Today, Bourbon & Beyond, the world’s largest music and bourbon festival, announced its lineup for their 2024 event, to be held in Louisville at the Kentucky Expo Center September 19 through 22, 2024. With headliners such as Neil Young, Zach Bryan, Tyler Childers, and many more, the festival promises a roster filled-to-bursting with the best acts from country, Americana, bluegrass, and beyond.
BGS will return to the festival for ours and the festival’s sixth consecutive year, once again curating the musicians and bands that will grace the Bluegrass Situation Stage. Housed in the Kroger Big Bourbon Bar, the BGS stage will feature bluegrass, line dancing, and as much bourbon as you can drink from dozens of distilleries. Each day of the festival our stage will culminate with performances by Sam Bush Band, the Jerry Douglas Band, Yonder Mountain String Band, and Tony Trischka’s Earl Jam. Plus, don’t miss exciting acts like IBMA Entertainer of the Year winners Sister Sadie, newly-minted Black string band New Dangerfield, and KY neighbors the Local Honeys and the Kentucky Gentlemen. See the full list of performers for the Bluegrass Situation Stage below.
Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear, via press release, had this to say about the festival: “The Commonwealth of Kentucky is honored to be hosting Bourbon & Beyond in Louisville this September,” he said. “The festival brings in fans from all over the world and showcases the best of Kentucky; highlighting our rich culture of bourbon, the best in local culinary, and a top tier musical lineup. We can’t wait to welcome fans once again for this great tradition that we all in Kentucky are proud to call our own.”
First-rate bands and artists from across the American roots music community can be found throughout Bourbon & Beyond’s lineup, not only at the Bluegrass Situation Stage. This year, Bourbon & Beyond adds two new secondary stages, as well as the usual BGS Stage and the Oak and Barrel main stages. From Tedeschi Trucks Band and Black Pumas to Melissa Etheridge and Molly Tuttle & Golden Highway, there’s truly something for everyone. Don’t miss sets by Larkin Poe, Josh Ritter, Jade Bird, Lyle Lovett, Sierra Ferrell, Devon Gilfillian, Vincent Neil Emerson, Robert Finley, Hiss Golden Messenger, and so many more.
Another highlight of Bourbon & Beyond each year are the bourbon and culinary events, workshops, and activations that feature celebrity chefs and food-and-drink experts such as Chris Blandford, Amanda Freitag, Ed Lee, Chris Santos, and more. All in all, Bourbon & Beyond promises to yet again be your complete music, bourbon, and food festival in beautiful Kentucky. Tickets are on sale now – we hope you’ll join us in Louisville for another year of Bourbon & Beyond!
The Bluegrass Situation Stage Lineup
Sam Bush Band The Jerry Douglas Band Yonder Mountain String Band Tony Trischka’s Earl Jam: A Tribute to Earl Scruggs Sister Sadie New Dangerfield Big Richard Rob Ickes & Trey Hensley The Brothers Comatose The Local Honeys Tray Wellington Band Chatham County Line The Kentucky Gentlemen East Nash Grass Mountain Grass Unit Jacob Jolliff Band …and more to be announced!
Photo Credit: Nathan Zucker, courtesy of Bourbon & Beyond.
BGS is proud to announce the launch of a new brand in 2024: GOOD COUNTRY. By this point, you may have seen or heard mentions of Good Country on our site, at our events, and on our socials feeds as we prepare this exciting new expansion for our readers and fans.
Launching in mid-January 2024, Good Country is a curated, bespoke email newsletter that will highlight all good country from across the roots music landscape. Every other week, GC will deliver high-end country music reporting, long reads, playlists, videos, and exclusive content from your favorite country artists direct to your email inbox. As you scroll, you’ll dive into the deep and broad world of Good Country, from gritty and raw Americana to glitzy and glamorous radio hits, from bluegrass supergroups to southern rock ensembles and swampy string bands. Sign up for Good Country now.
“Good Country is a brand new horizon for BGS,” says managing editor Justin Hiltner. “But, at the same time, it’s nothing more than a reinforcement of our values as a media company and roots music community. Country – like its family members bluegrass, folk, and Americana – is more than just music, it’s a lifestyle, an identity, a way of being. There’s so much good country being made out there right now and we know our audience agrees. Whatever ‘good country’ means, you’ll know it when you hear it. And you’ll hear plenty of it in this newsletter!”
Each issue of Good Country will center features, think pieces, and interviews penned by the best writers and thinkers in country music highlighting not just the biggest names in the genre, but new and upstart artists as well. Exclusive newsletter content will live alongside deep dive playlists, sonic explorations, and thoughtful examinations of what country is, who makes it, and to whom it can belong – everyone.
BGS co-founder, actor, activist, and musician Ed Helms, will be featured in each issue as well with “Ed’s Picks,” artists and bands selected by Helms himself, direct from his own listening.
“From the very beginning, BGS was forged on a foundation of celebrating the full spectrum of roots music fans and artists,” explains BGS co-founder Amy Reitnouer Jacobs. “This community has never been one thing, nor has it been static. It’s a diverse, expansive, and ever-changing art form. The same can and should be said for country music. And that’s why now is the perfect time to create a more representative media landscape. It’s time for Good Country.”
Good Country’s first issues will feature music, art, and content featuring Zach Bryan, Sierra Ferrell, Amanda Fields, Veronique Medrano, Shania Twain, Chris Stapleton, Vincent Neil Emerson, Brittney Spencer, and so many more. No matter your entry point to this music, with our new brand and newsletter you will find endless Good Country to enjoy. Interact with content in your email inbox, on our website, and on our social media – wherever you are, Good Country will meet you there.
Good Country isn’t about deciding what is or isn’t good country music. Good Country is a place. It’s a way of looking at the world, a way of enjoying music. If you think it’s good and you think it’s country, then you’ve found Good Country.
What is Good Country? A great question, to be sure. It’s a new brand coming from BGS in 2024 that will feature all good country. A bi-weekly email newsletter that’s curated and one-of-a-kind, Good Country will feature long reads, playlists, videos, interviews, and more all highlighting the best of country music from across the roots music landscape.
But what is good country? A much more nebulous question! As one wise social media commenter put it, “You’ll believe it when you hear it.” We posed the “What is good country?” question to our BGS contributors and the year-end list they’ve put together is striking in its depth, breadth, inclusion – and it’s full of good country, certainly. From Tanner Adell’s boundary-pushing, pop-inflected country trap to Dean Johnson’s retro, genuine sounds; from Jelly Roll to Kara Jackson, “Fast Car” to “Lavender Country,” good country has been all around us all year.
Whatever good country is to you, we hope you’ll find plenty of it below, within our list of country favorites from across 2023. And, we hope these albums, songs, and performances whet your appetite for plenty more Good Country, coming from BGS in early 2024. Sign up now to be one of the first to enjoy our upcoming newsletter, direct to your email inbox.
Tanner Adell, Buckle Bunny Before we forget, “Old Town Road” was not only a novelty, but a masterpiece of a country song, and a reminder that the South has always been a vulgar mix – the more vulgar, the more forward-thinking, and the more complexly, political. In a rejoinder to stupid, butch truck songs – and a specific “fuck you” to people like Aldean – Adell’s Buckle Bunny is filled with all kinds of specific geographic detail (see the chorus to “Bake It,” which goes: “Brown sugar caramel/ Ding ding Patti LaBelle/ Sweet potato pussy pie/…”) in service of sexual and political liberation.
On the highlight of the album, “FU 150,” she owns the truck, the means of production, and any man who trifles with either her or her truck. This has been a year of ambivalent women pushing against dumb men (See Pillbox Patti, Elle King, Tigirlily Gold, Kelsea Ballerini, Hannah Dasher, etc.), but this might be the best time I had listening to music this year, and considering how much we had to endure, can’t we have a little bit of fun? – Steacy Easton
“Fast Car” – Luke Combs, via Tracy Chapman It’s painfully obvious how long overdue it is for Tracy Chapman to be recognized, in this way, as a pivotal American songwriter – plus, the absurdity of her being the first Black person ever to win CMA’s Song of the Year. Still, it’s worth celebrating just how great it is to hear “Fast Car” on the radio again, and for a whole new legion of fans to discover it. – Amy Reitnouer Jacobs
Sierra Ferrell, “Fox Hunt” and “The Garden” We would be remiss if we failed to include the astoundingly radiant Sierra Ferrell from our inaugural year-end round-up for Good Country. From her baffling multi-instrumentalism to her gilded attire to the floral ornamentation of her microphone, Ferrell has captivated the hearts of troves of roots music fans across the globe. Most recently, she graced us with her single, “Fox Hunt,” and “The Garden,” an original song recorded for the soundtrack of The Hunger Games: The Ballad Of Songbirds & Snakes.
