one is free until everyone is free.” It means liberation, justice and resistance.
We’ve had a conversation before about how you left the music industry for a few years and decided you needed to return. What was that like for you? Could you share what drew you back and the importance of creating and sharing your music?
In the time that I was away from music, it was still plaguing my every thought. I tried to study fashion to explore a different creative outlet and that brought me to sustainability, as I learned about the horrors of the fast fashion industry. Because of this, I make all of my merch on thrifted clothes in hopes to be as eco-conscious as possible. Sustainability led me to an existential crisis so I switched majors to philosophy, which only dug me a deeper hole. It was during my philosophy class that I realized I must pursue my bliss – music! Coming back to music as my career focus felt like coming home.
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
When I think of “future me” I imagine myself traveling and playing shows with a small band, throwing killer dinner parties, and tending to a sprawling garden. The ideal vision of my future has much to do with “present me” leaning deeper into the things that I already do.
What is your greatest fear?
I have realized that I am the person who will ultimately affect the outcome of my life – so I would say that I am most afraid of the part of myself that harbors doubt.
What is your current state of mind?
My current state of mind is a collage of gratitude and helplessness; of joy and sorrow; of yearning and grieving. I grieve the genocide in Palestine amongst the many other humanitarian crises in the Congo, Sudan, and in the United States. I find it really challenging some days to be hopeful, but I try to find joy in the small moments and do everything I can to uplift marginalized voices.
I am hopeful about creating and sharing the project that I have been working on for over a year now. Entering into the fall season, I am looking forward to slowing down, going inward, and continuing to lean into my cozy home and my community.
How do you balance being on social media, promoting your music, playing shows, and looking after your mental health?
I tell myself that I want to do this for the rest of my life, so if it takes the rest of my life to do it then so be it. I remind myself that the long game is what matters and that slowly chipping away making good art is what counts. I lean on my community and try my best. I’ve also been trying to intentionally rest without guilt and to say yes to fun experiences that do not center around music. I have found that I create the best and most interesting art when I am living my life for myself. My partner is very organized and business focussed and they gave me some killer advice. They said, “Why don’t you focus strictly on music business for 2 hours a day, in the morning, so that you don’t have to spiral about it for the next 22 hours?” They created the term “Ally’s Office Hours” and it has helped tremendously.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Soft sunlight and fresh air seep through my window. I indulge in light roast pour over coffee and fresh fruit for breakfast. I sit at the kitchen table with my journal and my mini Yamaha as ideas for songs flood my mind like a heavy summer rain. Once the rain has cleared, I walk to the grocery store and grab some fresh seafood, sharp cheeses, and Castelvetrano olives. The rest of the dinner setup will be a harvest from my garden. I pop by the local wine shop for a floral Spanish white wine and perhaps a juicy beaujolais. Friends will arrive at golden hour to a home full of fresh flowers and candle light. We eat and drink and enjoy rich conversation over a delicious meal. I fall asleep beside my lover as we count our blessings.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
“If it is urgent, then it is not God.” I can be so impulsive about my decision making, and when a friend told me this, it blew my mind. A sense of urgency is likely never a good sign that something is right.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
I am releasing my second EP, Changing Room, in January and could not be more excited. The first single, “Rotten Milk,” comes out today, September 6!
Changing Room encapsulates self exploration, and more specifically queer exploration. The project begins with “Rotten Milk.” It’s about the last man that I ever dated. We were together for a few short months in the summer and much like the milk at the restaurant, the love, too, had gone sour. It was as if I was playing dress up. I couldn’t get access to my true self until I freed myself of compulsory heterosexuality.
I am opening for Louisa Stancioff, Molly Parden, and Eliza Edens in Portland, Maine on October 4 and again in Washtington, D.C. on October 15. The plan is to go on a sweet little tour in early spring to share the songs on Changing Room and then get back to creating more tunes.
Great Aunt is an Australian folk duo composed of Megan Bird and Chelsea Allen. For a small outfit, they showcase a wide array of instruments – including mandolin, resonator guitar, acoustic guitar, double bass, percussive instruments, and vocals – with detailed harmonic arrangements.
Their music is groovy, with a foot-stomping feel as the base underlying relatable lyrics and stories, primarily drawing from Appalachian folk, bluegrass, and gospel music. Great Aunt is a duo with an impressive log of tours, festival shows, and releases that they’ve independently managed. Their most recent single, “What’s A Girl To Do Now,” covers issues around body image, identity, gender, safety, and equality.
