(Editor’s Note: Enjoy our tour of New York City honky-tonk, juke joint, and cocktail lounge Lucinda’s as a special postlogue to our Artist of the Month coverage of Lucinda Williams during March 2026.)
It’s the first springtime Sunday in Manhattan and after a bitter winter, the East Village is humming with human activity. Around the corner from the throng of Tompkins Square Park, where Girl Scouts hawk cookies and roller hockey players clatter their sticks and skates, tumbles of acoustic guitar spill from a storefront, attracting curious passers-by. Some folks pause and lean toward the open windows, and a few cross the threshold to meet wafts of fresh popcorn. Welcome to Lucinda’s.
The bar’s tin ceiling interior is catnip to music history aficionados and Americana-kitsch collectors alike, the walls hung with poster prints, vintage memorabilia, and velvet paintings (among them Kitty Wells, Robert Johnson, and Elvis Presley shaking hands with Jesus Christ). There’s a jukebox ready to sling beloved feels-good-to-feel-bad hits, and peanut figurines with Jimmy Carter grinning and holding court over the liquor. These accoutrements all play second fiddle to the spot’s main attraction: live music meant for casual socializing every day of the week.
This robust programming – along with some of the bar’s most prized decorative items – is the work of Kelley Swindall, a musician and New Yorker of 20 years who grew up in Stone Mountain, Georgia. She takes pride in a large round aluminum Coca-Cola sign, an item on “permanent loan” from her family and one of several wall-hung nods to Georgia’s most lucrative liquid export. She’s more proud of filling a void in New York City nightlife. “There’s a lot of Southern people in the city that went to SEC schools that want to have some Southern culture again, like college football, or listening to music that they love and don’t normally hear in New York,” Swindall says.
Though the city has a handful of country-themed, sometimes Western-leaning bars – Williamsburg’s hootin-hollerin Skinny Dennis, the self-explanatory Honky Tonkin’ in Queens, the West Village’s Tex-Mex-y Cowgirl – Swindall wanted to develop a place to celebrate the early country, blues, folk, and other vernacular music that shaped generations of American song. She yearned for the sort of places she knew growing up and got to know as a touring musician, rooms where casual live music fosters socializing instead of hampering it. “That’s what the juke joints and honky-tonks were back in the day – it was live music as the soundtrack of the evening, but you were hanging out, drinking, dancing, and socializing,” Swindall says.
Swindall found a business partner in Laura McCarthy, who has a storied history of her own at 169 Avenue A running prior venues Brownies and Coney Island Baby. The pair found a namesake and patron saint of sorts in Lucinda Williams, with whom they connected through mutual friends. Williams agreed to endorse the place, her multi-stranded artistry anchoring the team’s vision for honoring the deep musical roots of the American South. She christened the stage with a set as part of the bar’s opening-night festivities last July.
On a Saturday night, Lucinda’s is rollicking, packed front to back with revelers before some New Yorkers have even gone to dinner. There’s college basketball on one TV, and The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas on the other. I want to mill around and make conversation, but the bar is thick with boisterous, overlapping shouts converging with mid-1990s Tim McGraw and Shania Twain songs that radiate in my bones.
The mission of Lucinda’s is evidently working. With my elbows pinned to my sides, I chat with Emily from Texas and two girls who rolled up for one of several birthday gatherings in progress. After his friend paws at my unattended leftover garlic knots, Gavin, an Irish ex-pat and country music fan, tells me it’s his first time at Lucinda’s after hearing about it on TikTok. “We were in the neighborhood, and we wanted to come in. We already had plans somewhere else, and we made it our business to come back here,” he says, enthralled with the room’s unique decor. I don’t get a chance to ask his thoughts on the Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash bathrooms before he peels off with drinks in each hand.
Spirits are high, but by Lucinda’s standards, the fun has barely started: a few musicians are shouldering their way through to the corner stage. Nightly music programming is a staple at Lucinda’s, which Swindall accomplishes with standing residencies and open mics alongside other ticketed events. There’s a loose structure week to week; weekends are for the big sing-along bands, Sunday evenings are for classic country, and bluegrass and some old-time are on Tuesdays. “I was an artist first, and I still am, so I wanted to focus on the kind of music that I’m into,” Swindall says, adding that Thursday night is for two-stepping.
The Sunday open mics are a binding force to Lucinda’s operating concepts. Sign-ups start at 1 p.m. every Sunday, running through the afternoon until another outfit takes the stage for the evening. There are some gentle guidelines (no covers, no backing tracks), aimed toward bringing a pleasant and equitable atmosphere to the gatherings. Swindall prioritizes the artists’ experiences at these weekly forays, remembering open mics as essential to her relationship-building and development as a young musician.
“It’s more important to have people able to come in and play their songs, everyone listen, rather than have a thriving bar culture that day,” she says. Drawing further on her artist’s perspective, Swindall fosters the open mic knowing the challenges of getting a foothold in bigger booking circuits. “A lot of places, they don’t want to book you unless you can bring a crowd or you can show them live footage. It’s really great to give people an avenue to get comfortable on stage and get feedback for their songs,” Swindall says.
Moreover, the shindigs help Swindall expand her pool for her month-to-month bookings, strengthening the network of relationships that are essential to the arts-forward community that McCarthy and Swindall hope to nourish.
Almost a full year in, Swindall is eyeing a steady growth pattern. She worked her way up to music every night of the week and now sometimes has two shows a night; she’s starting to entertain ideas for a small festival. “From a bar point of view, there’s so much to do,” she says.
The space isn’t zoned for a kitchen, but Swindall wants to figure out some kind of food element; in the meantime, patrons can bring in takeout or ask a bartender nicely for a Moon Pie, a bag of Zapp’s chips, or a bowl of popcorn. Swindall will stay busy as she aims to make Lucinda’s even more of a place for the “all” in “y’all.”
Stop in, sit down, shake loose. Connect with a song, or maybe a stranger.
It was not so long ago that Hudson Westbrook was in college at Texas Tech. But today, he’s one of the most promising and hard-to-pin-down young acts in country, helping pull Texan artistic independence into the mainstream.
Joining trailblazing stars like Cody Johnson and Parker McCollum, Westbrook celebrated his first Number One in February after finding a home for “House Again” on the Mediabase country radio chart. Also certified Platinum by the RIAA, it’s more evidence of a shift away from cookie-cutter tailgate anthems: an emotionally complex ballad rooted in the experience of a kid watching the fallout of their parents’ divorce.
Westbrook paired raw lyrical nerve with a soulful, tender touch, helping the newcomer tally one billion streams in 18 months, with an exponential growing profile – and then he switched things up.
His recently released Exclusive EP features five tracks awash in rootsy R&B, proving the 21-year-old won’t be held to a narrow interpretation of Red Dirt musicality. But he’s not satisfied there, either. His new radio single “Painted You Pretty” (from the debut album Texas Forever) matches country simplicity with an earnest romantic hook, and this summer he’ll tour arenas and stadiums with Bailey Zimmerman, Morgan Wallen, and one of his heroes, George Strait.
Speaking with Good Country at an East Nashville coffeeshop – just one day after meeting a pig on the podcast of his other hero, Tracy Lawrence – the fresh-faced star looks ahead to new music and shares his impression on what’s driving the Texas-and-traditional country resurgence. Barely two years into a rocket ride of a professional career, he’s still learning the ropes, and sometimes, the lingo. But Hudson Westbrook has all the artistic confidence he’ll ever need.
We last talked in 2024 and at the time you were just out of college. The only thing you had released was “Take It Slow,” and then “House Again” came out. How have things changed?
Yeah, I was working at that feed store and it wasn’t that long ago. I’d written “House Again” and then I just remember I was so confused as to what was going on. Now I look up and I’m like, “I was blowing up the whole time.” I didn’t realize how big it was getting. It’s hard to feel it. I’d be like “Hey y’all, is 5,000 tickets good here?” And they’re like, “Do you realize what you just did?” And I’m always like “… No.” [Laughs]
I’m getting bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger. I want to keep getting bigger, but I want to keep it small. So [lately] it’s just really been focusing on doing that. Not losing yourself. Focusing on grounding myself right now, making sure I’m calling my family and whatever it might be. And then also it’s celebrating it, too.
You just had the Number One [with “House Again”]. What’d you do to celebrate?
We were in Hawaii, so we drank – I don’t know – 15 margaritas? [Laughs] The coolest part about that song is it was my second co-write and I was like, “Yo, I don’t know what I’m doing.” [Co-writers Dan Alley and Neil Medley] said, “Well, what’s your hook?” I said, “What’s a hook?” And they started laughing. I’m like, “Bro, I don’t know what the hell that is, but I had this idea.” …
So it just blew up. And I was so scared, just because it’s saying goodbye to a lot of stuff, honestly. It all happened so fast. If anyone had to have someone explain to them how to deal with a fast moment, I’d say if their songs are working, slow down.
Really? What do you mean?
Because that was a song that was for me. I was like, “I’m writing these songs I love and they’re ready by the time that we need them, so throw them out there.” And, “I’m already in Nashville, so let’s film the music video.” We never really planned on dropping anything, which is kind of crazy. I wish I would’ve slowed down a little bit and then realized what was happening so I could soak it in. It’s still happening. It’s still great. But I would just tell people, maybe slow down if it’s happening that fast. I feel like a lot of times I didn’t know who Hudson Westbrook was when I put songs out. And now I’ve sat down and we recorded four songs on Monday and I’m like, “This is the vibe. This is what we’re doing.” It’s so refreshing.
You’re going to be sharing a stadium stage with George Strait [at Jones AT&T Stadium in Lubbock, Texas on April 25]. That’s a homecoming show and I know he means a lot to you, so how does that make you feel?
That’s where I went to college. I sat on the 50-yard line since I was 7 years old, watched every single football game at [Texas] Tech, watched every single concert, listened to George Strait since I was in the womb. It was “Check Yes or No.” It was “Troubadour.” It was “The Fireman.” All that was in my house from an early age. So I don’t know, it’s just crazy. It’s a little nerve-wracking, like who knows what’s going to happen? I’ve also never played a stadium yet. All my friends are going to be there. It’s just going to be weird.
I would say there are some similarities between you and George Strait and maybe that’s just because of your background. You’ve been traveling around, have you noticed a difference in country music depending on where you are?
I go to Florida and [the fans are] screaming the most Texas country song I have. And Texas country just means that production. It’s a view of writing and it’s a perspective. I use real drums. The biggest country music artists in the world don’t use real drums right now. That changes everything. And so now we got to be like, “How can we be different than everything else?” I think that’s by being natural, in a sense.
There’s definitely a moment happening for Texas country, bluegrass, and traditional roots, with Zach Top and some more of your peers. Is it just perfect timing for you?
I think we’re pushing it into that direction because I think we’re trying to get back what we wanted to hear. I know if I talk to Zach, he’d be like, “Yeah, dude, I want acoustic and drums and a shaker and I want it all to be in there.” I feel like we make country music and it sounds like the show. You could literally put a band on stage and play it with no auto tune, no tracks. And that’s what makes it unique for us, because it’s like no one’s ever going to play the same thing twice.
What’s coming next, though? The Exclusive EP is out now and it’s definitely different than Texas Forever.
To be honest, I was like, “I want to try a bigger sound, something more mainstream.” And so I chased it – but I did not give up on the songwriting. My songwriting was very intentional and it was very love story-based [on Exclusive].
I love them, but I’m going back to my Texas country sound. We just recorded a song called “Hey Dallas,” which is really cool. Then we did a song called “Backwards,” which is really cool. And then I don’t know, I’m leaning in to John Mayer production a bit – but no crazy guitar solo. [Laughs] I was like, I ain’t doing none of that.
I can say, definitely some more soul and a bit of R&B in there, for sure. It’s electric guitars driving the whole thing – and I love electrics and baritones. I want that to drive all my stuff from now on. My voice just sounds better with it to me.
So it’s going to be like a whole new fresh album?
Totally new. I have like 120 songs and a lot of them are pretty good. I’m not saying they’re all for me, but I finally did what I should have done and that was sit back, find my key, find the way I like to write, really be intentional about what I’m writing. I wrote a song called “Nowhere Bound” that is probably one of my favorite songs. It’s like, I never stop in any city and don’t ever slow down.