Each release is enchanting in its own right; “Fox Hunt” corrals listeners to the dance floor with its sturdy backbeat and fiery fiddles, while “The Garden” delivers a gorgeous, melancholic waltz full of gentle mourning and fertile metaphor. Ferrell’s capacity to encapsulate such a wide range of emotions through the many textures and tonalities of her talent casts her as a superlative country artist of this day and age. We anticipate, with great impatience, the release of her next album, due to arrive sometime in early 2024. – Oriana Mack
Amanda Fields, What, When and Without Whether singing with a hard-driving bluegrass band (like 2019’s “Brandywine”), or atop a pedal steel and gut-strung upright bass, Amanda Fields’ voice cuts right through the mix to deliver thoughtful and resonating lyrics. This is the case on What, When and Without, Fields’ first full-length album, and her first project in the country music realm. Produced by Megan McCormick, the album is a master class in taste, musical restraint, and great singing and songwriting. Fields’ Appalachian-inflected vocal, rested on this sonic foundation, says good country about as clearly as it can. You’re going to want to put on headphones for this one! – Thomas Cassell
Paisley Fields at The Knitting Factory, October 15 What is obvious is that Paisley Fields is an important songwriter and a frontperson of immense talent. What only became clear to me at the Knitting Factory’s new Baker Falls, New York City location on October 15th is that Paisley is also an angel. It might have been the reflection of stage lights on sequin, or the fiery righteousness of blues-rocker “Burn This Statehouse Down” (a Mya Byrne co-write), but I left the show convinced of their divine purpose as a prophet of cosmic country. During the encore, I joined the band on stage for an impromptu tribute to our dear departed auntie Patrick Haggerty and forgot all the words to “Lavender Country,” but the whole room sang, “Y’all come out, come out” until I remembered. – Lizzie No
Kara Jackson, Why Does the Earth Give Us People to Love? You might find Kara Jackson’s manner frank and plain-spoken. That’s a trap. Yes, the young Chicago-raised singer, songwriter, and poet (she was the US Youth Poet Laureate for 2019-20) puts much on the surface, but it’s slippery, shifting ground. It’s right there in the title of her first full album, Why Does the Earth Give Us People to Love?, a question with no answer. She contemplates such things as if on a walk in the park – wandering, meandering. The genre-defiant music, crafted with collaborators Kaina Castillo, Sen Orimoto, and Nnamdi Ogbonnaya, meanders with her, ducking down shadowy side paths, hiding behind trees, dancing in light shimmering through leaves – a short banjo coda here, a swelling choir there. And still questions with no answers, this love and life stuff. In the title song and spiritual center, she laments a friend’s death: “Why does the earth give us people to love, then give them a sickness that kills?” It’s a trap, but it’s going to be fascinating to watch this exceptional artist try to sort it out. – Steve Hochman
Jelly Roll, CMA’s New Artist of the Year My favorite country artist of the year was Jason DeFord, better known as Jelly Roll. He enjoyed a monster year both commercially and industry wide, winning 2023 CMA New Artist of the Year honors and topping all male country vocalists overall with five nominations. He also earned three CMT Music Awards, with his powerhouse anthem “Son Of A Sinner” – in my view a more explosive and dynamic tune than “Need A Favor.” His performance of the latter with Wynonna Judd and “Love Can Build A Bridge” with K. Michelle during the CMA Awards broadcast were among the program’s highlights, as well as being emblematic of his performing charisma and adaptability. But the documentary, Jelly Roll: Save Me (available on Hulu), documented his troubled teen past and redemption from incarceration and addiction, as well as the many current philanthropic activities that’s seen him use his stardom to aid and inspire others. It represents Jelly Roll’s larger societal impact beyond the music world. He’s also combined a love for classic country, as well as folk and even hip-hop, into a distinctive, identifiable and magnetic sound that made his 44+ city Backroad Baptism Tour one of the year’s best. – Ron Wynn
Dean Johnson, Nothing for Me, Please Some of us release music relentlessly from a young age and have to get comfortable with the public watching us learn and grow on the job. Others, such as Seattle’s Dean Johnson, wait until they are fifty to release a debut album and then absolutely knock it out of the park from song one. When a friend sent me “Shouldn’t Say Mine,” I assumed it was from a ‘60s era country artist that everyone else knew about but that I had somehow missed. Wouldn’t you know, it’s from Dean Johnson’s Nothing for Me, Please, released this very year on Mama Bird Records. Mama Bird releases some of the best West Coast roots music, including other favorites of mine, like Anna Tivel and Courtney Marie Andrews, and this new release by Johnson will be making waves for years to come. – Rachel Baiman
Brennen Leigh, Ain’t Through Honky Tonkin’ Yet You know what? Thank goodness Brennen Leigh ain’t through honky tonkin’ yet, someone needs to keep the neon lights burning and the juke box bumpin’ – and we’re glad that someone is Leigh. An album for the lonesome boot scooters, for the belt buckles longing for another to rub up against, Leigh’s prowess as a country alchemist is on fully display, combining sounds from the Midwestern plains, east and central Texas, and Nashville’s lower Broadway refracted through East Nashville and Madison. It’s old country, “real” country, alt country, outlaw country, and more, but most importantly it’s honest, true – and it’s danceable. What’s more traditional than country music that’ll draw tears and flat-footing? The cherry on top of all of it is the picking – you can hear the influence of Leigh’s bluegrass upbringing in every track, like Skaggs in his radio hits heyday or Vince Gill’s bluegrass tinged albums. – Justin Hiltner
Ruby Leighon The Voice 16-year-old Foley, Missouri native Ruby Leigh moved both Reba McEntire and Gwen Stefani to tears on her first live show appearance on The Voice, when she performed a version of McEntire’s own “You Lie,” from the Voice coach’s 1990 album Rumor Has It. Leigh’s vocals are strong and beautiful, and slightly more developed since her September audition for the show. Then, she performed Patsy Montana’s Country & Western classic, “I Want Be a Cowboy’s Sweetheart,” and got all four judges to turn their chairs – The Voice’s equivalent of a unanimous vote.
The crowds seem to love Leigh as much as the celebrity coaches do. In that clip, with Leigh decked out in red and black Western wear, audience members held up red hair signs to indicate that Leigh should pick McEntire as her coach, which she astutely did. Since her television debut, Leigh has racked up thousands of followers and hundreds of supportive comments on Facebook and other social media platforms — all while performing a super classic repertoire and sound. She even yodels! It’s hard not to love Leigh’s moxy, and it’s just as exciting to see people getting thrilled about country music again. Here’s hoping Leigh continues a winning streak on The Voice, and helps folks see what made this genre so good in the first place. – Lonnie Lee Hood
Mipso, Book of Fools Mipso has never been entirely bluegrass so much as bluegrass-adjacent, and the North Carolina quartet’s sixth album finds them farther from conventional roots music than ever. But it’s in service to an artistic identity all their own, with lush pop tones and minor-key vibes predominating. As always, Mipso’s most recognizable sonic signature is the dual lead-vocal approach between Libby Rodenbough’s atmospheric dreaminess and Joseph Terrell’s plainspoken drawl. When they come together to harmonize on “Carolina Rolling By,” it’s truly heavenly. The true leap forward on Book of Fools, however, is Terrell’s guitar, which is every bit up to the standards of the singing. It’s jittery and angular on “Radio Hell,” moody on “I Wait For Your Call,” and jagged enough on “Broken Heart/Open Heart” to live up to a title like that. – David Menconi
Lizzie No, “The Heartbreak Store” Lizzie No’s “The Heartbreak Store” isn’t just a catchy country tune, it’s a lifeline for the heartbroken. Inspired by a transformative tour with queer country trailblazer Patrick Haggerty, the video embodies a message of belonging and acceptance through line dancing. Country music often overlooks queer voices, however Lizzie’s anthem becomes a resonant declaration, echoing the ethos of unity and visibility. With every note, it stitches a musical tapestry of compassion, offering solace and celebration for those who’ve felt the pain of heartbreak, yet hope of community. In under three minutes, it becomes a powerful testament to resilience and love. – Cindy Howes
Jobi Riccio, Whiplash We’re at last reaching a point where queer creators in roots music are being enabled to offer their identities not as the sole complication or subversion of country norms in their music, but as just one of many inputs that wrinkle and challenge ideas of what country is and to whom it can belong. Singer-songwriter Jobi Riccio has had a breakneck year, with seemingly endless momentum piling up behind her stellar debut, Whiplash. Where the first press releases and official narratives around the album centered a “rainbow cowgirl” story, as critical mass continued to grow behind this set of songs, one could sense Riccio intentionally carving out space for their agency among that momentum. Carefully and deliberately, Riccio has re-centered focus away from reductive “rainbow cowgirl” constructions and toward what matters most: The music.
The music is certainly what deserves the focus, with queerness infused throughout, as if just one of Riccio’s own claims to the “outlaw” movement or as a purposeful snare for normative country expectations. Because these songs are straight-ahead good country – there’s a touch of kd lang’s approach, or the Chicks’, or Indigo Girls’ – Riccio’s identity is still indelible, it shines on every single track. It needs no artificial spotlight, or to be considered monolithic. As they discuss class, image, consumption, heartbreak, restlessness, and so much more, queerness is just one of the many entrancing, complicated threads begging to be pulled as you canter along with Whiplash. – Justin Hiltner
Jordyn Shellhart, Primrose Those who enjoy the confessional aspects of country music – but crave an unexpected sound and some humanistic insight – should check out Jordyn Shellhart. An emerging singer-songwriter who released Primrose, her album debut in 2023, she stands boldly apart for a singular voice and crystalline roots-pop style, with equally-exceptional lyrics. Whether breezily defying a cultural convention, delivering a mic-drop romantic kiss-off, rhetorically destroying the clueless cruelty of a teenage boy or dissecting her own mental wellness (or lack thereof), her songs are filled with nuance and sharp, straight-to-the-bone hooks, twisting and contorting along the often irregular path of real life. With the power to make a crowd of jaded journos cry, but very little exposure, she’s almost criminally under-appreciated – although we could fix that. – Chris Parton
Photo Credit: Lizzie No by Cole Nielsen; Brennen Leigh by Brooke Cooper; Kara Jackson by Lawrence Agyei.
One of the most stunning and enjoyable albums of 2023 was released in mid-November by Galax, Virginia-based singer-songwriter Dori Freeman. Entitled, Do You Recall, it’s a vibrant and energetic collection of eleven original songs that also feel cozy and down home, like a back porch jam or guitar pull – there’s a buzz in the air, but no overhanging urgency. It’s pure fun, but it’s also earnest and, at times, devastating.
That homey sense, pervasive and enveloping on Do You Recall, is thanks in no small part to Freeman and producer, her husband, drummer Nicholas Falk, having tracked the entire album in their backyard studio. But these tracks don’t feel antiquated or pastoral, and they certainly do not evoke a revisionist, white-washed, or sanitized rural ideal. There’s no preaching or authenticity signaling undergirding these songs, they’re simply genuine representations of Freeman and Falk intentionally following or guiding each song to its best, natural endpoint.