We are eagerly awaiting the release of their debut full-length album, It’s All Downhill From Here, expected later this year. In the meantime, we are honored to highlight this incredible duo from all the way down in Australia, Great Aunt.
You just released “What’s A Girl To Do Now?” This powerful song addresses the struggles that women face around being “woman enough” – body image, identity, and more. Could you share more about the inspiration and meaning behind this song?
We started writing it when a lot of awful things were happening to women in our parliament that no man was ever held accountable for. We then spent a lot of time reflecting from our own place of privilege, as we watched First Nations women dying in [state] custody and the trans community being politicized and targeted by extreme acts of violence. We wanted to acknowledge how discrimination and acts of violence against women further intensifies at the intersections of race and gender. There’s a lot of work to do to support each other and fight for equity, where everyone feels safe, included, and as valued as any other woman. Space is infinite, there’s a place for all of us, except TERFs maybe.
You’re planning to release your debut full-length album, It’s All Downhill From Here, later this year. What has that process been like for you? What might listeners expect to hear from this much-anticipated release?
A diverse range of folk songs and a lot of personal stories to tell. We’ve been recording and mixing it ourselves with a vision to have some common themes throughout the album. Our main goal is to remain honest and sincere, and to try and translate that into the album.
As independent artists, what has the process been like for you to secure so many festival placements and shows? How do you balance the creative side of being artists with the business needs to book shows, attend conferences, and promote your music?
We are fiercely independent! The balance is often skewed towards the business side of things with the amount of touring we’ve accomplished in the last 12 months, including three U.S. tours. The admin feels never ending, to say the least, but we both divide and conquer with festival applications, booking tours, and the PR side of things. We even do our own artwork!
Now that we’ve put in the effort, we’re starting to get invited to festivals and events around the world, which is really exciting. This year we’re balancing it in favor of writing and recording, while we start booking our next U.S. tour for 2025!
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
In the short sighted future – to continue touring the U.S., Australia, and abroad.
More importantly, we want to continue to embrace and help grow this music community so we can all thrive. We know that without the help of this community we really wouldn’t have had the incredible experiences we’ve had, so we will continue to pay it forward however we can.
What is your greatest fear?
We fear for all of us. That things don’t get better and we never find our way as humans. The feeling of being unable to make an impact or calling for change and it falls on deaf ears, is the crossroads a lot of us have been at for a while now. We see this as key as western countries enter the next round of elections.
What is your current state of mind?
Burnout and worry, yet still optimistic? Right now we make sure we find pockets of joy, away from our devices and the news.
What would a “perfect day” look like for you?
Starting off with a big pot of coffee… or two. Then sitting in our pajamas together, in our home studio, writing and recording music throughout the day, maybe sneak in a video game or two. Then we head to a show. It doesn’t matter if we or someone else we admire is on the stage, but it’s a room full of friends and heartfelt stories.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
It’s a form of communication and expression that is a part of both of us. Creating or writing music is a constant process of growth and exploration. When we “finish” writing a song, record it down, and release it, it still continues to grow and evolve as we perform it.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
Our songs start from personal experience, a reflection of something from our lives. While we don’t write music with an audience, we do hope that someone out there listening to it feels less alone, and can hold onto that connection.
What’s the best advice you’ve ever gotten?
That a career in music is a long journey.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Some of the best music out there right now is queer music, and the list is forever growing. Adeem the Artist, Jessye DeSilva, Wiley Gaby, Crys Matthews, Brittany Ann Tranbaugh, Julie Nolen, and the beacon of light that is Allison Russell! Oh my!
We also adore Flamy Grant, Karen & the Sorrows, Amythyst Kiah, Jake Blount, and some local Australian favs are Charlotte Le Lievre, Little Wise, the Double Dole String Band, Kerryn Fields, Hana and Jessie-Lee’s Bad Habits, This Way North, and the Tuck Shop Ladies.
For anyone reading this who might not be out of the closet, were there any specific people, musicians, or resources that helped you find yourself as a queer individual?
I, [Megan], was lucky enough to attend this place called Rock’n’Roll High School in Melbourne. It was a place started by Stephanie Bourke, an icon in Australian music. She created a safe space for young women, non-binary, and queer folks to start bands and taught us how to navigate the industry. On reflection, I distinctly remember I felt safe to be myself and finally found a place of belonging, where my queerness or size wasn’t singled out as an issue to fix. It was a significant turning point for me, and it came at the perfect time.