When are you all going to be sharing new stuff?
Next month. I’m dropping “Slow Hand” by Conway Twitty [on Gavin Adcock’s Country Never Dies project, March 13]. His voice is incredible. I ain’t going to lie. It was not easy to cover that shit. [Laughs] He’s got just some weird things and then you’re like holding this note out for 10 minutes. [Laughs]
To be honest, dude, even if none of that stuff [I wrote] is usable, my goal this year is to do something that no one’s ever done and create a freaking path so far into my own lane that’s nothing like anybody else that … it’s undeniable, because I’m going to do what I want.
I feel like right now I’m growing and I’m learning and I’m doing whatever, but now it’s like, “How do I take it to the next level?” I think the way you take it to the next level is just getting deeper into yourself and telling [the fans] more.
Don’t be fooled by their name, as the Band of Heathens actually give us something to believe in.
Coinciding with their 20th anniversary as a band, their new project Country Sides is equally feel-good and philosophical. The band’s co-founders and songwriters Gordy Quist and Ed Jurdi called in to Good Country from their homes in Austin and Asheville, respectively, to talk through their inspirations for the album, their writing (and rewriting) process, and how banjo fits into their house of music.
Just a few weeks after our visit, Country Sides and the single “Take the Cake” topped the Americana Music Association’s album and singles airplay charts simultaneously, a new feat for the well-established group.
“We have been really fortunate as an independent band,” Quist says. “We’ve never been on a label or been a part of the machine, and we just have a lot of gratitude for the 20 years we’ve had together as a band.
“This record is like a message of gratitude for all that we do have. And as much as we love making records, the live show is certainly my favorite part of this career. That’s what’s special about this band. When we get on stage, I feel lucky to be a part of this thing that really is fun live, so I would encourage people to check out a live show if you haven’t done it.”
As I was listening to the album, I was picking up a lot of messages of encouragement. It feels like a positive record to me. Is that a fair statement, do you think?
Ed Jurdi: Yeah, I think so. It’s like the musical retrospective of the band, in a way, sort of our history as an entity. Maybe in the background, with the realization that we’re making it 20 years at this point, there’s a little bit of a celebratory nature. I don’t know about Gordy, but in my writing process, I tend to almost have the opposite reaction to everything going on around me, outside in the world. If everything’s really negative, and the messaging is really negative, and there’s a lack of hope – maybe it’s a form of escapism for me, but I tend to lean into that [opposite reaction] a little bit more in my messaging.
And insofar as sharing music with people, it’s almost like the internal pep talk that I’m having with myself turns itself into the art and into the lyrics and something to share as a message with other people. We’ve never really been ones for beating people over the head with the message, but things are pretty wild and wooly – and not in a good way out there, in a lot of ways. So, I think some messages of community and togetherness and rallying around a common good – we could certainly use more of that.
Did you have a certain sound in mind as you made this record?
Gordy Quist: I think we talked about trying to make a country soul record. We were listening to some of the early Dobie Gray records and thought, “OK, what if we took a mix of soul music and country music melodies and textured it…” We put more pedal steel on this record than we probably ever have on any record. And that was intentional. From the beginning we knew we wanted to do that. I guess it was intentional to try to make a country soul record. Whether we did that or not, I’m not sure. But that’s how we arrived at whatever we did.
I like the spirit of fellowship in the song “High on Our Own Supply” and there’s a lyric in there about hearing the banjo playing soft and slow, like a stereo. This being the Bluegrass Situation (and Good Country), I’m curious, do you often reach for the banjo?
EJ: I do. I’m a terrible banjo player. You know, my buddy Graham Sharp in Steep Canyon Rangers is an amazing banjo player. So if I need a banjo on a record, I’d probably call him.
I think writing “High on Our Own Supply,” it was almost like we’re building a house of music. You know, if you were to go into any room in that house, there might be this different scene going on. You open the door and there’s someone in there playing the banjo, and it’s so good, it sounds like it’s just coming out of the stereo.
The song “Pleasing People” reminded me of soul music from the ‘70s and I wondered about that soul influence. How does that show up in your music?
GQ: I guess there’s two elements. I think the rhythm section is the foundation of soul music and the groove. That was something on this record we really tried to dig into. The band right now – Clint Simmons on the drums and Nick Jay on bass – are a deep and heavy rhythm section, so that lends itself to a style of American roots music that leans into soul music. But also, simplicity. Lyrics that sound conversational and simple but have some depth to them. It’s hard to do that well. That’s part of what makes soul music great – that it’s simple but it’s good.
It takes skill to make it look easy or sound simple. What’s your editing process and your rewriting process like for you?
EJ: It never really ends. Even after we record these songs, I definitely change lyrics to songs as we play them live. The cool thing about these songs, especially making a recording, it’s a snapshot in time. But songs, I think of all the artistic mediums, they kind of move with you through time in a really special way. What a song means to you at 16 can mean something completely different to you at 40. You’ve piled up life experiences and you view the world in a little bit of a different way. So that’s always fun, but editing is constant.
I would say Gordy and I both are doing a lot of lyrical editing and we’re doing a lot of musical editing, too. When we get together and make records, it looks something like Tuesday morning, 10 o’clock: “Hey, Gordy, what do you got?” You know, Gordy grabs an acoustic guitar, sits in the middle of the room… And I’ve [already] heard these songs we’ve worked on, the two of us, but that’s the first time that Trevor Nealon (our keyboard player) and Nick and Clint have heard the songs.
So it’s like, “Hey, OK, first impressions? Go!” and then we start filling the canvas up, taking stuff away, adding stuff, changing colors, all these different things, until we’re at a point where we feel like we’ve edited something down to a nice, presentable format. So, it’s a work in progress, always. To your point, the more you can tolerate the editing, the better things become. It certainly is the most challenging part of the job, but it can also be the most rewarding.
“Take the Cake” has a great vibe. I’m sort of a workaholic, so it’s a nice message to hear, to hit pause and go do something fun. What were you hoping to convey in that song?
GQ: I think I was playing with the idea of giving versus taking, in life. I’ve been working on that song and editing that song for a couple of years actually. I’ve had it for a while. You know, there’s a weird juxtaposition of giving and taking. If you are always taking, in theory you should have lots of things because you’re receiving them. But in reality, you usually end up empty, whether it be friendships or whatever.
The opposite is true also. If you’re always giving and generosity leads, in theory the fear side of you thinks you’re going to run out of stuff. But the opposite actually is true. And that’s kind of what I was playing with, just the idea of letting go of that consumerism or just the [mentality of] “I need to keep what’s mine.” And being cool with letting go of that and letting generosity be the leading force.
As you mentioned earlier, this album is like a 20th anniversary celebration of the band. Are you enjoying this period of your life? You still have a lot of years ahead, but you’ve got 20 years of experience behind you too.
EJ: Yeah, I think it’s a good vantage point. I’ve heard Gordy describe it as standing at almost the peak of a hill. We’re all dads, so we can look down and look at our kids and remember being their age. Looking the other way on the hill, we see our parents, and we remember our grandparents being that age. So, it’s kind of a trip to be in this middle age of life. We still have the energy of young people. I think the fire is still there. There’s no lack of commitment or of energy or passion to what we’re doing. But we’ve assimilated a little bit more wisdom, and we have a few more tricks up our sleeve, a few more shortcuts. It’s fun exploring those things and trying to share them with people.
GQ: Talking about this phase of life that we’re in, I have this feeling like, when we were young, making our first records, we would put everything into it and the goal always was, “I hope this is good enough that we get to keep making records and make another record.” At the end of every record we’ve made I felt like, “Man, that’s the best thing we’ve ever done and I don’t know how we’re ever going to top that.” Whether it is truly the best thing we’ve ever done or not each time, that’s not for us to decide, but it feels that way to us.
EJ: We’ve always left nothing on the table when we’ve made a record. Now we’re just a little bit more conscious of our surroundings and what our intentions are. Again, I don’t think there’s ever been a lack of effort, but now there’s maybe a realization like, “Hey, every time we get on stage, every time we sing, every time we make a record, it might be the last time we do, so let’s make sure we’re doing it with everything we got. Let’s leave it all out there, because at the end of the day, that’s all you got.” You can feel good about that in the rearview mirror.
After writing with Dan Auerbach for her 2021 debut, Real Me, and with Sturgill Simpson on 2023’s Kentucky Blue, Brit Taylor instead looked in-house to bring her latest effort, Land Of The Forgotten, to life.
Cue up her husband, Adam Chaffins. Taylor not only co-wrote seven of the album’s 11 songs with Chaffins, but asked him to produce the record, as well – his second straight after doing the same for Kentucky Bluegrassed (2024) as well. Together the two homed in on tunes rich in working class and Appalachian themes that push back and occasionally lean into narratives about the region and its people.
From the hillbilly manifestations of “Broke No More” to throwing all your ex’s possessions out on the curb (“All For Sale”), to the resilience of mountain folk (“Land Of The Forgotten”) and infidelity with the bottle (“Warning You Whiskey”), Taylor shows that Appalachia is much more than just a footnote or only worth mentioning when things go sideways.
“It puts a lighthearted spin on some of the tougher things about life,” says Taylor. “Not to make light of difficult times, but to remind us two things can exist at one time. And, [remind us] not to forget to take a look at the bright side too, and to not take it all so seriously.
“There’s a lot of awful things happening in the world that we need to be aware of and need to do what we can to change, but dwelling on it and ignoring all the good things around us in the process doesn’t help anyone.”
On the eve of the album’s March 6 release, Taylor spoke with BGS about motherhood, outsider perceptions of Appalachia, black sheep, and more.
Leading up to Land Of The Forgotten’s release you mentioned achieving a sound with this project that you’ve been trying to attain since first moving to Nashville in 2007. What was it you captured and how were you able to do it?
Brit Taylor: Just that bluegrass influence on country, particularly the late ‘80s sound of The Judds, Ricky Skaggs, and Patty Loveless. When I go back and listen to those things I noticed they’re all very acoustic driven. At some point all of that became really unpopular – fiddle, steel, and mandolin all went out of style for a while. We had a lot of fiddle on the last record, but [we’re] incorporating those instruments more than ever before on this album, which gave it a very “back to my roots” feel.
Everything, down to how this record is mixed, turned out just the way I wanted it to. A lot of it’s because Adam grew up [just over an hour away] in Louisa, [Kentucky] – so we listened to the same radio stations and the same types of Appalachian country music. Us understanding each other so well musically is what made this all click.
I know that most of the album wasn’t written with bluegrass in mind, but I find it interesting that you say this album is more bluegrass-y than Kentucky Bluegrassed. Are there any key differences between the two?
Even those bluegrassed versions weren’t “actual” bluegrass songs, because they still had drums on them. We made that record to showcase bluegrass versions of those country songs. We weren’t really shooting for a country record with that one, but the goal with Land Of The Forgotten has very much been to make a country record, but one that’s heavily influenced by bluegrass instrumentation similar to anything from Patty Loveless to Lee Ann Womack when she sings “Does My Ring Burn Your Finger.” On those songs you could strip the drums out and they would feel right at home as bluegrass songs even though they all come from country-leaning records.
You just touched on Patty Loveless (Emory Gordy) and Lee Ann Womack (Frank Liddell), both of whom recorded frequently with their husbands as producers as well. Tell me about that connection, both with them and your husband Adam, and how each informed the project?
It started out with me just making a giant playlist of songs I love that were all over the map with no goal in mind. But as I started listening to it I began noticing a lot of similarities between the songs on it, whether they were from Willie Nelson, Ricky Skaggs, Dwight [Yoakam], Patty [Loveless], or Lee Ann Womack. Then I noticed that a lot of them were produced by Emory Gordy or Frank Liddell, whether it was Lee Ann Womack or the Pistol Annies.
From there, I went to Adam and told him, “These are the things that I love – I need you to be my Frank and Emory.” [Laughs] They’re two of my favorites, and just so happened to have worked with their wives, so it made so much sense for me to do the same. Adam knows me better than anybody else and hears me sing in a billion different places. He just knows me, just like [Emory and Frank] knew their wives and knew what they wanted and how to get it as well as pushing and encouraging them at the same time.