Freeman has decidedly re-centered her career and her music making away from so-called Music Cities – like Nashville and New York City – over the course of her five critically-acclaimed albums. She clearly feels no need to peacock or to raise a middle finger to the Music Industry, or play to “outlaw” narratives in country. Rather, she and her creative community have deliberately shifted the focal point of her songs and albums away from industry currencies and social or political structures bit by bit, click by click. As a result, her music truly shines – and certainly reaches audiences that see and appreciate that deliberation. Each of her prior albums are testaments to this growth and action, but Do You Recall may be Freeman’s best to date.
Our Cover Story conversation began discussing this shift away from music industry models and naturally and languidly, as the album, touched on agency, nuance and complication in Appalachia, solidarity and class consciousness, and so much more.
BGS: I wanted to start by asking you about how your priorities maybe have shifted in relation to the music industry? I sense that there’s this insulation between you and the capital M, capital I, “music industry,” whatever that means, right? It feels like you care less about what matters to the industry and more about what matters to you. And that feels so tangible in the music. Do you agree or disagree with that?
Dori Freeman: I do agree with that. I think I kind of always have written music from a perspective of not really caring – I never approach music through the lens of what would please a record label or what is going to be a song that people want to play on the radio or anything like that.
But I do think that perspective has only gotten stronger as I’ve gotten older. The longer I’ve written music, [the more] I write music that means something to me and that I hope will resonate with other people, because I find that the music that I’m drawn to is written in that same way. It’s music that is honest in the best way possible.
That honesty you’re talking about feels so homey, so grounded in your everyday. I think that’s part of what makes it feel like you’re not just giving a middle finger to the industry. It’s more that you’re re-centering what you do away from the industry record by record.
I would agree with that. It’s not that music isn’t a big part of my life – I mean, it obviously is, it’s the career that I’ve chosen – but as far as day to day goes, the majority of my life is spent living in a small town and raising a young daughter. That’s [why] I write a lot about both of those things. I don’t necessarily think those are really topics that record labels are begging to have more songs about, but that’s just what my life is and so those are the things that I write and sing about.
Can you talk a little bit about where you live? You live in Galax proper, yes?
Yeah, I live in Galax proper. I’m actually the last house on the street that I live on that’s technically still in Galax. The population in Galax is around 10,000, so it’s not very big. I’ve moved around a little bit in my life, but the majority of my life I’ve spent here in Southwest Virginia. And Galax in particular is a town that’s known for music. It’s like the self-proclaimed old-time music capital of the world, and we have a Fiddler’s Convention every year that’s one of the oldest. It’s known for music.
I mean, even the way that we – my husband and I – made this album [was] literally in our backyard. He built a timber-frame studio during the pandemic, so we recorded it here too, and at a much slower pace than I’ve ever had the privilege of making a record. In the past I’ve always had a strict timeframe, we have these four or five days and we have to have everything recorded in that amount of time. This time, it was just much more relaxed, and we could go out to the studio and work on one song for a couple days and then do another one the next week. It was just really refreshing to be able to approach it that way, compared to the way I’ve done it in the past. There are things that are really fun about recording in both of those ways. The pressure can be good, too, but it was nice to have a change of pace.
It may just be the time of year where all I want to do is cook something simmering on the stove all day long, but “Soup Beans Milk and Bread” — there’s so much in it that I, and I’m sure other listeners, can relate to. Especially the line, “You can’t lose something you don’t have.” That line bitch-slapped me, for real. In the best way. Can you talk about writing that one and where that line and that song came from for you?
I always find it a little difficult to articulate when I’m talking about Appalachia, just because I find it easier to write about it in song form, but I will do my best to try to talk about that.
It’s such a nuanced issue. I wrote that one – and then there’s another song on the record that’s also about growing up in Appalachia – and about the different layers of that and the different experiences you have here. The good and the more complicated.
In particular, the line, “You can’t lose something you don’t have.” I wouldn’t say I grew up poor, but I grew up not necessarily having a ton of stuff. But, in a lot of ways, I feel like I had a really happy childhood. Part of that line [is positive]. I mean, you can take it in a negative or more sad way, but it’s also, “Well, you can’t be unhappy about something that you didn’t ever have.”
If you grew up with less, a lot of times you just make the most of that and it ends up being better for you in a lot of ways. That line is definitely meant to be a double-edged sword. This area has been so taken advantage of by the government and by big business that it’s clear, yeah, you can’t lose something you never had, because we were never allowed to have it in the first place.
Another one that was my a favorite on the record is “Why Do I Do This to Myself.” I feel like I asked myself that question all the time!
It’s just such a universal feeling, I think. We all do these things to ourselves, certain things are good for you, certain thought patterns aren’t good for you – and you just can’t help it.
What you were hoping to accomplish musically and sonically with that one? Because it reminds me of classic Patty Loveless or like Terri Clark, very trad ‘80s or ‘90s country. Can you talk a little bit about what you were trying to get out of the production style on that?
Well, ‘90s country was definitely what we were going for with that one. I’m glad that came across with that track. I’ve got to give Nick a lot of credit for the production on a lot of these songs and for just picking out the musicians and for directing and deciding what the vibe would be for a lot of these songs. Our guitar player, Adam Agati, Nick hired him and they both came up with that real country lick, they kind of led the charge on that one.
You’re really playing with agency, I feel like it’s such a character in these songs – what are you choosing for yourself, what is being chosen for you, what’s being handed down to you, and how the speaker in your songs is kind of dancing around these things and talking about them.
I don’t know if I consciously approached it in that way, but I do think that it’s interesting – ‘cause you’re not the first person to bring that up. Someone else that I did an interview with said they felt the songs sort of felt like short stories that were part of the same book. After the fact, sometimes it’s like that. Sometimes you just write the batch of songs and then afterwards it becomes clear.
So I do see that in hindsight, but I don’t know necessarily if I was looking at it that way when I was writing songs, because I just write songs so individually. I’m not thinking of a theme when I approach writing songs for an album. It’s more just work on the songs individually and then hopefully they sort of come together in some sort of cohesive way.
Another thing, which I actually think has been a blessing in disguise, is that I’ve only had one album on an actual label. The subsequent four I’ve self-produced and put out on my own little label at home. I think that’s actually ended up being a good thing, because it has just left me without a lot of boundaries or feeling boxed in. I feel like I’ve had a lot more freedom to write about the things that I wanted to. It may be a smaller audience that I’m reaching and it may be a slower growth and a slower track, but actually, in the long run, I’m glad that I have done it the way that I have.
There are a couple more songs I wanted to ask you about. One is “Movie Screen.” It’s the one that feels most bluegrassy to me in some ways, and it feels very “mountain music,” which is always a nebulous term to me. “Movie Screen” is a story song, and it feels very specific, but it also feels so general and zoomed out and aspirational. It kind of reminds me of Dolly [Parton] and the way that she’d write songs about wanting to be the girl in the movie or on the radio or on stage.
[Laughs] Thank you for the Dolly comparison. I mean, I will always take that.
Yes, that is a really specific song. I wrote that song after becoming really obsessed with, during the pandemic, watching Peaky Blinders on Netflix and just having such a crush on Cillian Murphy, the lead actor in that. It’s pretty funny, because I wrote the song and my husband is one of the first people, if not the first person, I always share songs with. I play him this song and he immediately was like, “Oh, okay– so this is about that guy from Peaky Blinders?” Which is just so funny, because, my husband has brown eyes and there’s a very distinct line in the song about blue diamond eyes. It didn’t take him long to put that together. He likes to give me a hard time over that song. But it’s also about entertainment and movies and TV shows and books, as like an escape from reality and anxiety and all those things.
The other song you mentioned as being about growing up in Appalachia, “They Do It’s True,” it reminds me of Charles Booker’s political action group in Kentucky, Hood to Holler. There’s a line: “If you’ve ever lived on a mountain side/ in a little shack or a double-wide/ Then there ain’t no seat at the table for you.” That line is so striking, especially because it then continues by naming solidarity with women and with Black and Brown folks. It mades me think of Hood to Holler and this idea that in the holler and in the hood, we are more similar than we are different. I wondered if you could talk a little bit about that line in that song and where it came from for you?
That’s definitely what I was trying to write about in that song. I think one of the tactics that conservatives and people in higher positions in government love to use is to pit poor white people against poor Black people just to use that for their own gain. It’s another perspective that I think gets lost when people talk about the Appalachians. They think it’s just 100% white and people have this very specific idea of what it is, but there’s a large Black population. West Virginia has one of the most concentrated populations of transgender teens. There are Appalachian queer film festivals – there are a lot of things that get lost in that bigger message, because people [in power] don’t want us to have solidarity, because that would mean there would be actual change.
Another example of that is the way prisons often end up in poor and working class white communities, and then that’s how they pit Black and white people against each other again, because the white people are afraid of losing the work from the prison. So they want it to stay there, and it’s just a very vicious cycle. I think that it’s something that we should talk about more, because I think the wider audience doesn’t realize a lot of these things about Appalachia.
The class consciousness in the album and the way that you wove class into these songs feels so artfully done.
Appealing to the commercial side of things has never been something that I’ve felt the need to do. That goes back to what I was saying as far as having the freedom to write about what I want to and not being beholden to record labels or anything like that or agents. But it’s also because those are all just important things to me. I grew up in a really rural area and I’m bringing up my daughter in a rural area. I don’t ever want to romanticize the area in an unrealistic way, but I do think it’s important to have conversations as much about the negative things that we do need to improve as all the positive things.
I think that’s it’s really important for people from the area to continue to talk about all of this. In music and writing – and whatever other mediums. So that the rest of America can see that [Appalachia] is not just one stereotypical picture that they have in their heads.
(Editor’s Note: This interview first appeared in full on Basic Folk. Listen on BGS or wherever you get podcasts. The following has been lightly edited for flow and clarity.)
Jobi Riccio has only begun to scratch the surface of what they have to offer on their debut album, Whiplash. The songwriting is centered around self discovery and mourning past lives, laid alongside super-smart country and pop melodies. Our hero grew up an outdoor kid amongst the woods of Red Rocks Parks Amphitheatre in Colorado.
