Tag: grateful dead

Yonder Mountain Never Meant to Change the Bluegrass Landscape, But They Did

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Following instructions for listeners to Get Yourself Outside in 2022 and declaring they’re heading Nowhere Next in in 2024, jamgrass torchbearers Yonder Mountain String Band have reached their zenith on Good As True.

Released March 27, the collection finds the band embracing the skill sets of its newest members Nick Piccininni (mandolin, vocals) and Coleman Smith (fiddle) more than ever, as they dissect the human condition through nine tracks highlighting everything from falling in and out of love (“Brand New Heartache”), to confronting regret (“Blind”), and frustrations with today’s political climate (“The Lie”).

During a recent phone call, bassist Ben Kaufmann spoke with BGS about working Piccininni into the writer’s room, lessons learned from touring, how former band member Jeff Austin’s spirit sticks with him, and more.

This is your third album having Nick in the writer’s room with you, Adam [Aijala], and Dave [Johnston]. What has that evolution of bringing him into the fold there been like?

Ben Kaufmann: Yonder has always had its own special sound. There’s a very specific energy and communal taste with the music that we’ve been tapping into collectively for so long. Nick had already been writing for a while before coming aboard [for 2022’s Get Yourself Outside], so once we got him up to speed with our style we realized how intuitive he is. He has his own understanding of what a Yonder Mountain song is, which has made it fun when it comes to overhearing him workshopping songs or when we swap ideas backstage and on the bus.

We also knew, with recording time on the calendar, that we’d need more material. For most of Yonder’s lifespan we’ve had four writers – going all the way back to the days with Jeff, so it only made sense to give Nick the same opportunity when we saw what he could do. After putting songs from all of us “through committee,” a bunch of his wound up being cut [recorded] these last handful of years.

It’s especially important because Nick is such a wonderful singer. He’s great at everything he does, which is really inspiring to be around. He’s really stepped into his own as a featured vocalist and as a mandolin player. It’s been fun encouraging him to cultivate his own voice while also hearing him take the reins on some of Yonder’s oldest, most beloved songs.

What’s most satisfying for me with this band is writing my own songs, playing them with the band, and having people who are ostensibly there to hear the music enjoying it. There’s no better feeling than that and we wanted Nick to feel it too, since he’s currently in what seems to be a really prolific time of his life for songwriting. He’s the perfect fit for what we do. I’m so grateful he came into our lives and continues to enjoy making music with us. Being in a touring band isn’t for everyone, but everything with Nick has felt very natural from the start.

You just mentioned touring life, which I know the band touches upon with the song “Long Ride.” Do you have any good tips or wisdom you’ve picked up from your 28 years on the road with this band?

It’s like two hours of the greatest time of your life, every day, followed by 22 hours sitting in an airplane. [Laughs] In all seriousness, it’s been very different depending on the time in my life we’re talking about. I’ve handled it really well, but I’ve also handled it terribly. I’ve made mistakes and overcome them, but I’m sure I’ll make even more. When I was young I felt invincible. I’d drink too much and do all the drugs – not to the point of turning disastrous, but I lived that life. Doing that ages you so much faster than otherwise, and touring in general is already not easy.

Because of that I’ve spent so much time, energy, and money working on my personal growth through therapy and reading about ways I am deficient and could improve, to realize my full potential. A massively important part of my life is having a deep curiosity for how to be a better person, which is something I’d like to think I’d still be doing even if I worked in an office or at a place like FedEx. I don’t even know what else I’m qualified to do at this point except survive on the road.

What’s helped me through it all is paying attention to the people around me, investing in myself, and embracing the group dynamic so we can create the highest possible energy state and vibe. Essentially, don’t be a dick! [Laughs]

Lyrically, this record deals a lot with relationships, communication, and the fallout that can occur when those two things break down. With songs like “The Lie” and “One To One Another” this seems to deal partly with politics, but were there any other factors that motivated this direction on the record?