Another family tie to this record is that it’s released only a few months after the birth of your first child, Beulah. What was it like bringing this project to market while also going through that experience?
We cut the record last January, and at that point I was not pregnant yet. We’d been talking about wanting a kid for a really long time, and this record came out exactly the way I wanted it to. When we found out about the pregnancy I was like, “I need to be as fearless about the personal decisions in my life as I am about music, and stop letting the stigmas about what the industry thinks of women with kids dictate the way that I live my life.” Or else I’m going to run out of time to get the things done that I want. So we just decided to take a leap of faith and it’s all worked out, as it often does when you trust the universe, that it has your back, and that everything’s going to be okay.
It was so much fun starting out the year cutting that record and then going on tour with the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and Adam was with me. It was while in St. Augustine, Florida, doing that when we found out we were pregnant. I started back with them on another leg of the tour in July and showed up with a big belly, and it was so fun! I did that entire tour with no shoes. Jeff Hanna was always cracking up because I was just barefoot and pregnant on tour. [Laughs] It’s been really empowering to know that you can have it all, you just have to be brave and stop listening to the limitations that other people would like to put on you all the time.
Of all your albums so far, Land Of The Forgotten has some of my favorite wordplay. A prime example is “Warning You Whiskey,” a drinking song disguised as a ballad about an unfaithful lover. How did the idea for that one come about?
I love when songs have a twist or they’re not quite what you think they are. I also love a good story, so when my husband and I sat down with Adam Wright and he started telling us about this idea for a song called “Warning You Whiskey,” that sounds like you’re talking about a woman at first. I loved it from the beginning. We worked out the music and got that first verse and chorus written so fast that it wrote itself.
When we got to the second verse, I remember sitting there looking at both of them saying, “Man, I really want to kick this whiskey bottle’s butt!” [Laughs] Then my husband blurted out, “I’ll grip my hand around your long, skinny neck” and I just lost it. I jumped out of my chair because I was laughing so hard. Then Adam Wright popped out a line, I did the next, and within five minutes we had the entire thing written.
It reminded me so much of something Loretta Lynn would write and makes me think of women in my family that I’ve observed growing up. My mamaw really fought hard in the beginning of her relationship with my papaw, with him drinking, and she stuck by his side. Sometimes all he needed was a butt whoopin’. She’d just stand by his side and helped him through everything.
In the past you also haven’t hesitated to write a catchy song about getting through the daily grind, like “Rich Little Girls.” This album has two: “Lately I’ve Been Thinkin’” and “Around and Around.” Is there anything beyond that ties the ones on this record together?
“Around and Around” is just about life in general. It’s funny because everybody expected us to tie a really pretty bow on it in the bridge, but we just didn’t, because sometimes that’s how life is – we just keep spinning and spinning. Sometimes we figure out how to get out of the rat race and sometimes we don’t. The song is an observation of this girl who is finally becoming self-aware enough of her circumstances to stand outside of them and decide if she wants to change them or not.
As for “Lately I’ve Been Thinkin’,” it’s definitely inspired by the music industry. We were actually writing a different song that’s going to be on Adam’s record, but in the middle of writing [we] began talking about one of the award shows taking place that week, how much we hated it and all of the butt-kissing that goes on at them. Then [my husband] said, “Lately I’ve been thinking, I don’t like much stuff” and Adam Wright started cracking up. It was so funny because it all just started from a conversation. By the end of it, we all were like, “Well, it’s really not that bad. We get to sit here and write songs. We actually have it pretty good.”
It seems like many of the songs on Land Of The Forgotten originated from spontaneous writing moments. Is that a regular occurrence for you?
Those are my favorite songs. When the three of us write, we never sit down and think we’re gonna write a song for a specific person today. We just write what’s in the room, what’s moving us, and what we’re feeling. That usually ends up being something out of conversation and is oftentimes funny, because the three of us have the same sense of humor and [same] kind of outlook on life. I know a lot of people can get a bad taste in their mouth about co-writing and how like “white-coat” it can be, but when you find your tribe and you find your people, it’s awesome. It’s so much fun.
Earlier you discussed how distinctly Appalachian this record is. In my opinion, one of the best embodiments of that is the title track, “Land Of The Forgotten.” Was there a specific moment or place that inspired it?
I don’t remember if I wrote the song around when the floods happened, but I remember writing the hook down when all the floods happened back in my native Knott County in 2022. I feel like that’s the only time that we’re remembered, when tragedy strikes, and then we’re just kind of forgotten again until somebody can make fun of us. A lot of people have negative perceptions of what they think Eastern Kentucky or what hillbilly is, but it’s nothing like what people think. It’s about resilience, and strength, and honor, and family, and beauty, and folklore. Appalachia is so beautiful and so misunderstood.
I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to write a song as good as Darrell Scott’s “You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive.” I don’t know if I did that with this song by any means, but that’s always the goal when trying to write about home. I think that’s probably why I’ve never had a song about Appalachia. I’ve had a song about Kentucky in general, but it was more of a love story. I’ve tried to write it a million times, but I finally did one that I’m proud of, and that’s “Land Of The Forgotten.” When we put all these songs together, it quickly became a lot of stories about blue-collar life, surviving, and just how hard it is right now in this economy. Through that, “Land Of The Forgotten” became the theme of the record without even trying.
One of the album’s more lighthearted moments comes on “Crazy Leaf,” which sees you ruminating on that one black sheep we all have in our family. How did that one come to be?
When we sat down to write that – my husband, Jeremy Bussey and I – we started talking about all the crazy people we had in our families. It was Bussey who had the idea for the title, “Crazy Leaf,” which is a combination of these characters from our families into one song. But we didn’t want to pick on anybody too hard or put too much truth in there that you hurt somebody’s feelings.
My favorite thing was when I played it for my mom, and there’s that baptism line – “He got baptized for the fifth time, because the first four didn’t work” – where my mom said, “Your mammy used to say that if the water was too cold in the creek, the baptism wouldn’t take.” [Laughs] But in all honesty, it’s probably me – I’m the crazy leaf in my family.
From “Crazy Leaf” to motherhood and bringing this album to life with your husband as producer, Land Of The Forgotten has a whole lot to do with family. That won’t change anytime soon either with you and Adam going on a co-headlining tour together this spring. What are you most excited for about that?
I could not be more excited to be able to travel with Adam and for both of us to be able to do our own sets. We both work together a lot, but we’re still two individual artists as well, which I think confuses people sometimes. People will ask, “What’s your band name?” I’ll have to say, “No, I’m Brit Taylor and this is Adam Chaffins.” Maybe we’ll do a band thing eventually.
I’m also nervous because we’ll have the baby on the road for the first time, but that’ll also be really fun too. I can’t wait to show her pictures one day. I’ll be taking her on tour with me this summer out west with Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, too. She was in my belly through all those tours last year, so it’s gonna be so fun to have her on the road this time. My goal is to one day be touring bigger venues on a bus with my entire family there so we can travel the world together – that’s the dream.
What has the process of bringing Land Of The Forgotten to life taught you about yourself?
It’s a continuation of what everything keeps teaching me, which is that I just need to trust my gut and stop second-guessing things all the time. Adam has been a huge help with that. I feel like I can be hard on myself and always assume that somebody else knows better than me because they’ve got more experience. I don’t know if the creative process works that way. I think it only works when you’re true to yourself, and that’s something that isn’t always easy for me as a people pleaser and somebody that doubts herself a lot. So just learning to stand in my own truth and stand in my power and be confident in myself.
“I don’t know when I became an activist,” MORGXN admits. “I’m just a human being who sings from the heart, but my heart is very broken by the world that we are currently living in.”
The singer-songwriter lived in Los Angeles for 10 years before moving back home to Nashville in 2022. “The minute I came back to Nashville, I ran into a guy once. He was like, ‘I only see you at the Capitol singing,’” he recalls. “When I moved back, they were trying to ban drag queens. They were trying to ban women’s access to health care.”
Most recently, he took to the Tennessee State Capitol to protest bills against same-sex marriage. “This is how rights get tested: one state, one bill, one ‘exception,’ and suddenly the floor moves under all of us,” he wrote on Instagram.
“I don’t even think about it as activism. I think about it as humanity. We are more alike as human beings than the media, the news, and politicians would want you to believe,” he explains. “It breaks my heart. If you have listened to this album, there are songs about love and the human experience. The album is for anybody bold enough to live as who they are in the middle of the heartland.
“That is what I hope people get from this album. I hope they feel less alone in their activism… I wouldn’t even use the word activism. I hope they feel less alone in their humanity, period.”
On March 6, MORGXN released a deluxe edition of his album, HEARTLAND, and while it pulls from country music, he wouldn’t exactly label it as such. “I don’t care what genre you tell me it is. I care that I’m speaking something that is true to me, and that’s how I make music,” he says. “I don’t make music outside in.
“I make music inside out. I find what’s inside, and I try to bring it outside,” he continues. “And the heartland is a place that is normally not reserved for people like me and you. And yet, living in the heartland, I see that everyone belongs in the heartland. The heartland is a space for everybody, and I want to reclaim the heartland for everybody.”
Good Country hopped on a Zoom call with MORGXN a week before the album’s release and chatted about collaborations with Tenille Townes and Maggie Rose, the meaning of community, the political divide in country, and the hardest lessons he’s learned since coming out as gay at 19 years old.
What are some of your favorite lyrics on the album?
MORGXN: “GOD CODED” is maybe the most important song I’ve ever written, whether or not most people hear the song – it’s not a radio song. But it is probably the most important song I’ve ever ushered into being. I have no problem with god or religion. I have a huge problem when people use god and religion as a weapon of their hate.
“WILLOW” I wrote for my friend’s daughter who has cerebral palsy, so that she knows that she is a bright light. Already that song has inspired other people, which really means that she has inspired other people. It’s hard for me to choose… “MIGRATION” is about losing my dog. I don’t have a favorite lyric – it’s like choosing a child. [Laughs]
Okay, here’s my funniest favorite line, “EVERGREENS.” The first line: “Tell me your sign/ And I’ll tell you mine/ And I’ll tell you if we’ll be okay.” I think that’s funny, because if I’m dating somebody, I will be like, “What is your sign?” And I’m going to decide right away if we’re even going to be compatible, which is maybe absolutely chaotic, but I love it.
With the deluxe edition of HEARTLAND you have several collaborators, including Tenille Townes, Ruby Amanfu, and Maggie Rose. How did you choose who you wanted, and what did they bring to the table?
Collaboration is like water to me. You know, I have many liquids here on my table. I am a gay man, so I have tons of liquid everywhere around – iced coffee is always a yes. Collaboration is also like breathing to me. When I think about making music, “the bible” to me is Willie Nelson and “On the Road Again.” The life I love is making music with my friends, and I can’t wait to get on the road again. That is how I think about music.
When I moved to Nashville, there were voices that I saw popping up that were saying really important things, like [Tenille Townes’] “Jersey on the Wall.” They were saying messages that really resonated with me inside of a space that is still not reserved for people like me.
I came here in 2022, which was 11 years after this manager told me I would never make it in music as an openly gay person. In Nashville, there was a thing bubbling up, but it was like you were reserved for this sideshow experience. You can be gay, but only during June, only when there’s a tent for you to stand under. That’s not how I believe in love or life or humanity. I reached out to several people wanting to create. Truth be told, I have people in my DMs who are massive artists, who love what I’m doing, but who can’t align with who I am because it will hurt their fan base. That’s insane. That’s 2026 for you.
But artists like Tenille Townes, Maggie Rose, Ruby Amanfu, Katie Pruitt – who’s obviously a queer beacon – and Langhorne Slim, they were people who were brave enough to collaborate outside of what is the norm for them. I’m really honored that they’re helping me create this version of the heartland where everyone gets to live.
With Tenille, “HEAVEN KNOWS” was the first song we ever wrote together. It was actually the day we met. The song has this sort of inner child: Why do we even keep trying in a world that feels so hard? Why do you love when your heart has been broken so many times? Why do you keep making music when it feels like the music industry is as crazy as ever? And why do you keep being a good person in a world that is hell-bent on trying to make you feel like you are an abomination? I try because I care. I love so deeply, you know.
Having grown up in Nashville, what did community mean to you then, before you came out at 19?