A strong bluegrass community encircled her playing from a very young age in a way that encouraged her to pursue music as a career. She spent time in Boston attending Berklee College of Music, nestled in the folk community centered around the historic venue Club Passim. March 2020 hit. Jobi had to leave her newfound community and found herself back in her childhood bedroom.
While wrestling with all the complications of finding herself and her place in the world, they were letting go of their childhood and the sense of grounding that came with it. Eventually, they made their way to Asheville, North Carolina to work on Whiplash.
In the studio, she took her time making the album and discovered that indeed, she had a strong sense of vision for the music. The trust of her collaborators allowed her to trust in herself and create an album that is turning heads and making Jobi Riccio one of the most exciting young songwriters of 2023.
BGS: Thank you so much for being on Basic Folk.
Jobi Riccio: Thank you for having me.
Alright, let’s start. I wanted to talk about identity and give you the opportunity to talk about your identity, like how do you identify pronouns, orientation, any of that stuff that we want to address.
JR: Yeah, I use she/they pronouns. I identify as queer and identity has been something that feels like it’s been important and very complicated for me. It feels like something that I have spoken about and made a part of my career, and now I’m kind of feeling, a little bit, like it’s become too much of a focus in my career, actually.
It’s funny, because I was listening to your other podcast that [you do], I can’t remember–
Yes! I was like, you’ll know the person to plug – and I’m so sorry to Why We Write.
It’s based on actually something that Lizzie No was saying. I just really resonated with something that she said, which was it’s about who is asking those questions of me. It can feel like a fine line. It’s kind of “cool” right now to be a queer artist or a Black artist or an artist of color in the folk space.
When you’re with your community, that feels one way, or with people who are truly great. And then when you’re with people who it just seems like they need to check that box. It’s so obvious and it’s so painful and it feels like a betrayal of yourself. And [Lizzie] put it a lot more eloquently than all that, but if we’re really going down the discussion of identity, it’s important to me that I am open with my identity, but I also feel like there have been times where it’s been so hyper-focused on. In a way that it’s like, “Did you even listen to any of my songs or did you know what I mean?”
I really enjoyed that answer. Doing these interviews, sometimes I feel like I’m gonna ask and I think that the interview is gonna go one way or a question is gonna go one way and it goes the complete opposite way. I just get to enjoy the ride.
You are from Morrison, Colorado, which is outside of Denver – the same place as Red Rocks Parks and Amphitheatre. You were an outdoor kid. How do you think your early experience in nature has impacted the person you became?
I think that it’s something that I really value and need and it’s a processing tool for me, being out in nature. It’s almost equivalent to songwriting and writing in my journal. It’s honestly super hard here in Nashville, because I don’t feel like I can get that, in the way that I used to be able to walk to a hiking trail five minutes from my house. I was absolutely supremely spoiled with outdoor access as a kid. [I didn’t] know any better. Like, there’s going to come a time where you’re going to live somewhere the nearest mountains are two and a half hours away. That is rough. It’s something I have to really intentionally build into my life now.
I think that nature heavily informs me as a person. Musically, I feel like it shows up in my lyrics [and] images from home, talking about coyotes and cactus and etc. I feel like it’s so intrinsic to who I am as a person.
So nature ruined you.
For real. The nature ruined me. Colorado ruined me.
There has always been this strong draw to music for you – country radio, your parents and sister’s collection of music, and also making music on your own. Can you set the scene for what music looked like in your house? And when did you get a grasp on your own taste in music?
My parents definitely – we had like a home stereo and a big collection of CDs and I spent a lot of time just sort of putzing around my house as a little kid, opening cabinets, and looking at things and opening the encyclopedia and reading. I don’t know if anyone else feels like a really intrinsic part of childhood was just looking at things.
The CD collection in like, a big wicker basket was definitely a huge one for me. They felt like little gifts. I could open up the CD and then there was this extra thing I could pull out and there were liner notes and lyrics and I could read along. That was really big for me, because I was always really interested in lyrics.
My dad’s a huge Bruce Springsteen fan. We love the Boss and sometimes we can’t understand the Boss. And like, his lyrics are wonderful, too. I really feel like that was pretty formative to me, looking through my parents’ CDs and my sister’s CDs as well. My oldest sister had like a clear, hot pink, very early 2000s lockbox thing that she kept her CDs in. I very vividly remember going into her room and stealing CDs – The Killers, Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head was a big one for me, Sheryl Crow, Tuesday Night Music Club, Yellow Ocean Avenue. Then like Emmylou Harris, Bruce Springsteen, Linda Ronstadt, the Eagles, James Taylor.
There is a strong bluegrass community where you’re from. You found it at an early age, playing mandolin when you were like eight or nine years old. Since then you’ve sought out musical community, so what did you learn from that first musical community?
The bluegrass community was a big part of feeling supported for me in music. I was always a kid who sang and was like, the girl with a good voice in like my elementary school class or whatever, but I didn’t see myself as a musician until I really started playing mandolin. I had a teacher and he was super supportive and was like, “You’re really great at instruments, too.”
I feel like the bluegrass community in my hometown took me seriously even though I was a little kid running around at RockyGrass – and by “a little kid” I mean 16. I didn’t go to my first bluegrass festival until I was a teenager. I would go and sit and jam with adults and be taken seriously. I really looked up to [those who were] offering their support to me, that was immeasurable to [growing] my own self confidence at that age.
I mean, I was so insecure at like 15, 16. The first year I ever went to RockyGrass, which sort of became my home festival, I didn’t even go out and play with anyone. I just sat in my camper with my mom, because I was so scared and so nervous and having trouble with confidence. The next year, I was out like playing every night ’til like 2 or 3 a.m.
That’s a huge shift!
Yeah. I feel like community and music– I mean, no musician is an island. We’re nothing without the musicians who came before us and those who’ve supported us. Sometimes I look back on that time and wonder if I hadn’t gotten that nod in that jam from that older kid who was really good, who I thought was awesome; or from that artist who I worshipped, who told me I had a beautiful voice; or I had shared one of my songs with them, and they were encouraging of me writing. I wonder if I would have taken it this far?
Then I got to be in a really beautiful community space working at Club Passim in college, too. That also further helped bolster my confidence, especially playing solo. Because – as you know, as also somebody who worked there in a much different capacity – it’s very much like a solo listening room, singer-songwriter space.
I play solo [a lot] now on tour, because I can’t afford to bring out a band. I feel like I really garnered some valuable skills watching other people like Mark Erelli and Lori McKenna play solo at Passim and also having to do that myself, learning how to speak about the songs I had written and not be painfully awkward, but doing that in the loving embrace of that room.
You’ve talked about Sheryl Crow and The Chicks as having a huge impact on you. You picked up the mandolin after you first heard Nickel Creek – can you talk more about the influence Chris Thile and Sara and Sean Watkins had on you?
So, I first heard Nickel Creek on the radio on KBCO, which is like the AAA station.
Hell yeah, that’s a huge station. That’s where AAA was born!
Where AAA was born, famously, yes! That was my local radio station that I listened to as a kid. And they would play “Smoothie Song” by Nickel Creek. This was around the same time that I heard the Home album by The Chicks. I was listening to Top 40 country music and also hearing mandolin here and there. It’s so strange, because I don’t play the mandolin anymore. It’s just something I’m not interested in now – it makes me almost kind of sad to think of how this was such a big part of my life.
Then I really pivoted – and it’s like, I’ll never say never, but yeah, I started playing mandolin when I was 15, I wanted to play mandolin when I was about eight or nine years old, because that was when we got Why Should the Fire Die on CD as a family. When I started opening up the CD and reading the booklet and listening – that album is so cool, because there’s a little bit of almost a pop-punk thing to some of the songs, like “Somebody More Like You.” That was so of-the-time and I loved it. I couldn’t get enough of that.
Being introduced to this new palette of instruments that I really hadn’t heard played in this way. I was familiar with bluegrass to some extent, but it like bluegrass for me and my like angsty little 12-year-old self. And, you know, everybody’s angsty selves at any age. That struck such a chord in me…
And Pavement’s super emo! “Spit On a Stranger,” right?
Yeah, that’s it.
I loved that album, too. They were all older than me, but I didn’t really know that either because, like, they’re pretty young on the CD case. They’re probably [around] my older sister’s age, who is now 28. They’re not that close in age to me, but I did feel a kindred-ness that I feel like a lot of roots artists talk about, hearing them and the Chicks and being like, “Oh, this is cool! This is of the moment.” They’re incorporating sounds that we like from other genres, which is really what I think I’m trying to get with the whole pop-punk thing, though I know that can be kind of a “dirty” word, like pop country. I don’t think it should be, I don’t think any genre word should be.
And I definitely had like a three month period where I was like, “I’m in love with Chris Thile. I’m going to marry him.” That was a little, you know, short lived, but it was strong. His high, angelic voice really spoke to my prepubescent soul.
That’s so sweet.
You’re like, “I don’t know what to say about that!”
Thank you for sharing. No, it turns out it was Sara Watkins the whole time!
In advance of the release of Vincent Neil Emerson’s latest, critically-acclaimed album, The Golden Crystal Kingdom – which dropped on November 10 – BGS moderated a conversation between VNE and his friend and peer, country & western singer-songwriter and song-interpreter Charley Crockett.
Both artists cut their teeth in music venues in Texas a decade ago. In our conversation, they tell the story of how they came to know each other and discuss ways they protect each other within the business. They talk about covering and cutting each other’s songs and the importance of telling their truths.
Emerson’s new album, produced by Shooter Jennings, veers his sound toward warm ’60s rock and folk influences. He opens up to Charley and BGS about its creation process and what is on the horizon for him.
Charley Crockett: What’s up, Vincent?
Vincent Neil Emerson: What’s up, my boy?
CC: Another day, another dollar.
BGS: Tell me where you both are in the world right now.
VNE: I’m in Asheville, North Carolina, right now, at an Airbnb.