I came out when I was a young teen, and was fighting to live every day. I had the support of my family, but was constantly abused at school and even the school itself told my parents I didn’t belong. It nearly had a devastating impact. Please. Hold on. Find a space that makes you feel alive. Find people and community that don’t question or challenge your identity, and let you just be, that is your family. If you haven’t found it yet, please don’t give up. When you do find these people, the feeling of liberation will overwhelm you with joy. Great Aunt loves you, we’re rooting for you.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician?
Being a musician helped me process and get comfortable within my own skin when trying to understand my own identity. We’re queer women, our music is written from our perspective, and our songs are literal stories from our lives, so it’s inherently queer music. We don’t underestimate the importance of visibility and allyship. It’s critical for us that our music is a safe space for everyone.
What has it been like for you as Australian artists touring in the US?
As folk music has such deep seated roots within American culture, we are always humbled by the breadth of the music community in the U.S. and how welcoming and supportive they have been to us. We reflect on how lucky we are to be able to do this, and the listening rooms we’ve played that have been full to the brim with people we now call friends. There’s no music scene like it.
What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
There’ll be a couple of U.S. tours, that’s for sure. Once we have this album out, we’re already thinking about another release to follow shortly after, and really want to make the most of a slightly quieter tour schedule this year.
Despite her well-earned reputation as one of Nashville’s strongest songwriters and nuanced singers, Brandy Clark had gotten used to not hearing her name called at Grammy Awards ceremonies. Two years ago, her friend Brandi Carlile decided to do something about that. Carlile produced Clark’s fourth studio album, Brandy Clark, which earned five of the six nominations she got this year, upping her tally to 17 — one of which turned into her first win. Clark was honored for Best Americana Performance for “Dear Insecurity,” a duet with Carlile. After her win, Clark told a backstage interviewer, “Brandi is the reason why I made this record and why this song is what it is.”
But as Clark explained in an earlier BGS interview, the catalyst for that collaboration — her most personal, affecting work yet — was one of those Grammys she didn’t win.
So how did Brandi’s involvement come about?
Brandy Clark: The label wanted me to record two more songs for a deluxe version of Your Life is a Record. I had made that record with Jay Joyce, and he couldn’t do it. Tracy Gershon, a mutual friend of Brandi and I, said, “What if Brandi produced?” And Brandi was willing to do it. It was a really good experience, mostly because Brandi really follows her gut instinct, which is so amazing. I tend to overthink. And then “Same Devil,” which was part of that, ended up nominated at the next Grammys. We didn’t win, and she leaned over to me and said I looked really devastated. I didn’t remember feeling particularly devastated, but she said I just looked really sad, so she said, “Hey, buddy, we’ll get one. I’d love to do a whole record with you.” I was like, “Really?” And she said, “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I think these things through when I get involved in a project; I think about the artwork, I think about everything. I’d see it as your return to the Northwest, because I’m from the Northwest.”
It was such a different experience for me, because Brandi’s an artist. I think producers lead with whatever their original instrument is; if they were a guitar player, they lead with that. If they were a songwriter, they lead with that. I’ve never worked with a producer that could sing to me what they heard, and also keep me from over-singing. And she wanted as many live vocals as possible. That was different for me. And she really challenged me to get to the heart of who I am as an artist. No producer’s ever asked me to make lyric changes; she said, “I just want to believe that you believe everything you’re saying.”
What’s an example of a lyric she asked you to change?
“Buried;” the second verse used to start out, “I’ll read ‘Lonesome Dove,’ I’ll start doing yoga,” and she said, “I don’t like that yoga line.” I was thinking, “I don’t care if you like it or not.” That was my first [reaction]. I said, “Why not?” She’s like, “Well, I just don’t believe that you do yoga.” I said, “I don’t.” She’s like, “Then it shouldn’t be in the song.” And she was right.
You do heartbreak songs so extraordinarily well. Even the ones that aren’t sometimes feel like heartbreak songs, because they’re so full of emotion. “Dear Insecurity” — to hear that coming from the perspective of two women who are both stars now, and yet it’s so believable — it’s not like two women just singing “Oh, yeah, we’re insecure,” you really believe it. That’s what’s so striking about all of your songwriting, but to be able to do that, and do it well, and to know that it doesn’t matter how big you get, you still experience that …
Oh, I have massive insecurities. I think everybody does. That’s why I think that song hits; to be human is to be insecure. And the more willing you are to admit those insecurities, the less they rule you. That song came from— I had gotten my feelings hurt. A really great friend of mine says insecurity is the ugliest human emotion; it’s what makes people do mean things. So I was trying to remember that on the way to my writing appointment that morning, because I wanted to get into a good headspace to write with someone I had never written with. When I was sitting in the car, I started to think about my own insecurities, and the things that they have messed up along the way for me. I thought, “Wouldn’t that be something, to write a letter to insecurity?”