The one thing I’ll say about being queer in America – maybe anywhere in the world – is you’re forced to create community, and sometimes family, when that is not a given for you. I was very lucky that my family was… more confused and scared than they were not accepting. But my husband’s journey with his community – he grew up evangelical and his community kicked him out. He was going to be a pastor, going to seminary, and once he came out, he was kicked out of the church. I didn’t have that experience … but family to me widened the moment I came out. The idea that family was not just the people you were born into, but it is the people and friends and lovers who you collect along the way that were missing for me as a kid. Growing up here, I had a hard time fitting in, because everything I did stood out.
I played the Bluebird [Cafe] last night with Molly Tuttle, Maggie Rose, Liz Longley, and Ketch [Secor] from Old Crow Medicine Show. I’m sitting there singing “MY REVIVAL” – and I’ll cry thinking about this, but it’s like I’m sitting there singing [that song]. My husband is over here and the whole room is singing along with me. I have painted nails, singing my song at the Bluebird with legends. I’m the co-chair of the diversity committee for the Recording Academy in the Nashville chapter. I don’t know if I’ve “made it,” because I don’t think making it is even like the goal here. I want a career and a life, not a moment in time. That’s “making it” to me. For the closeted gay boy who was scared to ever reveal who he truly is, that’s my revival. There’s retribution. There’s deep healing, and there’s tons of gratitude, as well.
The divide in country music right now between people who are willing to sacrifice a fan base and those who aren’t is always widening. It’s cool to see who has come forward to make their voices heard.
Country music is three chords and the truth. That’s still the bible, but it has lost its way. There is a real ricochet happening where people are afraid to be truthful, because truth can sear and truth can be very quiet but very powerful. Nashville is at a breaking point. It’s a small town. We are growing by leaps and bounds. There’s a real deciding line between: do we make this a city for everybody or do we make this a city for the select few? That’s the same for country music, folk, Americana, and gospel.
“HEARTLAND,” the song, definitely pulls on gospel, folk, Americana, and pop, for sure, but it also pulls on country because it’s a story. I thought I’d see my name in lights. I thought that my life would be this flashy thing. It’s not. I fell in love with a man, and we have a farm, and we’re building a life together. That’s love to me. It’s a story. It’s my story. It’s real. So, it’s country; it’s folk; it’s Americana; it’s gospel. Now, will any of those genres accept me? I have no idea.
But the people on my album have accepted me for who I am and love me for who I am. And that, I think, is what the heartland is all about. You know, love thy neighbor. What happened to that?
You turn 39 this year, which happens to be 20 years since you came out. Was there any significance in releasing HEARTLAND (Deluxe Version) this year?
It’s funny. Titles of an album are like mystery buckets. I actually have a title for my next album and I’m so excited about it. Prince once said that he’s like two albums ahead of whatever’s commercially released. And I love that for him. I’m one album ahead of what is commercially released. Album titles visit me like a fever dream. Even HEARTLAND – the song, I gotta call out Josh Dorr, the co-writer on that song, who had a number one with Blake Shelton this year with “Texas.” He’s a legitimate country songwriter. Not even legitimate country songwriters would take a session with somebody like me and it takes guts to do that.
I haven’t thought about how it’s 20 years since I came out, but it makes a lot of sense. I have a song called “home.” When people were like, “Where is home?” I would be like, “Well, anywhere but Nashville, Tennessee, because that place would never accept a person like me.” Now, to be making a life here, building a farm, hosting Pride on our farm, there is something beautiful in that. It may have taken 20 years, but I’m home. It’s beautiful. I hadn’t really thought about time like that.
When we wrote “HEARTLAND,” I wrote it on the piano that I grew up on. There’s always ghosts in the bones of old instruments, but it’s safe where my heart lands. It’s the heartland, but it’s also where my heart gets to land safely. That’s the kind of love and belonging I wish for everybody. I’m not somebody who believes that you have to be in a relationship to be happy, or that you have to be married to be happy. That’s bullshit. That’s heteronormative, capitalist nonsense. You can find belonging amongst community, friends, and lovers. Does your heart have a place to hang its hat? That’s home.
What have been the hardest lessons you’ve learned over two decades?
The thing that comes up in my head is: it’s not over ‘til the fat lady sings. I’ve been a fat lady so… [Laughs] It will fall apart, and that’s okay. The true story is what happens when you pick yourself back up and keep going.
I’m far less interested in talking to somebody who’s never moved across the country once. I can’t really relate to you. If you’ve never sold all your belongings and moved somewhere at least twice, we might not have a lot of similar things to relate to. It doesn’t have to be grand moves. My husband has lived in a bunch of places in Nashville, has not left Nashville, but he’s lived a lot of life. You have to have lost everything once, probably twice, and hopefully that’s it. But it’s really about how you pick yourself back up at the bottom, and keep trying again.
Whether you think it’s good or not, it won’t last, and that’s okay. There’s beauty and grace in that. I have a friend, Kristen Griffith[-VanderYacht], who’s a [floral designer] – I think he’s now in Detroit – and he’s gone through a lot. He was on the Drew Barrymore Show, and the guest host was asking, “How do you keep flowers alive for longer?” Kristen grabbed his hand and he was like, “Here’s the thing, lean in close, I want you to hear this: they’re not meant to last. They’re meant to be beautiful for the moment that they’re there, and you’re meant to appreciate them in all their glory, and then you’re meant to let it go.”
That is really hard. That is maybe [informing] some of the themes about my next album, actually. It’s loving and letting go. Life is not linear. It’s not meant to be. Cherish all of the beauty, because nothing lasts forever. And there’s a ton of freedom in that sentence.
When Good Country spoke with award-winning singer-songwriter Tenille Townes in 2024, she had severed ties with Columbia Nashville and claimed her autonomy as a recording artist. It was a tremendous, liberating step into the unknown.
This month, Townes releases her first independent project, The Acrobat. Over the course of its 10 songs, she transparently and hauntingly channels the healing journey of the past two years – one that intertwined heartache, isolation, a plunge into depression, and the long road back.
She recorded The Acrobat at home, in the company of her beloved dog Sam, played all the instruments, and produced and mixed the tracks. This wasn’t the original plan, but as the work tapes progressed, she found catharsis in the honesty of the stripped-down vocals and guitar. This, she decided, was the album, and the best way to bring it to audiences was to perform it the way it was recorded.
She is now on The Living Room Tour, again with just her vocals and guitar, for intimate performances across the U.S. and her native Canada – with one exception: two dates with the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra on April 23 and 25.
“I’m working with Dave Pierce, who’s arranging the shows,” she says. “He has written musical interludes between the songs that will accompany the storytelling pieces of what I’m doing and connect it all together. Hearing these songs in a completely different light has inspired me. Thinking about the magnitude of that many people onstage, it’s going to be emotional hearing that wall of sound all around me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever done.”
You moved from Alberta to Nashville in 2013. Who were you then and who are you now? How has Nashville changed over 13 years and how has Nashville changed you?
Tenille Townes: I still feel that the spark for music, the love for it, the complete joy is intact, and I’m grateful for that. Nashville, as a community, has obviously grown so much and taken on lots of different lives in those 13 years, but the heart of the community feels the same to me.
What drew me to Nashville initially was the creative community, the writers, the songs that are created there every day, and this group of people that creatively have each other’s backs. I still love the heartbeat of that town so much. It’s a little harder to get in to see rounds at the Bluebird [Cafe] these days, or things like that, but the spirit’s the same.
When I first got to town, I was so wide-eyed and just [full of] complete optimism. I had this belief that anything’s possible, everything to prove and nothing to lose, and that tenacious… maybe naivete helped me kick down some doors and get things going.
A lot of the dreamer’s expectation is to show up in town, get the deal, and try to find a tribe of people who believe in what you’re doing. I had such an amazing experience finding wonderful people who believed in it with me, and we had a great run. But the deal is not the finish line. It’s where the whole new page of the dream begins, and I feel like a different person now experiencing the other side of that.
There were a lot of beautiful highs and a lot of hard parts in that journey and losing myself for a while. I feel this return to that same “everything to prove, nothing to lose” situation I started with 13 years ago. So it feels good to be getting back to that feisty energy.
How did the cumulative effect of those years and experiences bring you to this point professionally and personally?
I think it’s just life lived. It’s the experiences of finding out that sometimes the picture we paint in our minds of how we think it’s going to be is completely different than how it turns out. Sometimes that’s for the better and sometimes that’s way harder.
Also I think about cumulative experiences, and about the places I got to travel because of music. Touring around the world, playing shows for people in the U.K. and Australia, and they know the second verses to songs I’ve written. That’s such a crazy thing to think about. My experiences on the road have definitely grown my capacity for seeing a community of music that’s bigger than your own backyard, and I love looking at music like that. It makes the world feel smaller in the best way.
It’s been a lot of experiences. It shaped this record I’ve just made, because for a while I lost my footing a little bit in going, “What artistically is my vision, and what do I want to say in these songs and talk about?” I had certain expectations that were like a moving bull’s-eye, and I got a little lost for a while. When I let that rest, I got back to the art of the truth of the matter, just songs I love that tell stories that are important to me.
I ended up making this record sitting in this spare room of my house, next to my dog. It’s this return to creatively tuning out all the noise around me and getting back to the truth underneath. All the experiences led to my hunger for that sparseness and return to self and that feels good.
You pursued every artist’s dream of a record deal, captured the dream, and walked away from the dream – which can be done in this DIY era. Still, it’s a breakup of sorts. Two years later, what are the lessons learned from being signed and from now being independent?
It really is a breakup of sorts. It’s this group of people that were working towards the same common goal beside me. We had such great experiences together and we moved a lot of mountains in our time together. But it got to this point of, “I think I’m losing myself in this.” It is such a unique opportunity right now, the power being back to the people, and being able to post something and have people get excited about it. There is the opportunity to have that freedom to make my own green lights for releasing music anytime it feels creatively right for me.
It took me a few years of unwinding from that structure and that system of how things used to be. There was a lot of heartache in that, a lot of feelings of failure for a while, and eventually busting out of that. I feel like I’ve gotten to this other side, where it is freedom and liberation and, “I get to do whatever I want now.”
With the label, we’d done vinyl before, but never this way. We launched this album online and I had this feeling in my gut that it needed to be a vinyl project. People got excited about it and it blew past all my expectations. I had planned to try to sell 300, which would have beaten my past goals. We launched it and I told the fans, “I’m doing this independently. Make this leap with me. You guys have been believing beside me for so long.” They totally embraced it. They took the leap and we sold over a thousand copies in one weekend of announcing the record. Feeling that support, I was like, “Wow, I feel so much more capable and able to take the leap into the unknown without the safety net of that system.” Feeling this supportive community behind what I’m doing, it was incredibly encouraging.
The Acrobat is obviously a deeply personal album, as are all your albums. You’ve spoken openly about your battles with mental health challenges, but as relates to this album, how was your mental health going into the creative process, during the process, and now?
I made this record in the heart of the mess and a lot of these songs were written in a really dark place. But I do feel, even though it’s a cliché to say this, the more I worked on this project, and the more I felt the liberating side of the freedom coming back to me, the better my mental health got.
This record was quite healing for me and the fact that I produced this myself and played everything on it was a moment of going, “I’m capable of doing this. I got this.” That feeling was really helpful in my mental health space. I didn’t seek out producing my own record and doing it this way. I started just making guitar vocals of some of my favorite songs that had never seen the light of day, so I could decide which ones to take into the studio for the next record. I got a handful done and I was like, “Wait. I really love these just like this. What if I did this myself? What if I recorded it here and made a record that’s really sparse and vulnerable and messy?”
I’ve never done that before. I’m not a master engineer of any sorts. A lot of the imperfections of this record, the truth that people can hear through it, are due to my limitations. None of these vocals are tuned, because I don’t know how to do that. It was a lesson in letting things be not perfect and that was helpful for my mental health, too. Coming to this place of, “I like this as it is,” and finding that strength on my own two feet again to be okay with that.
All in all, this record was a healing experience. I finished it and had this feeling of an exhale. So much of what I’ve walked through in the past few years is very much in the theme of these songs. There’s also this passage of time that I have a new appreciation for. Stepping back and looking at things from a different way and getting back to more vulnerability helped me see. I think that through line thematically is connected to being in a better state of mind as well.