CC: I’m up here in San Luis Valley in Southern Colorado.
Both really nice places to be in the fall.
VNE: You ain’t wrong.
Can you give us a little bit of context about your relationship, where you know each other from, and how long you have been working together?
VNE: Charley, you wanna go?
CC: Oh man, I always tell that story; I wanna hear it from you.
VNE: I met Charley in Deep Ellum. We were playing around town, playing a lot of shows around there and Fort Worth. That was over 10 years ago, maybe?
CC: I was trying to think about it this morning. I think it had to be ’13 or ’14.
VNE: That’s crazy, man.
CC: He remembers it being at Adair Saloon; I remember it being at the Freeman. It really don’t matter, ’cause I’m sure it was both places.
VNE: I’m sure we went and had a drink at Adairs or something like that.
CC: I remember I walked up on him and said, “I like all them Justin Townes Earle songs.” And he said, “I only played one.” I always liked what he was doing, and he used to play solo and do the guitar pools up at Magnolia Motor Lounge all the time. He’d be up there smoking a cigarette, picking through them songs like Townes Van Zandt, and I thought, “Oh lord have mercy, this boy is a force to be reckoned with.”
VNE: Man, I felt the same way as soon as I heard you, brother. I remember a couple of nights I saw you at the Freeman with this band. You had a bunch of guys up on that tiny little stage, and you were just ripping through all these songs, taking all these old honky tonk songs and flipping them on their head and turning them into blues and vice versa. I always thought that was so cool, man.
CC: I don’t remember that well, but I guess you’re right. In those days, every gig we played for both me and Vincent, we ended up getting booked by the same folks, or they were all standing together in some bar, no matter if it was Ft. Worth or Nashville or Los Angeles. One way or another, all them same business folks been standing pretty close to me and Vincent. And that’s the truth.
Well, that’s convenient if you like to work together, I guess. Charley, do you have questions you want to dig in on?
CC: You know, Erin, I don’t even know what the hell we are doing?
Let’s talk about the release of Vincent’s new album.
CC: Well, let me just do this then. Everything he’s been putting out with Shooter [Jennings], like everything else he’s ever done…If you sit there looking at Vincent and he surprises you, it’s like, “Oh damn, I didn’t know old boy was gonna do that.” The very next thing he does, it just happens again — every single time. I remember when he was playing “7 Come 11” way before anybody gave a damn about him and was looking out for his interests or his career. He had all them songs in his pocket way before anybody had ideas or designs on him and his business. I’ve said for a long time that “7 Come 11” is one of the best folk songs written out of Texas in 20 years. Remember Central Track, Vincent?
VNE: Yeah, they did a lot of write-ups on music.
CC: I will never forget that stuff when you did that record and what you were doing live. Erin, he was playing for 50 bucks and a case of Lone Star in them dive bars in Fort Worth, you know? He was living in a 10×10 room. He was hardly ever even standing inside of the damn joint.
A handful of us showed up at the same time, and we are all moving on our own paths, but we’ve all stayed pretty close, or we damn sure weave it together quite a bit even if we get way out there, you know, in the territories, we always come back to each other. I think I met Leon Bridges right around the same time that I met Vincent. I met him in Deep Ellum, too. There is a guy who plays guitar with me now named Alexis Sanchez. He had a band back then, and he was playing at Club Dada there for some little festival, and Leon Bridges was standing there in a trench coat and a bowler hat. I venture to guess that me and Leon and Vincent met each other damn near about the same time. There were a lot of other folks like that. Ten years later, especially for some Texas guys, you know, we’ve all grown a lot, and I think we have always supported each other and loved each others’ music. That’s only grown, and Vincent is standing there as one of the premier, original, authentic talents to come out of Texas since the turn of the damn century. I’m not blowing smoke. I’m just stating what is already happening.
VNE: Man, that is high praise. I appreciate you sayin’ that, Charley.
CC: Well, they want all this shit to write about it, but that’s just the truth. He was playing in Fort Worth and like I said, playing for all that low money. They were calling him Lefty. Why did they call you Lefty? I figured it was because you had a black eye or something.
VNE: Yeah, I had my left eye knocked out of the socket one time, and the nickname stuck for a while.
CC: I remember they wrote about you pretty salaciously there in the Fort Worth Weekly. I know a thing or two about that myself.
VNE: I would say it was because they were trying to sell papers, but it was a free publication.
CC: Shit, they are selling advertisements. I think the Dallas Observer is still doing that to me.
He was playing them bars, we were playing them bars. I don’t know which one of us is which, but more often than not, he sure seems like if I’m Waylon, he’s Willie. I have felt like that for a long time. You could change the names. I think about this stuff a lot. The business folks, it is always hard to tell what they are doing, but you can be sure they are rolling dice and betting and gambling on folks. It ends up being, a guy like Vincent that somebody like me can lean on a lot more. We can trust those guys, and I’m real happy with who I’m working with, and I’m sure Vincent is, too. It is the other artists living life for the song that gets us through. I know I feel like that about Vincent, and I feel like that about a lot of other guys I don’t know as well as him.
Kind of like Johnny Cash said, “We are all family, even though some of us barely know each other.” I think it is because we can see each other and know we are in the same boat and in that way, care more for each other than other people would. I think it is pretty serious. It is life and death.
VNE: That’s a good feeling to not feel so alone in that way and have people out there and doing things similar to you. They probably think a lot of the same thoughts. Me and you are good buddies, Charley, and I feel that way, too. I feel like some guys out there like Tyler Childers – I really respect him, and I feel like he is in the same boat as us. I’m not as well known as you guys, but I think none of that really matters. I think what it comes down to is that we are all songwriters trying to make our own stories happen and be true to ourselves and honest to the world. I think that the reason we can relate to each other is the same reason the fans can relate. Honesty will cut through anything and bring people together.
CC: One way or another, them folks we are selling tickets to, they know.
VNE: You can’t fake the funk, I guess.
CC: Eventually, it comes through. Speaking of Tyler Childers, we ended up on the same plane flying from Nashville to Austin recently… I was there for the Country Music Hall of Fame induction and I didn’t want to go. I get real antisocial and want to hide out from everybody and shit, and I went to Nashville kicking and screaming. Tanya Tucker was getting inducted to the Hall of Fame with a couple of other people. Patty Loveless and Bob McDill, who I wasn’t that familiar with. I had thought that he’d written the Jimmy C. Newman song, “Louisiana Saturday Night”, which I know real well. To be honest with you, it is the only reason I agreed to go out there, ’cause I love singing that song. I made a lot of money writing songs off of that song, so I figured I owed whoever the songwriter was. Long story short, there in the last week, I found out it was a different “Louisiana Saturday Night,” regularly mistakenly attributed to Bob McDill cause he wrote a totally separate song called “Louisiana Saturday Night” that Mel McDaniel had a big hit with, and that’s the one that goes,
“Well, you get down the fiddle and you get down the bow Kick off your shoes and you throw ’em on the floor Dance in the kitchen ’til the mornin’ light Louisiana Saturday night”
That was a big ol hit, right Vincent? He did “Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On,” and a bunch of shit like that that I just didn’t realize. My naive, ignorant ass goes up there to Nashville kicking and screaming, and that’s how I feel. A horse gets led to water or something like that. I saw Tanya get inducted. I damn near built my career off of my version of “Jamestown Ferry” when I was younger, and I realized that she had blazed that trail for me, and I had not shown her enough respect. I really hadn’t. Same thing with Bob McDill. All those songs he wrote and the advice he gave in his speech, and my dumbass could really shut up and pay attention to these folks.
Then I ran into Tyler going from there. He was flying to Austin to do a John Prine tribute. That’s how it is. When I see Tyler, I’m on a plane. When I see Vincent, it is at Monterey Fairgrounds. We are ships passing in the night. All these guys like Tyler, Colter [Wall], Leon, Vincent. Whenever I see them, they got a big light around them, and it is shining. You just want it to keep shining for them, and for myself, to keep it going,
I don’t know exactly where you want to go with this, Erin, but I’m excited about this record. Shooter was telling me about your songs and offered to send them and I was like, “No, I ain’t gonna do that. I wanna be like everyone else.” I wanna watch this thing get rolled out, and I wanna be excited. I’m looking forward to going through the songs.
Vincent, can you tell us about working with Shooter on this record?
VNE: I met Shooter a few times. Me and Charley were at this festival in Iowa hanging out, and Shooter came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I’d met him before at another festival but I’d never talked to him. He turned me around and said, “Hey man, I really like that thing you did with Rodney Crowell.” He paid me a lot of compliments, and since then, we talked, and when it came time to make another record, Shooter was the first guy I thought of. I thought it would be such a cool idea to work with him on an album. One thing about him is he really is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and he is a genuine fan of music. He’s trying to make cool things happen. I’m so lucky I got to work with him on it. That is the big takeaway from the whole thing for me was making a real good friend like that and meeting someone who gets me excited about songwriting and about making an album and making music in general.
Since Charley cut “7 Come 11” and you cut one of Charley’s songs for this record, can you talk about what prompted “Time of the Cottonwood Trees” winding up in this pile of songs?
VNE: Oh man – that song. Me and you were on tour together for three months, was it last summer? We did a bunch of dates, and we were on the road a long time, and I was listening to Charley do that song every night. It was a brand new song that hadn’t come out on his record yet. I got to hear him sing that song every night by himself, and I just think it is one of the best songs I’ve ever heard. It is one of my favorites from you, Charley. I think it is a fine example of songwriting. When it came time to make this album, I always wanted to pay tribute to you and cut one of your songs on a record because you cut “7 Come 11.” That really ties back into that whole Willie and Waylon and all those old timers who cut each others’ songs and lifted each other up like that. I just wanted to pay tribute to you, and that’s why I put it on the album.