Why did you and Brandi choose to duet on that song?
Well, going in, I never heard that song as a duet. The first day we were in the studio, she said, “What do you think about ‘Dear Insecurity’ being a duet?” I loved the idea; I heard it as a duet with a guy, because men have insecurities just like women do. She really wanted Lucinda Williams. Because we hadn’t secured anybody yet, she said, “I’ll sing the scratch [vocal], and then we’ll see about getting Lucinda in here.” So she started to sing, and we really got lost in it.
Brandi had also been pretty adamant that she didn’t want to be a feature on this record, because of producing it, and because we had done that other feature, [“Same Devil”]. She just didn’t want it to look like she was trying to get featured. But when it was going down, I could just feel this magic happening. When I listened to the board mix, I thought, “Oh, God, what am I going to do? I don’t want to hear anybody but her on this now.” I loved the way that our voices battled each other and melded together. So I said the next day, “Brandi, I really want it to be you.” And she was like, “Oh, that’s all you had to say.” It was perfect because we have similar insecurities. We’re around the same age, both gay, like, there’s insecurities in that. We’re very similar, and very different. And it just worked.
In what other ways did she influence or impact this album?
There were a couple of things that I’ll take with me forever. When she was asking me to make lyric changes, that really bothered me. It felt disrespectful to the co-writers to do that on the fly, and I told her that. I said, “These songs, none of them were just slapped together, because I don’t write that way.” No offense to anyone who does, I just have to put a lot of thought into songs for ’em to be good. And it took other people to write these songs that I respect and that put their heart and soul into this, too. And I like to be in service to the song. And she said, “Well, I understand that. I think this time, you need to be in service to the artist.” It put me in a different space as an artist than I’ve ever been in. I always come at things as a songwriter first. This record, I came at it as an artist first.
The other thing – and I’m so glad that I asked her this question, and that she answered it the way she did, because it makes me think differently; I’ve never worked with a producer on a record that I was a co-writer with. So they’re always, to me, the last writer on the songs. The positive is that they’re making choices based on what they feel when they hear them the first time, like a listener. …I always give a producer probably 18 to 24 songs, then I’m just too close to pick the 10 or 12. So she picked the songs that she thought should be on this record. When she gave me her list of what she really wanted us to dive into, I said, “Why did you choose those 10?” And she said, “Well, they were all great songs; but I chose the songs that I felt like you wrote in your bedroom.” That was such a great thing… it reminded me that when all of us picked up a guitar or pad of paper the first time, it wasn’t to impress anybody. It was to just get some emotion out that we could only get out through song.
There’s another song on here, “She Smoked in the House,” that I wrote about my grandma that I never thought would be on any record. I thought I was just writing it for me. People have responded so strongly to that song, it just helps me know I need to double down on me and what I’m feeling, instead of what I think people want to hear. That sounds really simple, but it’s easy to forget that if we’re feeling something, other people are gonna feel it. And if we’re not, nobody’s gonna feel it.
You once told me your mission was to write a classic like “Crazy.” While listening to this album and Shucked [the Broadway musical for which she and Shane McAnally co-wrote the music and lyrics], it occurred to me that you have. A song like “Friends,” that’s gonna be sung at thousands of weddings and graduations, and “Take Mine” and “Up Above the Clouds” and these other tracks… I kept thinking of the great Randy Newman tearjerker songs in Pixar films.
I’ve always thought “Up Above the Clouds” should be in one of those.
Totally! Are you working on that?
Yes. It makes me feel amazing that you feel like I have written a classic song like that. I’m going to hang on to that today, and then I’m going to let it go. Because what keeps me hungry as a songwriter is to think I haven’t.
You mentioned you might do something else with Brandi. Are you already talking about that?
No, but we clearly work well together and people like what we do. She’s a little bit like Shane for me; I feel like the sum of our parts is greater than two people.
I love that you’re all part of this connected group of people, especially women. I remember Allison Russell crediting Brandi with elevating her family out of poverty, and to be able to do that for so many people …
That’s a testament to Brandi. She’s on top of the world and she’s choosing to elevate other people; she said to me when she approached me about this, “You deserve to be in the same spot as me on festival posters. That’s what I want.” A lot of people have a scarcity mindset. She has an abundant mindset and wants to raise up the music of other people that inspires her. That inspires me to do the same.