Whatever happens to this record, I’m excited that people will get to hear it, and hopefully these songs will take on entirely different lives and meanings to other people. What I love about music is it’s so open for everyone’s own experiences, but the thread of emotion that runs through them is the same, and that’s something we can all hold on to together. I’m excited for the invitation of that, and whatever life it takes on beyond is great, but just the experience of making this record was so healing for me. That is a victory in itself, and I’m really grateful for that.
Is it paramount to find co-writers who understand your work from lived experience? What is your vetting process for opening up this way to someone who is going to have their input in your material?
Lived experience is so much a part of that, but also I have to feel safe around those people, to show up and be exactly who I am. There’s something disarming about a great co-writer who’s happy to sit with you in whatever you’re processing, and vice versa. Being a good co-writer means being a great listener. A lot of empathy has to be present, to me, in co-writers.
I’ve gotten to write songs with so many people through the years, and I’ve learned something new from every person. I’m always trying to be a sponge and soak in what somebody’s habits are, how they get past the little blocks that pop up in your mind, or how they keep diving in and not settling until you have complete peace about a line. Everybody’s got their own ways of doing that.
But, to me, it’s just feeling safe to really share the truth. That’s the vetting process. Sometimes that takes a few times and sometimes it happens on the first time. Music is such a magical mystery to me. I could sit with someone I’ve never had a conversation with before, but there’s something unspoken in the room, where you’re like, “Here’s what I’m going through,” and the other person is like, “Yeah, I’ve been there. Let’s talk about this. How can we unpack it?”
The song has its own agenda in the room, too. It’s this thing you can’t quite articulate, but when a song is supposed to be written, I believe it will be. I love getting to find out the characters that will help me pull out those songs. Sometimes it’s trusted friends and sometimes it’s complete strangers. It’s all such a magical thing.
On the Bobby Bones Show in 2024, you said every full record gets a new “time capsule” guitar. What’s your newest?
This album is an LG-2, and I love it. I’ve not had a Gibson before and it’s been so fun to play. I got this guitar a couple years ago, thinking that new music was a lot closer than it ended up being, so this guitar has been waiting in the wings for its moment. I wrote a lot of these songs on this guitar because it was on standby.
After I got to the point of “I think this is an album,” I was like, “I need to tattoo this guitar. It’s a match.” I met up with my friend Lewis Lavoie, who’s an incredible muralist painter in Alberta. I brought it to him and shared the different symbols and themes of the record. It was like, “There needs to be hands letting go.” There’s some azaleas from one of the lyric lines. “The Acrobat” is represented by a petal that turns into a bird, and that leads into “In Love With The Sky.” Every song has its moment on the guitar canvas. It’s a trilogy of the guitar time capsules I’ve made. I’m excited to take that one on the road.
How many guitars do you have?
I have two Martins that are tattooed as well. One was for The Lemonade Stand and one was for Masquerades, and the back was for Train Track Worktapes. I also have a Gibson electric that I love to play, an old D-28 that I love playing at home, and a Taylor 912ce that I got for my high school graduation. My family all wrote their names on little pieces of paper and tucked them into the case and I felt like I headed out into the world with this guitar in hand and all their love and support with it. My grandparents bought me my first guitar. It was a parlor size, not a Sears catalog guitar, but something close to that. It’s at my parents’ place in Canada. That was the first guitar I ever played. The stories that come with the guitars mean so much to me.
Does the guitar play as much a part as the lyrics in terms of expression and what you need to say?
Yeah. It’s really hard for me to separate the two. A lot of people will write the music and then write the lyrics. I respect that process, and I’ve written a couple songs that way, but to me, they really feed each other. I can’t hear the space for the melody and how many words need to make sense for it without the guitar laying that out. They’re like threads completely woven together. I enjoy taking away all the noise to leave space to hear how the guitar and vocal would interpret a song. That’s always the truest form to me. That’s the way I started as a kid, just playing songs in my room.
How do you protect yourself mentally and emotionally when you perform these songs?
There’s an exhale once the song has been recorded, and in the live experience it becomes so much more communal. I feel like my job up there is to hold open doors. Songs have ways of helping us sit inside the rooms in our hearts that are terrifying to go into alone, and the live experience is very much part of the exhale. It doesn’t hurt to relive it onstage as much as I might think it would, because it’s a part of something bigger.
I’m very nervous for these shows because there’s nothing else to fall back on. I’ll miss my band very much. I love those guys, so it’s going to be very different. But it feels timely for this creative season I’m in right now, and I think it will help me continue to build that intuition back even stronger. These shows are more of a living, breathing thing because it is just me up there. It’s going to be a two-way street with the audience and it will be a way for us to maybe chat a little bit, take some requests, and be less locked to a grid that five or six people are working towards the same goal on. It’s just me and the audience, so I’m pretty excited for that.
You posted a video last year in tandem with Mental Health Awareness Month, in which you said that you “came to a whole different low” the previous year and “depression doesn’t care how much you had a grip on positivity and gratitude.” What was different about that low, and how did you claw your way out?
It’s a process. There were a lot of personal changes in relationships for me, career shifts, and feeling a different kind of alone. The unending joy that music has always given me – it was such an indication that something was off, because that light was really dimmed. That was scary, because that has never gone away.
I consider myself a pretty positive person. I grew up learning tools of how to stay looking on the sunny side and all those things. But there’s also an avoidance of the truth that builds up over time, and that all caught up to me in that space, a lot of the people-pleasing tendencies and this realization that I was taking matters into my own hands again.
There’s such waves to it. Everybody’s experience with depression is different, but it’s this big scary thing to talk about because it is really scary. It’s dark. It’s so lonely and isolating and hard. I love when I see other people talk about it. It’s like, “Oh, I’m not the only one. Okay, good.” This is a part of the human experience, and we have to lean on each other to be able to know that it’s okay to feel that low sometimes and you’re not the only one.
I tried medication that helped and got me to a base level where I could go, “How else can I keep chipping away at this?” It’s not easy. It was an incredibly slow return of every day waking up and trying to have the right intention to take a step in a better direction for myself. So going for walks, trying to hit a certain amount of steps every day to keep my body moving, eating healthier foods, and being able to have friends that I force myself to check in with and be honest with.
Those things are not easy for me at all, but it’s part of the process and it definitely helps get me to this place. At that time I wasn’t creatively doing anything. Once I got a little bit better, I was able to start working on this record, and that really helped me continue the mental health journey.
How long were you in that dark place?
It was probably six to eight months of really dark. But I think it had been brewing for a long time and I had been denying its existence and covering it up. So it was a buildup, and then a slow, gradual return from there.
Was this your first experience with depression?
It was my first time acknowledging it for what it was. I think I’d experienced it before, but I hadn’t given myself permission for that to be okay, to be the truth.
Was it tough to record that video and say it publicly?
It was tough, for sure, but it also was part of the exhale. It was scary to make the video and press the button to post it. I didn’t want to do that, but after I did, the encouragement from the community and people reaching out going, “I have dealt with the same thing,” or “This helped me because I have been feeling the same way,” or whatever the responses, it’s like we give each other permission, and that encouraged me to do it, because I do love the community of people. It’s been a long ride, and I felt like I needed to be honest with what I was dealing with. It was powerful and encouraging to see that other people felt the same. It made a really lonely and isolating time feel a little less lonely.
Your awareness of and empathy for youth shelters, food banks, homelessness, the ills of the world, and now mental health, goes back to your school days, when you wrote a song from the perspective of a daughter whose father was in Afghanistan. Feeling so deeply for so many about so much, it’s easy to overload and spiral when you’re carrying everybody else’s struggles along with your own. How do you take care of yourself and find balance?
I don’t think I balance that very well at all, which is why I struggled for a long time. To me, it’s always keeping a connection to something greater than all of us. There’s different phases of what that’s looked like in my life, but that is what intuition is, just listening to that guiding force. If I keep that in check, then my compass tells me what to hold on to and what to let go of. When that “check engine” light is on, I know I’ve got to pay attention and get back to that.
I’m still learning what that balance is, and I don’t have all the answers at all, because I do feel things quite deeply. Maybe that’s an empath thing. I think that’s also part of being a creative and part of being a writer. You have to soak things in and feel them to a certain degree for it to become real in your own interpretation, so that you can write about it. Keeping those channels open is important to me, but I’m still learning ways to protect my own heart in that process.
Music is a big part of your healing, but dog lovers also understand canine therapy. Tell us about Sam.
Sam is 6. He is a pandemic baby. I found him on Petfinder and got him from a rescue in Illinois. He’s been my buddy ever since. He’s coming with me on tour. Because it’s an acoustic show, it’s a smaller crew – just my tour manager, my sound guy, and Sam and I – so Sam’s able to come on his first tour. I’m pretty excited about it.
Sam gets an unwritten executive producer role on this project, for sure, an emotional support credit. I’d be lost without this little guy. He brings me so much joy, but also a dog will force you to be present and in the moment. They need to go outside right now. They need to go for a walk. They need to get out of bed in the morning because they’re hungry. This beautiful creature is a constant reminder of showing up as your most authentic self in every moment. Sam is the perfect example of that.
They’re also such intuitive creatures. In some of those really dark times, he just knew. He would come snuggle right up beside me and put his little chin on my knee like, “Hey, I got you.” I’m so grateful to know and experience that kind of unconditional love from this beautiful little guy. There’s nothing like it.
When people listen to The Acrobat, what do you hope they learn about you, and maybe also about themselves, through your songs?
I hope they hear the courage it took to get to this sort of honesty, and that they feel permission to stand on their own two feet as well. This returning to autonomy, and this ability to let things go and embrace change, even when it’s hard and feels like the worst thing in the world, I hope they feel comforted that somebody else knows what that feels like and that they’re not alone.
That’s always the greatest mission of my music. I hope it helps people feel a little less alone, and that’s definitely one of my hopes with this record. I think there’s a lot more humanness when we talk about these things. That’s what I love about music. It opens the door for those conversations.
Continue exploring our Artist of the Month coverage of Tenille Towneshere.
Ameripolitan music can be best defined as original music with prominent roots influence, and it has four categories: honky tonk, Western swing, rockabilly, and outlaw. My Mixtape features a song by an artist that represents the roots and then I’ll play a new artist that directly was influenced by them. You can hear the natural growth of country music when you listen to Lefty Frizzell and Merle Haggard or Kitty Wells and Loretta Lynn back to back. (Many of the roots artists had nicknames, I miss that.)
While some may hear an artist’s influence and say they are copying them, I’m of the opinion that John Lennon shared when asked about The Beatles’ influences. He said, and I paraphrase here, “One’s originality comes out in their inability to imitate their influences.” Very well said. – Dale Watson
“Who’s Gonna Take The Garbage Out” – Loretta Lynn, Ernest Tubb
Ernest Tubb had a distinctive voice as you hear on this song he sings with Loretta Lynn. Here’s the Texas Troubadour with the Coal Miner’s Daughter.
“My Wife Thinks You’re Dead” –Junior Brown
And no one is more evidently influenced by him than Junior Brown.
“Undo the Right” – Johnny Bush
Johnny Bush, otherwise known as the “Country Caruso,” was a drummer for Ray Price, the Cherokee Cowboy, before going out on his own. You would definitely hear that influence if you back-to-back Ray Price to Johnny Bush. Both are huge influences to every singer that grew up in Texas.
“Texas Honky Tonk” – Justin Trevino
This young man from Texas is carrying the Bush torch.
“D-I-V-O-R-C-E” – Tammy Wynette
The First Lady of Country Music, Tammy Wynette was married to the Possum, George Jones. She is easily at the top of women that influenced the newer singers.
“Houston Belongs To Me” – Sunny Sweeney
Singing her own divorce song, here’s Sunny Sweeney!
“Big Balls in Cowtown” – Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys
In the Western swing category this is the master, Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys.
“Riding High in Texas” – Asleep at the Wheel, Billy Strings
Though they’ve been around a while, they still burn up the road and proudly wear Bob Wills as their biggest influence. Ian Stewart sings as guest picker Billy Strings shines.
“Here in Frisco” – Merle Haggard
The Hag has influenced generations and even in death he still does. He once told me he forgot he wrote this song and was glad I brought it up so he can add it to his playlist again.