CC: Shit, I appreciate it. I’ll be excited to get the check in the mail. You surprised the hell out of me with that one, you really did. I’ve always wanted people to cut my songs. Sometimes, I think I’d be better off that way. I have so many. I’ve always cut a lot of songs that weren’t mine, probably about half of them. And I got about a 250-song catalog of published shit. I would guess about 40-50% are songs I didn’t write. I feel like I’ve caught a lot of heat for that. People have an idea about me that I never wrote a single song. I think that’s because we live in an era where, like what Vincent was talking about, where all those folks back in the day, across genres, and it wasn’t just country it was pop, folk, soul, R&B. It was everything. Everyone was cutting each other’s songs. I just really think that to write a great song, you have to learn great songs from other people.
You have to watch out for these publishers these days. They’ll just put any piece of junk out as long as they’ve got control over it. They figured out they can make money selling junk. If you can make more money than ever before selling junk and you aren’t principled, and you aren’t that close to the music, well, they don’t see the reason not to do it that way. I think it feels like a renaissance.
VNE: Specifically in the genre of country music, there is a lot of junk out there. I don’t want to put anyone down. Most of the time, I just try to ignore whatever I don’t like. I think that’s the best way to go about it. I think there is room at the table for everybody, whatever you are into. I just think it is so cool that Sturgill and Charley and Colter and Tyler, all these other guys that are out here putting out real, honest-to-goodness songwriter songs. And not just that, but real country music. It doesn’t matter if it is your song or someone else’s; if you are telling that story honestly, I think that’s great. I’ve always appreciated you for that, Charley. I think you are a great interpreter of songs, and I think you are an even better songwriter, man.
CC: Damn, I’m glad I talked to y’all this morning. I feel better.
I’m glad that we are talking about cutting songs because that is such a huge part of country music, interpreting other people’s songs or reinterpreting a song. It feels like that art was lost in the past 20 years or so and it is having a resurgence. I’m excited that you guys are at the forefront of that, because great songs have more than one life. And it is an opportunity for songwriters to make more money.
VNE: I think it is one of the greatest compliments that a songwriter could receive – to have an artist who they love and respect cut one of their songs.
CC: There is no question about that. That is the best feeling.
VNE: It is, cause you know that your songs has legs and can go places that you can’t, which is a great feeling.
CC: It really is. It is such a political world, and it is so divided. There is a lot of pressure on people that you step out there into the great mirror of society, and the more out there in front of the public that you get, there is a mirror that starts projecting on you, and it is tough to deal with. It is hard to know what to do, but the thing about it is – being able to write honest songs and tell the truth in your writing; that is the most rewarding feeling. That is why I always look forward to what Vincent is doing. There aren’t a whole lot of people that I anticipate their new works as much as him, if anybody really. That’s the whole deal. You look over, and he’s writing better and better, and it makes me want to write better, too.
Speaking of, Vincent, can you talk a bit about your writing process for this record?
VNE: I kind of pieced together songs over time. Sometimes they jump out real fast; sometimes it takes a while. And thanks for saying that Charley, brother. Damn.
CC: I’ve been saying it for 10 years.
VNE: That’s kept me going a lot of times and I don’t think you realize that. These songs – damn, what was I saying?
CC: You were saying sometimes they come quick, sometimes they come slow.
VNE: I’m very influenced by the music that I’m listening to and that is why I try to be real careful about what I listen to. I think it is like if I’m making a smoothie. I gotta put certain ingredients in my brain, and it comes out me on the other end, hopefully. I was listening to a lot of Neil Young and Steven Stills and David Crosby. A lot of the ’60s rock and roll and a lot of Bob Dylan stuff. That’s just where I was in my headspace, so I was taking in all that. I try to put it all together to make it my own. That’s where I was at when I was making this album.
By the way, I’m excited about this rodeo we are playing together, Charley.
CC: Oh shit yeah! At the Virgin Theater there? Yeah man, I’m excited about it, too. Thanks for doing it.
VNE: Thanks for having me on.
CC: When it comes to money and shit like that, just any time, whatever you gotta do to make it work cause I wanna keep playing with you as much as we can and build up. I’ve played in some arenas recently, and I really don’t like it. I don’t know if country music belongs in arenas. And I just mean opening. I can’t sell tickets to no damn arena. And I take a cue from Colter cause he and Tyler and them boys, they could be in arenas all day long if they wanted to be. I would rather play rodeos and municipal auditoriums and really special theaters and stack ‘em up. I think we need to get a goddamned Dripping Springs reunion tour going. A real one.
VNE: Man, that’d be great.
CC: You know what I mean, just do some of our own shit. My aunt and uncle and a bunch of people who haven’t been out to see me play in a long time are coming out to Vegas. I used to live with my uncle when I was a kid in Louisiana and Mississippi and shit. He’s gonna flip his shit when he sees you.
VNE: I can’t wait, man, I’ve heard so many stories about him.
CC: He’s wild. We gonna show these folks what country music actually sounds like. They might not be able to tell who is left or right. Nahhh I’m just kidding it is a bunch of cool people.
Thank y’all for letting me be a part of this. I’m just happy to help out or talk about this. I’m real excited about the album for real. The imagery in your writing, man, it’s like everything you write is getting more and more vivid. You paint such a picture. I’ll stop blowing smoke up your ass.
I’m gonna get back on the trail and Vincent, I’ll talk to you soon.
VNE: Thank you for doing this brother, I appreciate you.
It is a tale as old as time itself. As above so below. Yin and Yang. The explored and the unexplored. The hero’s journey, any and all of them, are exposed to the eternally enduring dance of chaos and order. We must leave the garden, enter into the forest to find the gold, kill the dragon, and return back to where we began, returning back more harmonized, realized, and higher frequency than we began.
Musically, Cosmic Country takes this pattern and uses it as its sole fuel for the soul and all of its musical fruits. Cosmic Country is an approach that uses simplicity, complexity, and truth to tell stories of life that bring beauty and goodness into reality. This 9-track mixtape I have assembled for your enjoyment and exploration today covers some ground of the far-flung lands of music that is Cosmic Country, where the high frequencies fall like rain and blossom like lilies in the fields that never end nor never began. Let’s get Cosmic. – Daniel Donato
“Honky Tonk Night Time Man” – Merle Haggard
This is a country song. But just like any country, there is more nuance to be discovered and brought to light than meets the eye. This is an archetypal honky-tonk song. A few of these will be on here. Honky-tonk songs cover truthful states of life that apply to all of our brothers and sisters sojourning in space and time together down on this chaotic planet. This song talks about relief from the grind and finally getting around to what is right for the soul when quittin’ time comes around.
“Doggone Cowboy” – Marty Robbins
This is also a country song, but it is also more nuanced than that. This is a cowboy song. The cowboy is one of the great American archetypes. The cowboy embraces a life of service, hard work, endurance, adventure, and most enduringly, faith. It takes faith to stay patient and persistent in pursuing your work through realms of chaos that you must travel through and come out on the other side stronger than you did prior. Marty had a way of personifying sorrow, acceptance, reflection, and hope in his delivery of these transcendant, simple lyrics.
“Mystery Train” – Jerry Reed
It can’t be fully Cosmic Country unless it moves you. Internally, songs move us, but sometimes the pocket and groove move us externally, which is a brilliant expression of personality. What I love about this song is that Jerry Reed always had a vision in his mind that could create a groove for people to dance to and for players to have fun-expression in. Everyone knows “Mystery Train,” but this version can make any club, honky tonk, theatre, or arena dance and move all together. Bonus points for a train song. Everyone loves a train song.
“Everybody’s Talkin’” – Harry Nilsson
The bottomline is that we are on our own trip. It is an individual experience of life, personality, and dynamics that only you experience. No one will ever live your life for you or as you. Songs that find promise and truthful reflection on the truly individualized nature of existence are my favorite. The movie Midnight Cowboy turned me onto this song when I was 16. I’ve never wished I had written another song as much as this American classic.
“I Can’t Help It (If I’m Still In Love With You)” – Hank Williams
The Shakespeare of country music. The man who was able to take the power of the word – through a Western lens of faith, hardship, and hard living – and deliver to us some of the most truthful and beautiful songs composed of themes ranging from love, loss, religious experience, jail time, honky tonkin’, and the universe. This song specifically has a brilliant form to it, just one verse and two B sections, coupled with that classic lap steel signature sound from Don Helms.
“Waiting for a Train” – Jimmie Rodgers
Any storyteller of American songs, country songs, any songs based in truth and experience, must tip their “Slouch Hat” to Jimmie Rodgers in one way or another. A lot of everything country begins with the songbook of Jimmie Rodgers. This song is just a fantastic story through and through. The lyrical furniture, the sophisticated use of actual terms of water tanks, brakemen, boxcar doors, all bring the listener into the simulated reality that this song conjures.
“Long Black Veil” – Lefty Frizzell
Murder songs are a necessity. The reaper takes his toll, and with that, law and order speak their truth. One of the brilliant elements of this song is that the perspective is from the deceased character. That is innately Cosmic, especially given the window of time this song was released. Lefty was one of Merle’s favorite vocalists, and was the band leader with which Roy Nichols and Merle Haggard first played together when Merle was 16.
“You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” – The Byrds
Even though Bob Dylan penned this one on the side of the road, in the rain, waiting for a motorcycle fix, The Byrds – with Gram Parsons and Clarence White – deliver to us one of the most archetypal Cosmic Country recordings there will ever be. The instrumentation, the vocal melody, and harmonies on this song alone explain this sentiment, but the lyrical detail is another universe worth noting with great reverence. The olden language of the great folk songs of America inform the meter and colloquialisms in this song, giving it an ability to exist in the past through its roots, the present through its great orchestration and arrangement, and the future through its seeds of truth, beauty, and goodness – the only values in any creation that endow it to persist through the fleeting episodes of space and time.
“Truck Drivin’ Man” – Buck Owens
If I left out truck driving songs, then everybody from my time at Robert’s Western World would be ashamed of me. The truck driver is a minister of the highways, the great vehicle of true exploration and discovery. The eternal, long white line drags on and on, and the road songs of her fruits just keep coming, but some of the great ones came from Capitol Records in L.A. in the early ’60s.