My trajectory is on a really great path right now. And then I look to someone like her and think, “OK, where do I pay it forward? Where do I lift someone else up?” Because it’s really easy when you’re just grinding and trying to get your own star to rise, to not look around and think, “Oh, how can I help someone else?” But she really inspires me to do that.
Traditional country phenom and Kentuckian Tyler Childers has announced his upcoming album, Rustin’ In The Rain (available September 8, 2023), with a brand new single and music video, “In Your Love.” Written and creative directed by New York Times bestselling author Silas House, the video tells a gay love story between two working class, Appalachian men – played by queer A-list actors and celebrities Colton Haynes and James Scully. The visuals for “In Your Love” tell one of country music’s most prominent and visible LGBTQ+ narratives to date, entering an industry landscape that has become more and more (openly) queer over the past decade.
“In Your Love” reminds of songs and albums released not just by left-leaning, more mainstream artists like Childers and Parker Millsap, but also by queer artists themselves, telling working-class stories and histories just like that constructed and depicted by House and director Bryan Schlam. In 2015, gay banjo player, singer-songwriter, and fellow Kentucky-resident Sam Gleaves released a landmark album, Ain’t We Brothers, which dripped with the exact same lived experiences and soot-tinged patina that inform Childers’ new video. In the past couple of years, releases by LGBTQ+ identified music makers like Amanda Fields, Willi Carlisle, Adeem the Artist, Amythyst Kiah, Jaimee Harris, and more trod similar ground. It’s notable still that an artist – however outlaw- or fringe-identified – as mainstream as Tyler Childers and with as broad a fanbase as his would choose to not only highlight queer, working-class storytelling, but to do so in a way that normalizes and re-centers these ways of being in Kentucky, the South, and Appalachia.
Rustin’ In The Rain will be released via RCA Records on Childers’ own imprint, Hickman Holler Records, on September 8. Via press release, Childers describes the inspiration that birthed Rustin’: “This is a collection of songs I playfully pieced together as if I was pitching a group of songs to Elvis. Some covers, one co-write, and some I even wrote in my best (terrible) Elvis impersonation, as I worked around the farm and kicked around the house. I hope you enjoy listening to this album as much as I enjoyed creating it. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Clearly, the legacy of “The King” is merely one way drama, mystique, nuance, entertainment, and Southern-ness coalesce within this new project from one of the most exciting voices and perspectives in country.
Katie Pruitt may be a new kid on the roots music block, but she is quickly making a name for herself as a gifted writer and gripping vocalist. Her debut record, Expectations, was released on Rounder Records in 2020, and although the year didn’t allow for touring, she remains hard at work sharing her music. Last summer Pruitt began a series of cover videos to pay homage to the gay women whose careers fueled her own hopes and aspirations. Titled the “Out of the Closet Series,” the videos offer Pruitt’s renditions of songs by Tegan and Sara, Indigo Girls, and in this final installment, Brandi Carlile.
About the cover series, Pruitt says, “I picked a collection of songs by gay women in particular who have inspired me to be transparent in my music. I think representation is huge… If it weren’t for people like Indigo Girls, Brandi Carlile, Courtney Barnett, and Tegan and Sara, I don’t think I would have been brave enough to be as honest as I was on Expectations.” Pruitt’s bravery and honesty are exactly what have earned her acclaim from outlets like NPR and Rolling Stone, just to name a couple. If you haven’t yet heard it, treat yourself to Katie Pruitt’s Expectations, and watch this lovely performance of Brandi Carlile’s “Turpentine.”
Artist:Matt Lovell Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee Song: “The Way That It Was” Album:Nobody Cries Today Release Date: June 19, 2020
In Their Words: “‘The Way That It Was’ is probably the most personal song on the album. I wrote it with my friend Mike Applegate during a tumultuous time that happened to fall right before the recording of Nobody Cries Today. I think everyone probably has experienced some version of the story told in this song — some ‘way that it was’ that they have left behind. Anyone who knows me personally will know exactly what I’m referencing in this song, and will likely hear the tired pain in my voice as I sing about my ‘way that it was.’ As a gay man of Southern origin, my road to self-acceptance was a long one, with many stops along the way. Nearly losing my life in a shooting somehow created just the sort of disruption needed to help me find that acceptance — both for myself and for the world I’m living in.” — Matt Lovell
Photo credit: Jason Lee Denton
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