“This Highway” – Zephaniah OHora
Zephaniah OHora is now based in Nashville and he’s got a lot of great original songs. On this song you can hear the Hag in him.
“Bob Wills Is Still the King” – Waylon Jennings
In the outlaw world there is none more influential than Waylon, and in Texas we were all influenced by Bob Wills.
“Long White Line” – Sturgill Simpson
This particular song draws heavily on Waylon’s influence. And I like it.
“Ramblin’ Man” – Hank Williams
Hank Williams’ voice is one of the most recognizable in music. His songs are timeless and still inspire singers and songwriters alike.
“Thunderstorms and Neon Signs” – Wayne Hancock
You can definitely hear Hank in Wayne Hancock, but his own voice is definitely original, too – as well as his great songwriting.
“Guitars, Cadillacs” – Dwight Yoakam
Dwight Yoakam has influenced many a newcomer. Just as he was obviously influenced by Buck Owens. He came along when Nashville needed reminded of its roots.
“Lost in the City Lights” – Johnny Falstaff
Though not well known as of yet, Johnny Falstaff is picking up Dwight’s hat.
“Blue Kentucky Girl” – Loretta Lynn
The Coal Miner’s Daughter definitely left big shoes to fill, but her sassy songs inspired many women artists.
“Don’t You Ever Give Up On Love” – Brennen Leigh
That inspiration can be traced right to Brennen Leigh.
“Good Hearted Woman” – Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson
Here’s the quintessential outlaw song by the most famously influential artists, the Red Headed Stranger, Willie Nelson, and Waymore, sometimes called Wautawsha, Waylon Jennings.
“Willie Waylon and Whiskey” – Dale Watson
The last song I’ll put in here’s is mine, because with pride I will state, yes, I am heavily influenced by Willie and Waylon. And sometimes whiskey.
(Editor’s Note: This article originally published on Good Country in December 2024. At that time, Good Country content was available exclusively on Substack.
Townes was included as part of our end-of-year coverage in 2024, examining how many country artists across the continent have blurred genre lines to connect with new audiences and plumb greater depths of self-expression. Jewly Hight spoke to Townes about her recently becoming an independent artist at that time and together they examined where she stood and where she was headed.
Now, on April 10, 2026, Townes will release the first full-length album of her independent era, The Acrobat. To celebrate, we’re naming her our Good Country and BGS Artist of the Month. And we’re re-sharing this piece from the archives to kick off the month. Below, enjoy an excellent interview on our website for the first time and check out our Essential Tenille Townes playlist. Dive into our brand new feature interview with Townes on The Acrobat and a special bonus article of Townes in her own words.)
“Genres are a funny little concept, aren’t they?” Linda Martell poses rhetorically during the spoken intro to “Spaghettii,” roughly halfway through Beyoncé’s western epic Cowboy Carter.
“In theory,” Martell goes on with sly poise, “they have a simple definition that’s easy to understand. But in practice, well, some may feel confined.” Martell knows what she’s talked about. She endured all manner of efforts to hem in her musical sensibilities and diminish her agency back when she was country music’s most visible Black, female talent.
And now, because she lent her voice to a track where Bey and Shaboozey go hard with down-home boasts over a lurching beat, she’s up for a GRAMMY for Best Melodic Rap Performance. Other tracks from Cowboy Carter are in pop, country and even Americana contention, a staggering range of styles for one project to cover.
That’s the kind of boundary-blurring year it’s been, with Shaboozey translating country gestures and imagery to broody, contemporary hip-hop cadences with tremendous savvy and both Jelly Roll and Post Malone furthering their paths from rap origins to ever more fully embracing – and being embraced by – the country music industry.
Things haven’t been any tidier on the rootsy side of the spectrum. After being treated like a pop prodigal during her Star-Crossed era, Kacey Musgraves’ shimmering, urban folk revival-echoing ruminations on Deeper Well have been received as a country homecoming of sorts. Noah Kahan has helped bring on a resurgence of cozily folk-forward, singer-songwriter sensibilities in pop music.
A major country record label snatched up the Red Clay Strays, the type of crowd-pleasing, Southern blues-rockers that have long been celebrated in the Americana scene, where many other pivotal voices – first Allison Russell last year, then Sarah Jarosz, Amythyst Kiah, Adeem the Artist, Kaia Kater and others – experimented with lusher or more polished arrangements and production aesthetics in their latest work.
Tenille Townes offers us a particularly compelling example of an artist charting her course against the background of that extreme slippage between genre lineage, stylistic markers, and industry affiliation. She tried the major label country route in 2018, greeted as a promising new voice at a moment when the broad appeal of Kacey Musgraves’ Golden Hour ruminations made the industry a little more receptive to artists with a personalized, writerly bent, and she’s emerged independent on the other side. In her mind, being unfettered in a time of great genre fluidity is cause for optimism.
Townes began her tenure on Columbia Nashville with spare acoustic recordings, and concluded it this year in similar fashion. She was, and remains, an ardently openhearted singer-songwriter, bent on tapping deep veins of empathy whether she’s in observational or confessional mode. When I first interviewed her, it made all the sense in the world to hear her say she felt a kinship to singer-songwriters like Patty Griffin and Lori McKenna. It also struck me that Townes’ singing – curling syllables and stretching out lines with feeling, a style sometimes called “cursive” singing – was far from the hearty enunciation for which country music has been known.
In between then and now, Townes dropped an album that bore a super-producer’s digitally sharpened touch, won a pair of ACM awards to go with the pile of honors she’s received from the Canadian Country Music Association – which began to recognize her promise when she was a teen with dreams of pursuing music beyond Grande Prairie, Alberta – and she toured with big country names like Miranda Lambert and Dierks Bentley. Townes also faced enough professional hurdles, and observed enough changes in the landscape around her, to reconsider where her songs might belong. And I very much wanted to hear about that.
You’re presently on tour in Canada, aren’t you?
Tenille Townes: I’m having the best time on this run. It feels like a community at these shows. We’ve done a few tours through Canada at this point, but this was our first time going as far east as we did. I feel like live music in general is a little bit more scarce over there. They don’t get as many people making the trek. And so [I could feel] the appreciation.
They sold out the shows so fast and they’re singing all the words. And very quietly listening intently and leaning in a really vulnerable way. And then also having a blast and being loud, which is so cool to me, for it to feel like a living room and a rock club at the same time. That’s been such a big part of my vision.
I don’t know how far out you planned this tour, but I wonder if it’s become an important chance for you to return to your home turf, regroup and get reinvigorated.
Yeah, it honestly feels really essential in my creative journey. I could not be more grateful for the way the timing has aligned this year for this moment on the road. It feels like the ingredient that I’ve been craving. In January, I’m going to be so ready to dive in with my whole heart and make [the music] I’m going to share next. I don’t think that the recipe could have ever been complete without this tour in this moment. It feels so timely, because so much of this past year has felt terrifying.
And just standing on my own two feet as an artist again, pretty much entirely, I feel so excited and grateful to be making this leap into the arms of these people showing up at the shows who are so excited about this new chapter. And it’s such a wave of encouragement to go, “Oh yeah, I think I’m on the right path, doing the right thing.”
How is it different from when you’ve toured the U.S., in terms of headlining versus being an opener, the size of venues and how you’re engaging with the audience?
There’s been a lot of theaters for us on this run, which have a bigger capacity than some of the clubs that we’ve played in these towns before. It’s our first time playing a handful of these [places], but this is our third headlining tour in Canada.
What I noticed that’s different is when it’s our shows and our community, it just feels like people show up with open arms and they’re requesting songs that I haven’t played in so long. They know the deep cuts. They’re showing up excited for a night of feeling whatever they need to feel. And I think that emotional permission feels different at our shows than it does at a show where we’re a guest [in the opening slot] going to make some new friends. And it’s been really cool hearing from people that were like, “I saw you on the Dierks [Bentley] tour and this is our third Tenille show.”
One thing I always say at the top of the shows is I want our time together around my songs to be a place where everyone who walks in the door feels safe to show up and be whoever they are and to feel embraced and welcomed for that. And I thank everyone for buying a ticket and for showing up as that community. And I really feel like they’re embodying what that means.
Years back, I took note of the fact that Corb Lund had what was considered fairly mainstream country success in Canada, but he played Americana events when he came to Nashville. I’m curious whether you’ve seen folk, Americana and country are treated as separate genre categories in the Canadian market, like they are in the U.S. How do you tend to get categorized in Canada?
At least from my experience, it feels different to me. Because in Canada, I have been really grateful to have felt super embraced by the country community, by the CCMAs, by country radio, by the community of people listening to country music. And we have fit in that bubble there. And I don’t know that we fit the same way in the States.
I relate to what you’re saying about Corb Lund. I think maybe the lane is just not as narrow in Canada. And I think that they’re just more in it for live music of any capacity. I think most fans [who come see me] would be like, “Oh, I’m at a country show.” Which is funny because when we play shows here, that doesn’t necessarily feel the same. I do feel like the Canadian country music community definitely jumped on board with what I’m creating. And the music [I release in both markets] is very much the same, so it’s so strange.
I will say that the people coming to our shows, our headline club shows that we’ve done in the U.S., they feel very similar, like-minded people to me.
You’re a little more than a decade into your Nashville tenure at this point. Why is it important to you to stay?
Even though this town has a lot of jagged edges or hard things about it, I really do still feel inspired here. I feel like there’s a tapestry of artists who have come to this town with their dream and worked at sharing their art and building a group of friends and people around them who support that. I have a front row seat, you know, going to an Emmylou Harris fundraiser at City Winery and watching all of these people that she’s embraced in her life that she’s written with or jammed with that’s really a legacy.
I love this community, and I do feel inspired musically, having access to so many songwriters and musicians and producers. There is a heartbeat to this town that I want to continue to be present in and be a part of for sure.
I can picture the show that you were just describing. The atmosphere was very similar at the tribute to Mary Gauthier during Americanafest, a multi-generational gathering of Nashville’s singer-songwriter community.
When we first talked all those years ago, you described being an astute student in Nashville, paying particular attention to singer-songwriters like Lori McKenna and Patty Griffin. At the time, you considered them touchstones because of how they used the language of the heart in their storytelling.
In terms of their career arcs, their material’s been recorded by big names in country, but as respected as they are among songwriting connoisseurs in that world, they’ve had contemporary folk careers as performers. They’ve often released their music on independent labels. Were you also taking note of what their professional paths have looked like? Or are you now?
I honestly don’t know that I was conscious of it back then. It was just the music that I loved. I don’t think I even had an understanding of the choices made on an artist’s path to stay true to that route.
I’ve learned a lot in the last handful of years: “Oh, that makes sense why a certain path, like Patty Griffin’s, unfolds in a certain way.” I never thought of it as a ceiling or an alternate route. It just was where the music had taken her. That’s been inspiring to me.
I never want to look at any options of teams to work with or whatever with any closed-doors feelings. I would love to play the music that I make in stadiums. That’d be great if that still unfolds that way. But I also just really want to tell my stories and my truth, and whoever is going to come as the audience, that’s amazing to me. The idea of seeing it as a wider horizon than maybe a stereotypical path, that doesn’t seem scary to me. I think that’s because I’ve looked up to people like Patty or Lori, people who have always stayed true to what they’re doing and figured out the path there regardless. But I don’t know if I’ve ever actually intentionally thought about it that way.
Your intention has been clearer than ever this year. It wasn’t lost on me that the final two songs you released earlier this year, before you parted ways with your label – “As You Are” and “The Thing That Brought Me Here” – each were expressions of commitment to staying the course. What did you want to communicate?
I love that you noticed these themes. At the end of that journey, “As You Are” felt like such a great theme to end that season on. There was lots of resistance [from the label] in several years of working on music and getting to a point of actually getting to put it out. But that song always had a green light from them, which I really appreciated.
I wrote that song thinking it was about showing up and being a support system for someone. I had friends in mind that I was thinking of. It was just like, “I will be that safe place.” And then listening back to the demo after the [session] on the drive home, I was like, “No, I wrote this ‘cause this is what I want to hear when I’m struggling to let somebody in.” That’s been something that I’ve felt even in my professional journey for sure, just wanting to feel seen.