An element of Cosmic Country that this song relates to is the overall “sound.” What is “the sound?” It is ultimately unqualifiable – it cannot be fully explained or qualified by words – especially when The Sound is doing what it can be doing in potential, which is rendering feelings that hit deeper than words can describe. With the Transcendant Twang of Don Rich’s Telecaster, the immensely clean and powerfully compressed sound of Mickey Cantu’s snare drum, along with that Tic-Tac Fender Bass playing, Buck Owen’s vocal and story rests upon a divinely simple and reverberated landscape of country gold. If there ever was a record that “sounds” like a country song, this one certainly qualifies.
Over his entire Grammy-nominated career, Brent Cobb has made no secret of being guided by a “Southern Star” – a rootsy creative beacon shining high above and seeming to point straight down on his South Georgia home.
A native of the Peach state, Cobb has staked a claim on the organic side of country, with acclaimed projects like Shine On a Rainy Day, Providence Canyon, and even the 2022 gospel set, And Now, Let’s Turn to Page…. Each one paints a loving portrait of Southern life, looking far beyond the cliches for inspiration. But with his new album Southern Star, those pictures are more vivid (and more Southern) than ever.
Finding easy-going wisdom and big-picture beauty in the simple minutiae of everyday life, Southern Star is engrossed in all things Georgia. Ten tender tracks were recorded in Macon, using Georgian musicians and embracing the sonic history of the region. That means a warm, humid mix of back-porch country and rural R&B, with funky (but feather soft) bass lines and a casual vocal drawl, as Cobb invites listeners in to his personal world – a world full of unexpected contrasts, and undeniable human wonder.
Speaking with BGS from that South Georgia home on a sunny fall day – perhaps the last one of the lawn-mowing season, he says – the humble and homegrown singer-songwriter explains what makes his Southern Star shine so bright.
Every artist or songwriter goes through phases of how they think about their role. What’s important to you these days?
Brent Cobb: It really hasn’t changed a whole lot. I know that doesn’t sound good, but I always try to still focus on my roots of where I’m from, and I try to still be universally personal, personally universal. … I think there’s something so poetic about specifically the American South and rural life, but also something that if you do it right, anybody anywhere can relate to it. So that’s really what I try to do. I try to make music that my kids can enjoy and that my grandma could enjoy, and everybody in between.
Tell me a little bit about Southern Star, the imagery of that title, specifically. I mean, is this kind of a play on the idea of a North Star guiding you?
Partly, yeah. You always learn growing up, if you get lost out there, you look for the Northern Star, it’ll guide you and give you direction. But I’m from South Georgia, so I look for the Southern Star. [Laughs] … So partly that. Then there was also my buddy ‘Rowdy’ Jason Cope, who was the founding member of The Steel Woods and played electric guitar for Jamey Johnson from 2008 until 2014 or so. He’s no longer with us [Cope passed away at age 42 in 2021, after suffering “severe complications from diabetes”]. But during those days he lived about 45 minutes outside Nashville, and I’d go down there to his place and we’d go to this little bar and it was a pretty seedy little spot where we’d hang out, it was called the Southern Star.
Plus, I often thought about my buddy as someone who sort of behind the scenes had a lot of influence on a lot of people, but they may not even be aware of it. He never got to be a superstar, but if nothing else he was a Southern star. And I feel that same way about myself sometimes. So there are a couple different meanings behind it. … I miss him every day.
The other part of this album is what seems like a love letter to Georgia – and maybe just the whole region. It can be easy to misunderstand the Southern people and the area, and you’ve called it kind of a melting pot, right? What’s so inspiring to you about Georgia?
I think it’s because, well, first of all the American South as a whole, there would be no music as we know it if not for the American South. And that comes with its blessings and the curses, and it wouldn’t be the same place without those things also. Specifically Macon is the home of Otis Redding and Little Richard, and then you have Ray Charles from right down the road, and then right up the road you got James Brown, and then of course the Allman Brothers. There’s so many endless artists that have influenced the whole world.
But then even just as day-to-day life, where I’m from, every school I went to, we’re all mixed in together down here. We’re living and praying and learning and working all together. It’s easy to be on the outside and look in, and go, ‘Man, the South, what a terrible place.’ And there are some terrible things that still happen to this day, and historically that are terrible, but for the most part we’re all living and working and eating and breathing together. You don’t hear about that side of the South so much. But I think that’s why the music from here is so influencing and so profound – it isn’t just one way. And you got people that obviously have had to struggle and people who still struggle to this day, but that’s where the good shit comes from. That’s where the great art comes from, for better or worse.
I read that this was your first self-produced record. Did it have a different vibe working that way, or did the sound come out any different?
Luckily I was able to use a couple of my friends as guinea pigs, so I got a little comfortable in the producer’s seat [on previous projects]. But more than anything I believe first of all, to make a great album, you need great songs, and then you can record them any way you want to record them. If it’s a great song, it’s a great song no matter what.
… I think the second most important part of making a great album is the drums and percussion. Once you have those two things, you can really leave it at that and it’s going to be great. Folks can sing along and might want to dance a little bit. You’re going to be fine.
Then you need a little funky bass part. And, being from that area of the music I heard my whole life – soul music and gospel music, it all has keys. So I knew I had to have some keys and organ on there. I don’t know that it was much different [from other records], except for this time I had nearly 20 years of experience.
“It’s a Start” is such an interesting track. On the surface, it’s just about simple things. But it seems to kind of point at a bigger truth, right? Where’d that come from?
Well, I appreciate you noticing that, because it’s with intent. I try to do that with most all of my songs – like I said earlier, to make something personal, make it universal. What is the core of that emotion or that experience? And vice versa, universally personal. That song particularly, I wanted to throw everybody off and not give that song a double meaning.
Really, why’s that?
I feel like sometimes I’m stuck in between two worlds. Sometimes I feel like people only think ‘Oh, there’s Brent writing another album about Georgia.’ And then I feel like some people go, ‘What is the deeper meaning here?’ Most of the time there is one for me, but that song is really about nothing and intentionally, it’s about exactly what it says.
People can get real meta about certain songwriters, but I just think that’s a mark of a really good artist.
Yeah I’m not ever complaining as long as anybody’s listening for any reason. I do think it’s funny though. Sometimes I feel like other songwriters may get the benefit of the doubt, like it’ll be a really on-the-nose double meaning, just real obvious that, “Oh, okay, you meant to give it this undercurrent.” Then other songwriters, sometimes I feel like including myself, they do not get that benefit. They only get the doubt. [Laughs]
Call me a simple man – I am. There should always be a little something extra in there if someone’s looking for it. But I also think a songwriter should do their best to craft it so that it can be enjoyed at face value.
“Shade Tree” seems like a fitting way to end things, then. It wraps the record up with a peaceful, soothing scene. Where did that come from?
Well, my sister and I had started that song two years probably before I even knew that I was going to make an album. My sister is such a wonderful singer and she’s got a lot of soul in her voice, but like me, she has a kid. It’s hard to just sit down and write a song together. Well, then I get studio time booked and I wanted to finish that song because I thought it really defined Southern Star as a way of life in the South – there was a pecan tree in my grandma’s backyard, so after church and after Sunday dinner, the whole family would hang out under it in the shade tree. A lot of things happened [under that tree] …
The day before going in the studio, I went over to my sister’s house and I had dropped my kids off at school, and we drank some coffee on her back porch amongst some pine trees. Then my wife, she threw in some lines and it became a family affair. And yeah, it seemed fitting.
The whole thing seems like it has so much personal meaning. What do you hope people take away from this one?
More than anything I always hope, like I’ve said, that it’s universally personal. I hope that anybody will be able to take away from it whatever they feel. And if nothing else, I hope they can just enjoy it in the background.
There was a time when “Western” influence was a pillar of what we knew as country music. Now, the genre’s center of thematic gravity has shifted to the Southeast, and with that shift the Western influence has waned – but artists like Colby Acuff still uphold this mantle.
The thing is, Acuff’s version of “Western” life may not be what you envision.
A native of Idaho, Acuff is more at home in the craggy hills, tall pines and high-mountain streams than out on the open plain. The trails he sings of are often logging roads, and the dust on his clothes comes from mining operations. But the mystique of the Western U.S. is still just as intoxicating, especially to a back-east audience.
For years Acuff balanced regional tours with a side gig as a fly-fishing guide, but these days, the bait he’s throwing is old-school country and what he’s catching is some nationwide, early-career momentum. One of the few major label Nashville artists with a traditional sound and style, this year has seen Acuff release his debut album (Western White Pines), make his Grand Ole Opry debut, and tour with fellow breakout artists like Charles Wesley Godwin – paying his van-life dues along the way.
In mid-September, Acuff added six more tracks to the album with a deluxe edition release – every bit as rootsy and Western as the initial project – and next year he’ll hit 13 stadiums with superstar Luke Combs. While he was in Nashville for this year’s AmericanaFest, BGS caught up with Acuff about his growing platform and why he’s all about a view of the American West most people have never seen.
How are things going on the road? Your world looks pretty exhausting at the moment, but also a lot of fun – and I dig the gas station food reviews. What do you think you’ll remember most from this season of paying dues?
Colby Acuff: Well, hopefully all of it. I mean, I think it’s kind of like anything else – the things that stick with you are either the really good things or the really bad things, and fortunately, we haven’t had any really bad things. I think I’ll just remember the good times. Driving almost 65,000 miles this year in a van with six or seven guys? What’s not to remember? [Laughs]
We’ve been really, really fortunate to where every year it just seems like it’s getting a little bit bigger. For me just being a kid from Idaho, I don’t know if I ever saw it getting out beyond the county line, so I’m very happy and very pleased.
You made your Grand Ole Opry debut this summer. What was that experience like?
That was surreal. It’s still crazy to me that I got to do it. I’ve always said I’m typically the last person who you’d invite to anything. I mean, we don’t get invited to too many things – we just keep doing our own thing, and that’s great. But it means anytime we do get invited to something like that, I’m always pretty shocked. To have the first one out of the gate be the Opry, who not just included us but also include us with such kind words and open arms, it was an amazing experience.