It really seems like you’re the one communicating on your own TikTok. In recent months, a lot of your posts have been about celebrating your professionally “single” era. When you shared the news that you were no longer in your major label deal, you framed it as a breakup that you were happy about. What felt right about striking that tone?
It felt honest. It was a lot building up to that decision, and it was not easy, and it was terrifying. All of those emotions were a part of it. I just felt like, “I can’t continue to share the music I want to make if I’m not letting people in on my process of that vulnerability, even when it’s hard.” Making those videos felt scary, for sure. But that just feels like the kind of artist that I want to be, to walk the walk.
Also part of my intention was, “This is something that creatively feels really empowering to me, to take back the ownership of my music.” And for any young girls out there, I want them to know, “That’s a possible feeling for you, to stand up for yourself at any moment in any kind of career, or on any path of your life.” It’s brave to take that step. And I guess I just want that invitation to be there for anyone following along.
And I want to bring together the community of people. Like, it is an “independent artist,” but I think it should be called a “community village artist,” because you can’t get your stuff out there without people believing in what you’re doing and coming with you. I wanted it to be very clear that we’re in this together. We’ve always been in it together, but it feels very defined to me now. And I wanted to make sure everyone knew that.
And now we have the benefit of accumulated perspective, so I want to reflect back. At the beginning of your label journey, what was in the atmosphere at the time in Nashville or the country music scene in the U.S. that contributed to a sense of possibility for you?
At the beginning, it was excitement. And [I] look back and think, “How crazy cool that I got to be a part of a major label deal that let me put out a debut single about homelessness, and then follow it up with a song called ‘Jersey on a Wall’ about losing someone in a car accident?” I’m so glad they gave me a chance to put out songs that were different and that sonically didn’t sound like a sure bet. I will always appreciate that. And it set me up with so many people who heard this record and the songs because of the way that they helped lift it up.
So I have nothing but love for that season. It might not have hit the thing over all of the world’s fences by any measure of what you measure as success. But to me, it’s a win to think that I got to share that art and that people found it and that they get to keep finding it because of that.
Years back, you told me that in one of your initial meetings, when you played some songs in a boardroom, the head of the label compared you with Jeff Buckley, which was a funny thing. In hindsight, I think that kind of speaks to the fact that you were bringing a sensibility as a singer-songwriter that might’ve been a little bit outside of their frame of reference.
And maybe the Jeff Buckley comparison – as much of a stretch as it was – was a gesture of someone who lacked the frame of reference or language for what they were hearing. Because the way you elongate your vocal phrases and hold onto lines is more akin to the “cursive” singing style that’s been a thing in indie music, folk, pop and R&B than in country, with its crisp enunciation. What kinds of conversations did you have about what you were doing, how they heard it and how they thought it fit into that world?
It is really fun to reflect on that. I definitely think from that initial meeting, they were going, “This is something that doesn’t necessarily fit in what that normal trajectory would be.”
I think that has been the compass that’s directed it a little bit left of where things would traditionally fit coming out of the system that they’re used to. I think they knew that all along. And at moments, that definitely made things a little bit bumpier or harder, because it wasn’t something that naturally made all the sense in the world, I don’t think. And I’m totally great with that.
I revisited the body of work that you released on the label, and I didn’t hear you bending your songwriting approach, singing style or artistic identity to any kind of mold that was really popular in country music at the time. What did it take to maintain that?
There was never an intention of, “Okay, that’s mainstream, so I’m closing the door to that.” I’ve always felt very openhearted in the writing room. It’s just what was coming out of what I was making that I loved the most. The Lemonade Stand came out in 2020. Then I wrote the songs for Masquerades all on Zoom in my house by myself. It was a time when I didn’t feel as much outside influence of commerciality. I was just honestly writing to express something and feel better.
We certainly, production-wise, had moments of trying to be strategic about what kind of things might — I don’t know — reach more people or something, or sonically be something that could be more mainstream. So there wasn’t a lack of strategy in that. I just had to follow the songs, I think.
On TikTok, you’ve shared clips of songs that you’ve had in the can for years that you said the label didn’t want to release. How did the disagreements over your artistic direction begin to emerge? And what was at stake for you when they did?
I think the biggest rub maybe was being able to plan far enough down an artistic vision, because it was just like, “We’ll see how this one does.” And the targets just kept moving. Mentioning putting out an EP or a record was scary. They were like, “No, we can’t. We gotta just take it one step at a time.” So I think that became the hardest thing, and where a lot of songs fell through the cracks, because we didn’t hit certain measures to be able to go to the next. We still found ways to push through and get music out. It just didn’t happen in a guaranteed, planned-out manner, necessarily.
What brought you to the place where you were ready to part ways?
I could feel it building for a while, for sure. And when it came to the point of putting out “As You Are,” there was a group of songs that were ready, and we were just getting resistance on putting out more than one or two out again. And honestly, they came to us and [said], “I don’t think we can put out the rest of these.” And it was like, “Okay, I think it’s time to go.” It wasn’t like I’d arrived at this place of courage. Circumstances were like, “Okay, I think the arrows are really pointing that this is the moment to take the leap, and I’m just going to do it.”
What did you see yourself as leaving behind and moving towards instead?
The idea of taking back ownership of what I create and jumping into this place of freedom in the sense of less hoops to get through to actually get songs to people. I think creatively, I needed change as well.
I’m so proud of that whole journey. I have no regrets, but in a lot of ways, it’s like the metaphor of having a [limited] number of crayons in your hand and trying to make a picture out of that. I felt I wanted the whole box back. I never felt like I was trying to create something to fit within [the industry], but I do feel like that kind of a system can’t not have an effect on what you’re doing creatively. I feel this freedom in my hands. What do you do? That’s a whole other process that I’m in the middle of right now, trying to figure out exactly what I want to say and how I want to sound next. It’s so liberating, and it’s also just, “Oh, this is up to me now.”
When you look back on it, do you think that label partnership was no longer the right fit for you, or that the mainstream country marketplace that it exists in was not the right fit for you?
I don’t know. I think maybe a little bit of both. But mostly, I think the major label system just ran its course for me. And I feel open to whatever team there may or may not be in the future. I wouldn’t write that experience off ever again. I think it just depends on the season I’m in creatively and what people are behind it.
What’s funny to me is looking back on the history of country music, the things that have [at certain moments] laid on the outside have actually [become] pillars of what’s created the format that we love and know. So it doesn’t scare me to [say], “I don’t actually feel like I belong in what we call right now the mainstream of country music.” I’m just going to do my thing and whatever we want to call it later, looking back, it’s fine with me.
Earlier we were talking about the singer-songwriter ecosystem that’s long existed in Nashville and has amorphous boundaries – those songwriters play their own intimate shows and write for bigger names in other lanes.
But there’s been far more visible crossing of boundaries than that this year. We’ve had pop superstars going country, and Kacey Musgraves – who never fully left her country label, but was viewed as drifting towards pop – made a folk-pop album that’s gotten her country awards nominations again. And then there are artists like Noah Kahan. I know you’ve expressed admiration for what he does. He’s been having great success with songs that are grounded in folk, but he exists in the pop world – and yet he’s also gotten Americana and country nominations. Have you been looking around you and taking note of how other artists are transcending genre boundaries?
Yes, and it feels so encouraging to be like, “How about you just make what’s you?” And then, what if there are different categories of music lovers who want to listen to stories and songs and voices and actually don’t care what sticker you put on it?
[As for] Noah, that’s just songs that are speaking to people at such a loud volume. I don’t know what you call it, and it doesn’t matter. Longterm-wise, I think Brandi Carlile’s path is a flashlight, to have something that’s just evolved with her as an artist and fit in so many different places. And I think about Patty Griffin. Even somebody like Billy Strings, Marcus King, I think is incredibly inspiring looking at all of these people who are not sticking to one lane.
You are actively narrating the decision-making process for your audience and frequently discussing what it looks like to be an independent artist, what that means, what your aims are, what challenges you face. From what I’ve read, you’ve kept some important parts of your team, management and publishing, but other aspects of the model have changed. What do you feel are the most significant differences in how you’re operating at the moment? What do you most want people to know about your present reality?
I think the biggest shift is how much making videos is a part of actually getting a song to be heard at all. And the creative output of just trying to make noise in a place that’s got way too much noise going on, the internet. That’s the most overwhelming thing that’s very different than what I thought it meant to be a singer-songwriter and write songs and tour.
I’m trying to balance the creative output of constantly being like, “Hey, I’m over here. This is what I’m working on.” And also making sure that my soul is in a good place, not just spinning on a hamster wheel, so that I can make something that I’m really proud to stand on in my life.
I’ve heard that you are working on new music. Are you broadening your circle of collaborators?
Yeah, definitely. I’ve been reaching out to people I’ve not written with before, people I’m just fans of their music and [asking], “Hey, let’s write or let’s get together and just jam.” And then I’m in the stage [where] I’m always writing. I’m at a point where I have a lot of songs and I’m trying to just zoom out and go, “Which ones are speaking the loudest to me?” The theme for me right now is very much about betting on yourself and getting to the heart of the matter without everything feeling too heavy and serious.
I’m at the spot of taking song inventory and trying to make some new friends and keep writing, and working on what might be next.
Won’t it be wild if you have an album that is on a Canadian country chart and then in the U.S., is on Americana and folk charts, the same collection of songs?
I think it’s possible. I believe it is. I love you putting that out there. I’m declaring it right now.
The expression of music is going to fit differently in different places. And I think that’s more possible in the landscape we’re in now than it ever has been.
Read our 2026 interview with Tenille Townes on her brand new album, The Acrobat, here.
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Photo Credit: Lead image by Madison Rensing; inset image by Robert Chavers.
Welcome to another edition of our weekly roundup of new roots music! You Gotta Hear This…
First up, country singer-songwriter Erin Gibney gives us a preview of a brand new version of “Risk It,” one of the first true love songs she had ever written. In this iteration, it’s stripped back to a more simple and acoustic approach, but still with a pop country sheen and plenty of big, energetic moments. Also in country, Carly King has announced her upcoming album, Loving You Is Easy, with a lovely and tender lead single, “Three Martinis.” King wrote the song about a fated trip to New York City where she fell in love with the man who would become her fiancé. It’s full of memories, nostalgia, and lush with imagery of falling head over heels, all wrapped in a cozy and gauzy folk-country package.
In the bluegrass world, North Carolina’s Unspoken Tradition highlight their working-class bluegrass bent with a new single, “Company Man,” which celebrates and interrogates the reality of blue-collar, hard working folks in this day and age. As they describe it, “The song tells the story of a man who seems to live to work, not work to live. There’s pride in that, but also a sense of stoic sadness.” Also speaking to the social and political climate of today, folk artist and singer-songwriter Eilen Jewell has released her own version of Woody Guthrie’s important and sadly still applicable song, “Deportee.” Jewell’s rendition is twangy, honky-tonking, and plaintive, drawing inspiration from the first time she ever heard the song as a teenager. She tells us that story – and about how the number has “haunted” her since – below.
Roots music fans will also enjoy watching singer-songwriter Adam Klein perform “Burnin’ Love,” an original song, in a brand new music video. Previously released in 2015, Klein returned to the track with collaborator Adam Poulin for a simple duo, acoustic reimagination of the song, which Klein wrote while on a Peace Corps mission in Mali in West Africa. And be sure you don’t miss a brand new single – and live performance video, to boot! – from West Virginian Americana troubadour John R. Miller. “If You Could Only See Me Now” is Miller’s take on a song written by a dear friend and musical compatriot, William Matheny. It’s another two-stepping, honky-tonk ready track perfect for sliding across the shiny floorboards or leaving a tear in your beer. Miller inhabits the lyric intuitively, with languid and laid back phrasing while the lyric, fiddle, and pedal steels pull him along.
There’s plenty to listen to and love. You Gotta Hear This!