It is interesting they were one of the first institutions to recognize you – but then again, it makes sense. You have a style very rooted in traditional country and Western sounds – even some bluegrass. That kind of clashes with the modern scene, right?
Everything we’ve done has a ton of grassroots, a ton of bluegrass influence in it, but it is really country/country folk. Our biggest thing is we haven’t really ever been defined – and I don’t know if anybody actually really knows where to put us! My whole goal is to make music that’s different and that’s good, music that means something, and we’ve found fans in that. I wouldn’t tell anybody that we’re a bluegrass band by any means, but I would say that if you’re a fan of bluegrass, there’s definitely stuff in our catalog you will enjoy.
The new deluxe version of the album has six new songs, for a total of 16. You’re singing about nature and Western life, but also chasing dreams – and even what happens when you catch the dream. Where did these new songs come from?
I think this whole record is Western music, and a lot of times people think that’s cowboys and that kind of situation. But I’m not a cowboy. I am from the West. I grew up in a very Western household from Idaho. But I’m from a mountain town, not from the plains. There’s cattle and stuff where I’m from, but it’s mostly loggers and lumber and paper mills and mining, and it’s a totally different side of the West that I don’t think a lot of people realize is up there. I mean, the neck of the woods I’m from is very similar to Kentucky, just more pine trees. It’s big on fly fishing and a lot of rivers, big lakes and big trees. And that’s a side of the West I want to represent, so I tried to basically form an entire record around it. This is potentially unknown to many people, but this is where I’m from.
“Movin’” is such a feel-good, timeless country track – where did that track come from?
My favorite part about “Movin’” is definitely the fact that it’s super easy on the ears, and at face value, it doesn’t seem as deep. But really the song is super deep to me because it’s about everybody who has decided to chase the dream with me. It’s a lot to ask somebody, to chase a dream with you. And not only myself and my girlfriend, but my whole band and their families have all moved to Nashville to do that. Don’t let the rear view make you sad. We’ll get there, we’ll figure it out. That whole thing is based around the fact that we’re all going and we’re looking forward, not backwards.
Speaking of dreams, tell me about “Livin’ Too Close to the Dream.” What’s this one about?
When we started out, before I even moved to Nashville, I’d go out to the local bar or whatever in Idaho with my friends and I’d run into people who’d be like, “Man, you’re really doing it. Congratulations, blah, blah.” They’d be like, “You must be out there living the dream.” And I’d be like “Wellll, I’m really close.” And then it turned into a joke where when you’re living too close to the dream. You’re living in limbo, you’re trying to climb up the mountaintop, but the road conditions are shitty. … We’re living too close to the dream now. [Laughs]
You’ll be touring with Luke Combs and doing some stadiums next year. That’s got some living the dream potential, right?
Oh God. I mean, I can’t thank Luke enough. I just couldn’t believe we got the phone call. There’s not a bad time to go play 13 stadium shows.
Are you guys going to work up a special stadium sized set, or how does that work for a roots band?
We will go out there and wave our flag. We’ll do our thing. Every single stage that you play, you got to earn that stage. I don’t care what it is. If it’s a sold out a stadium or some empty bar, you don’t walk on stage owning that stage. You got to put that set in to earn it and they got to give it to you. So we’ll do that just like we do every night.
Are you still getting time to fish?
Not as much, obviously. I mean, shit, my quota used to be 120 days on the river. Now I might get 15 or 20. We did a run with Charles Wesley Godwin, and he was kind enough to set up a fly fishing trip, and to invite me. We went out in Wyoming and caught a ton of fish, which is super nice. I’m fitting it in when I can.
A lot of cool stuff has happened to you this past year, but there’s still lots of people getting to hear you for the first time. What do you hope they take away from Western White Pines (Deluxe)?
I just hope they like the music, really. I hope it does something for ’em. I think for me personally, I never got into this because I wanted to be famous. I got into this because I wanted to make music that truly helps people. So I hope that they like it.
Being part of the queer community, a small community at that, means that I meet many folks, especially queer artists, at Nashville’s lesbian bar, The Lipstick Lounge. This is true not only for Laura Valk of Skout, who was featured on the column in July, but also for Chris Housman. Chris’s friend, Nell Maynard (who co-wrote their song “Blueneck”), was playing at Lipstick Lounge in 2021. This was my first view into Chris’ music. “Blueneck” was blowing up, gaining nearly three million views on TikTok and charting #1 on the iTunes Country chart. Chris has since collaborated with other LGBTQ+ artists in Nashville, including Mercy Bell, and Cali Willson, who was featured in Out Now last month.
We are excited to share this conversation about Chris’ writing process, insights into his life, and his experiences as a queer musician. AND we can’t wait for Chris Housman’s live performance at our Queerfest/BGS special event at AmericanaFest at SoHo House this Saturday, September 23, from 3-6 p.m. The event is RSVP only. You can do so here.
What’s your ideal vision for your future?
Chris Housman: My ideal vision for my future is to not have a vision for my future. I promise I don’t mean this to be a copout answer, but I’ve been thinking a whole lot about how much “the future” and planning for it is instilled in us from a young age and how much anxiety and disappointment that’s probably caused us. I wrote a very country song about this recently with the hook, “We’re so busy dreaming ’bout tomorrow that we’re sleeping on today.” Of course, we all have to think about the future to some extent and plan things – it would be irresponsible not to. But if I can get to a point where I’m just in a whole bunch of constant “now’s” – how liberating. That’s the ideal vision for my future.
What is your greatest fear?
The strongest fear I’ve encountered so far in life is the fear of not being liked/accepted. I think the best way to get over fears and monsters is to sit with them, not run away from them. I’ve been sitting with that fear a lot in the last few years and I truly believe that my writing and music has also helped me work toward overcoming that.
Why do you create music? What’s more satisfying to you, the process or the outcome?
I create music because I truly can’t imagine doing anything else. Even in the brief time I wasn’t focusing on music, I was still creating it in some way or another.
Maybe a hot take here, but I think the outcome of creating music is more satisfying than the process. If I’m being honest, the process is often messy, muddy, rough, stressful, beautiful and sometimes… incomplete. I love the process more. But the outcome of having finished creating something that started with a thought in your head and resulted in some sounds that you’re extremely proud of? That’s probably about as satisfying as it gets.
Do you create music primarily for yourself or for others?
The way I see it, if you create music for yourself, it can be for others. If you create music for others, it can’t be for yourself.
Who are your favorite LGBTQ+ artists and bands?
Gah, there are so many I couldn’t possibly get them all in – but right now I’m absolutely obsessed, on a fan and friend level, with new releases from Brooke Eden, Adam Mac, Kentucky Gentlemen, and Adeem the Artist. Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally are some of my biggest songwriting influences. Cali Wilson, Jett Holden and Mercy Bell are some of my favorite voices and humans. And I’ve probably listened to Amythyst Kiah’s album Wary + Strange more than anything in the last two years.
What does it mean to you to be an LGBTQ+ musician? What are your release and touring plans for the next year?
Being an LGBTQ+ musician automatically means resilience, to me. It means someone that’s willing to vulnerably and artistically share all of the beautiful parts of themselves despite being told in some capacity they shouldn’t.
As of now, I’m planning on releasing my next single this fall, followed by my debut full-length album toward the top of 2024! That record really represents my life’s work up to this point and I am so ridiculously excited to finish and share it. I have a few random shows and Pride events lined up for next year, but am also just putting it out there that I think it would be so lovely to land a cheeky tour opening slot or something. 😉
What was the process of writing, recording and promoting “Blueneck?” What was it like for you to see it take off like it did?
Wow, it was WILD! To be completely honest, the idea to write a song about being a liberal redneck called “Blueneck” came to me while on a mushroom trip toward the end of 2020. I then moved it to my ongoing note of ideas where it sat for a few months, until I was in a Zoom co-writing session with (fellow queer songwriter) Nell Maynard and Tommy Kratzert. Tommy played a track idea he had that sounded SO commercial country, like something Florida Georgia Line would do. Hearing that track and knowing I was writing with like-minded friends I trusted and felt comfortable with, I said something along the lines of, “Hey guys, I have this crazy idea – hear me out.”
We wrote just the chorus that day and I posted it to all of my 72 followers on TikTok at the time. It started blowing up, we finished writing it a couple days later, recorded it a few days after that, somehow managed to release it less than a month after starting to write the song, and with the help of over 4 million collective views of the song on TikTok, it debuted as the #1 song on the iTunes Country chart, #4 iTunes all-genre, and the #16 on the Billboard Digital Country Sales chart. This still doesn’t even seem real as I say this, haha!
To have ANY song take off like “Blueneck” did is obviously incredible, validating of all the work I’ve put in thus far, exciting, mind-blowing, inspiring. But for it to be not just any song, but “Blueneck” that is essentially just a telling of my life and my values as a queer person that grew up on a farm and wants everybody to feel seen and worthy of a seat at the table – that’s like life mission accomplished stuff right there. It’s like oh yeah this is so much bigger than just chasing a dream because I love music. And as awesome as it is that so many folks felt seen by the song, I also felt tremendously seen by the audience; I found my people!
You’ve done a lot of collaborating with other LGBTQ+ artists – including Cali Wilson, Mercy Bell and Nell Maynard. Could you tell us about your experiences working with other queer artists and growing your careers together?
I absolutely looooove working with other queer artists/songwriters/creatives! Even just entering the writing room (or other creative space) with fellow queers, there is a secret understood alliance of sorts. You’ve gone through similar struggles just to get into that space together, so there’s no need to be unauthentic and put more obstacles in your own way – which leads to REAL songs. Another one of my favorite parts about creating with other LGBTQ+ and other marginalized artists is that the feeling of competition completely goes out the window. We’re on the same team, so why would I view someone on my team succeeding as a bad thing? It brings us all up. And then we win!
Photo Credit: Ford Fairchild
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