Erin Gibney, “Risk It (Stripped)”
Artist:Erin Gibney Hometown: Southington, Connecticut and Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Risk It (Stripped)” Release Date: April 3, 2026 Label: Rock Ridge Music
In Their Words: “I wrote this song after meeting my now-fiancé and it is one of the first true love songs I have ever written. ‘Risk It’ really describes the feeling of falling in love knowing that it could either end in marriage or the greatest heartbreak of your life. During the beginning of the relationship, I felt all the fears and excitement that come in the early stages of love. I brought this experience to Kipp Williams when we began working together and this became the first song we created. It was so much fun to not only try something new with my sound, but explore new themes in my music. This song is so close to my heart and I can’t wait for the world to hear this reimagined version of it!” – Erin Gibney
Track Credits: Kipp Williams – Producer, songwriter, all instruments Erin Gibney – Vocals, songwriter
In Their Words: “I first heard ‘Deportee’ when I was a teenager. I can’t recall which version it was, but I remember I was babysitting a little girl who was about six years old. She put it in the CD player, cranked it up, and started singing along loudly in a sweet and mournful tone. I could tell it really resonated with her so I listened closely and realized it resonated with me too – the grief in the sudden separation of friends, the ripping away of a shared humanity – it’s haunted me ever since. I’ve heard just about every version of it there is, searching for one as anguished as the one in my memory of that night with the little girl howling along.
“My search never yielded one that quite fit so I altered the song a bit by putting it in a minor key and choosing only the verses that felt closest to the bone. It’s disheartening to think that Woody Guthrie wrote ‘Deportee’ nearly 80 years ago and it still rings true. What can I do but join him in fighting fascism the only way I know how? With my conscience, with my guitar, with my voice.” – Eilen Jewell
Track Credits: Eilen Jewell – Acoustic guitar, vocals Jason Beek – Drums, vocals Jerry Miller – Electric guitar Matt Murphy – Upright bass
Carly King, “Three Martinis”
Artist:Carly King Hometown: New Jersey and Nashville, Tennessee Song: “Three Martinis” Album:Loving You Is Easy Release Date: March 25, 2026 (single); May 15, 2026 (album) Label: First City Artists
In Their Words: “I wrote this song about the first time I went to New York with my fiancé, who at the time was my boyfriend of one month and my brother’s best friend of 15 years. We stayed in a tiny hotel room and spent the whole day wandering Manhattan, falling in love, and ducking into dive-y music shops. I found a guitar I fell in love with and bought it and we carried it around the city all day – well, mostly he did. I remember feeling how simple and lucky everything was. Later, over martinis at the Carlyle Hotel (my namesake), guitar beside us, we talked deeply about our past, our families, and our future, and I knew I wanted to build a life with him around music. This song is the first date – it’s the taxi cab that takes you into the album.” – Carly King
Adam Klein, “Burnin’ Love”
Artist:Adam Klein Hometown: Tucker, Georgia Song: “Burnin’ Love” Album:Live at Leesta Vall Sound Recordings Release Date: April 3, 2026 Label: Cowboy Angel Music
In Their Words: “This album is a mix of previously released and unreleased songs. ‘Burnin’ Love’ was originally released on my 2015 album, Archer’s Arrow, with a full band presentation. Here, like all the songs on this new record, it’s stripped back to just acoustic guitar, vocals, and violin. But it still feels like it packs a punch. It randomly occurred to me to play it on tour in this duo format a couple nights before the session at Leesta Vall, so it’s fresh and a bit off the cuff. If the Archer’s Arrow version gave a nod to Neil Young & Crazy Horse in the sound of the electric guitar, somehow Adam Poulin’s fiddle playing here achieves something similar in its abandon.
“The song itself was written on my first full day in the village I lived in for two years during my Peace Corps service in rural Mali in West Africa. I was listening to the metal roof of my two-room mud house crackle from the blistering sunlight and questioning all my decisions – did I really want to spend two years here on my own in this curious land? It all loomed before me like a joke. I remember thinking of the feeling of solitude and emptiness that accompanies the end of love, and channeled it into this two-chord song.” – Adam Klein
Track Credits: Adam Klein – Acoustic guitar, vocals Adam Poulin – Violin, vocals
Artist:John R. Miller Hometown: West Virginia Song: “If You Could Only See Me Now” Release Date: March 27, 2026 Label: Rounder Records
In Their Words: “I’ve been fortunate to collaborate with William Matheny for a majority of my musical life at this point. Probably 15 years or so now, definitely in the widest variety of musical situations. The first time I saw him play at 123 Pleasant Street in Morgantown, West Virginia, in 2004 I passed out on a bench and somehow remembered his set that night. I’d get to meet him a few years later and we’ve been playing shows together ever since.
“William’s been playing in bands since he was in the single digits, and his body of work as a songwriter is huge and detailed, with recurring motifs and great riffs. His way of zooming in on the minutiae of viscerally familiar settings in his writing is something I have always admired, and his songs are imbued with literary and philosophical references that reward repeated listening.
“This is my take on a country song of his, one that we recorded some years back for his album That Grand, Old Feeling. I’ve always loved this song, feels like some unearthed forgotten classic country gem every time I hear it. It’s an evocative, tongue-in-cheek ode to the gutter that reads like a drunk postcard to a lost loved one back home.” – John R. Miller
“I’ve played a lot of music with John R. Miller over the years. Sometimes it was my band, sometimes it was his, and sometimes it was something else entirely. When the subject comes up, I usually tell people that we’ve been giving each other the same hundred dollars back and forth for 15 years. I say that completely in jest, of course. We’ve only recently started making that kind of money. When John played [the song] for me, I was incredibly flattered. I mean, it’s certainly not as if he’s hurting for material. On a completely selfish level, I got a huge kick out of hearing such a great singer interpret it and the Tulsa players putting their own spin on it.
“I love songs that bury the lede on the listener a little bit. Stuff like Tom Waits’ ‘Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis,’ Tom T. Hall’s ‘The Homecoming’ or ‘The Green, Green Grass of Home’ by Tom Jones. I didn’t want to let guys named Tom have all the fun, so I wrote this.” – William Matheny
Unspoken Tradition, “Company Man”
Artist:Unspoken Tradition Hometown: Western North Carolina Song: “Company Man” Release Date: March 27, 2026 Label: Mountain Home Music Company
In Their Words: “When Unspoken Tradition first started trying to find our niche, we branded ourselves as ‘working class bluegrass.’ Though we’ve grown and evolved, that is still very much who we are. ‘Company Man’ perfectly exemplifies this slogan. Our nation was built by folks just like the man portrayed in this song. I’ve known and was even raised by a few of them. I’d like to think that the men and women this song was written about would appreciate our music.
“The song tells the story of a man who seems to live to work, not work to live. There’s pride in that, but also a sense of stoic sadness. The lines, ‘Only thing waiting is a watch and chain’ and, ‘Old men are really what the company makes’ hit so hard, and could have only been written by Tim Stafford and Mark Bumgarner. These guys are two incredibly talented songwriters and we’re honored they shared this song with us. Evoking images of the hard-working people we all know and love, this song is a bittersweet reminder to work hard but not make work your master.” – Audie McGinnis
Track Credits: Audie McGinnis – Acoustic guitar, lead vocal Sav Sankaran – Upright bass, harmony vocal Tim Gardner – Fiddle, harmony vocal Ty Gilpin – Mandolin Zane McGinnis – Banjo
Photo Credit: John R. Miller by Larry Nieuhes; Eilen Jewell by Damu Malik.
Bluegrass picking, soulful singing, and clever comedy complemented a night of contemporary country music as two of America’s longest-running institutions reunited in New York City on Friday, March 21, 2026 when the Grand Ole Opry returned to Carnegie Hall.
Amidst the elegant surroundings, the evening offered a prestigious Carnegie Hall debut for all six performers: Opry members Kelsea Ballerini, Henry Cho, Scotty McCreery and Rhonda Vincent, and special guests Wyatt Flores and The War and Treaty. Although there wasn’t a barn backdrop or a velvet curtain, the ivory walls were often lit up in red reminiscent of the Grand Ole Opry House in Nashville throughout the night.
Kelsea Ballerini performs with a gorgeous and iconic Carnegie Hall backdrop.
If you poke around long enough, there are hints of Carnegie Hall’s connection to country music – an autographed photo of Emmylou Harris in an upper tier, a souvenir program on display from Johnny Cash’s 1962 debut, and a collage of albums recorded at the venue, including the iconic one from Buck Owens & The Buckaroos in 1966. Of course, bluegrass fans also know that the Country Gentlemen and Flatt & Scruggs recorded landmark live albums from the fabled stage, too.
Scotty McCreery joins Rhonda Vincent & the Rage on stage at Carnegie Hall for “Blue Moon of Kentucky.”
Rhonda Vincent & The Rage carried on that bluegrass tradition by opening the show with a rendition of Bill Monroe’s “Blue Moon of Kentucky.” McCreery also stepped onstage to give an Elvis Presley-inspired performance of the classic song, which Monroe wrote. After some welcoming remarks from Opry host Charlie Mattos, Vincent resumed her energetic performance with “Kentucky Borderline,” a bluegrass cover of Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5,” and a pleasant sing-along version of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” Keeping with bluegrass tradition, Vincent also introduced her beaming band members: Aaron McDaris on banjo, Adam Haynes on fiddle, Zack Arnold on guitar and vocals, and Mickey Harris on bass.
Wyatt Flores made his Carnegie Hall debut.
Wyatt Flores, a fast-rising, 24-year-old newcomer, admitted he was nervous to play Carnegie Hall since many of his favorite live albums were recorded there. However, the raspy-voiced Oklahoma native confidently delivered a well-received set of new songs, including “Runnin’ on E,” “Half the Man,” and “South Dakota.” Flores told the audience he was sharing this career achievement with his parents (on their first-ever trip to New York City) and his girlfriend (the inspiration for “South Dakota”).
The War and Treaty’s Michael and Tanya Trotter lifted up the crowd with “Five More Minutes,” then slowed things back down with an emotional interpretation of Otis Redding’s “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay.” Michael Trotter took a few moments to speak about the duo’s musical influences and the artists who inspired them, including Ray Charles, Rissi Palmer, and John Prine. They concluded the first half of the show with strong performances of “Yesterday’s Burn” and “You Can’t Hurt Me Anymore.”
Grand Ole Opry member, comedian Henry Cho performs during the show.
New York City is obviously a comedy town and Henry Cho rose to the occasion with a mix of signature quips and amusing stories about his wife, kids, and friends. Fresh off a European tour, the good-natured Scotty McCreery worked the stage as he sang some of his best-known radio hits, including “It Matters to Her,” “Damn Strait,” “Five More Minutes,” and “Bottle Rockets.” East Tennessee native Kelsea Ballerini closed the evening with conversational banter, an announcement that she’s now living in New York City, and a country-tinged selection of fan favorites, such as “Baggage,” “I Sit in Parks,” and “If You Go Down (I’m Goin’ Down Too).”
‘American Idol’ winner and Grand Ole Opry member Scotty McCreery delighted the NYC audience.
Among the night’s performers, Ballerini has surprisingly been an Opry member the longest. Prior to joining the roster in 2019, she would often sing a country classic during her guest appearances. At Carnegie Hall, she revived “Make the World Go Away,” which she learned from Martina McBride’s 1995 album of country classics, Timeless. She also shared her belief that country music is for everyone, a fitting comment on a night that explored the breadth of the genre. Many of the Opry’s special nights conclude with an all-sing finale of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” and this performance was no exception.
The star-studded cast of the Grand Ole Opry at Carnegie Hall sing “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” together to conclude the evening.
During his hosting duties, Mattos mentioned that Carnegie Hall opened in 1891, just one year before the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, the Opry’s former (and still occasional) home. Yet this is only the show’s fourth time at Carnegie Hall, following visits in 1947, 1961, and 2005. The fortuitous timing for this event is part of Carnegie Hall’s United in Sound: America at 250 series and coincides with the Opry’s 100th year. (The world’s longest-running radio reached that milestone on November 28, 2025.) With country now reaching more listeners than ever before, here’s hoping for a New York City encore as the Opry’s new century begins.
All photos shot by Fadi Khelr, courtesy of the Grand Ole Opry. Lead Image: The entire cast of the evening return to the Carnegie Hall Stage to perform “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” together.
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![“It's like the metaphor of having a [limited] number of crayons in your hand and trying to make a picture out of that. I felt I wanted the whole box back.” - Tenille Townes](https://thebluegrasssituation.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/TenilleTownes_GC_QuoteGraphic.png)