Not in the sense that we spoke about it ahead of time. We didn’t say, “Hey, we’re going to do a record so let’s write about A, B, and C.” A lot of our songwriting is done individually, but there still are some collaborative opportunities for us to get together, as well. As we got closer and closer to our recording dates and the song started being developed, [that] was when we first noticed those common themes. At the same time, I’m not surprised when common themes like this do emerge due to being on the road together and living the same life a lot of the time. When you’re seeing, doing, and talking about the same things regularly it’s easy to have a lot of synchronicity between what we’re writing about and creating.

Ultimately, we’re at our best when we’re writing about our own experiences and what we know. With “The Lie,” I like to think about Jesus, [and] all the bad actors in our world, many of which wield immense power. It makes me feel helpless at times as a bass player and musician – like, what am I supposed to do? It’s an overwhelming predicament, and that song for me speaks to that feeling of, “How did we get here?” It’s also very empowering to sing a song that speaks truth to something like that.

“The Lie” was also one of the songs that got my explicit vote when it came to making the cut for the record. When it came to sequencing, I also wanted that to be one of the first songs you hear when you put the needle down on your vinyl or press play.

“Blind” seems to be a song about regret, mental health, and realizing too late how much someone truly mattered. Have you ever thought about how that tune and what it’s describing relates to your fallout over a decade ago with the late Jeff Austin?

To this point I hadn’t connected that song with how I engage with Jeff’s spirit, but maybe I will now. His spirit and my thinking about him happens at every show. As time has passed, I’ve found that the thoughts I have about him that stick out are all the good times we had together, which wasn’t always the case for us. It was a deeply challenging and complicated relationship we had together and it wasn’t wonderful at the end, which is ultimately why we stopped playing together.

But as time passed, and with his passing – which remains one of the most tragic things I’ve experienced in my life – I became more and more crushed that he didn’t get the help that he needed. I don’t think he knew how important he was to so many people. I think more and more fondly of his spirit, energy, and memory with each passing day.

That original version of the band really changed bluegrass music by building a bridge between it and the jam world. What it did was really powerful, so it’s very interesting trying to think back and conceptualize what it was that we accomplished because we didn’t mean to do anything – we were just trying to play music the best we could.

As I look at it – especially as far down the road as we are now – I see the scene that’s developed from it and all the people doing amazing things with the music as a result. It’s all very humbling, and Jeff was a huge part of that. There’s never going to be anybody else like him, good and bad. We had a pretty complicated relationship – we were the best of friends for a while until we weren’t – but I always have and will love him.

One of my favorite moments on the record is the 17-minute jam on “Barroom Feather.” How did it come about?

One of the things that’s always interested us once we were able to start accessing the data is what our most-streamed song is, for better or worse. [Laughs] What we found is our most-streamed song is a cover of “Dancing In The Moonlight,” which is a good song, but not an original like I wish it was. Then our second most-streamed song is a tune called “Midwest Gospel Radio” that’s an instrumental from our self-titled record. On the album, when we first released it, the song was only two and a half or three minutes long, but along the way someone else released a nine-minute version that’s gotten millions of streams and is now second on our list of top songs.

It got me reflecting on our version and how comfortable we all were in the studio recording it, so when Dave brought us this song we pivoted from doing a shorter, “radio edit” version [that you also hear on Good As True] to something much longer. We recorded a couple takes that way, allowing ourselves to exist in that space and jam a bit, and I couldn’t be happier with the spaces and textures we came up with. It has this time-travel, hypnotic space-time warp thing about it that we were really psyched about. It works really well as both a more streamlined song and as a long jam like what we end the album on, so I’m excited to see how people listen to and engage with it.

You’ve been touring with Yonder for 28 years now. What continues to motivate you nearly three decades in?

First and foremost, I love music. That will never change. I also have a 14-year-old son that I love more than anything in the world. Music is part of the fabric of my flesh, blood, and spirit – I simply don’t know what else I’d be doing if not for it. I’m so blessed that this weird little music project called Yonder Mountain String Band happened, because looking back it doesn’t make much sense. Going from that to seeing what bluegrass music has become, having schools and colleges now devoted to bluegrass music, to [the] elevation of the music’s degree of technicality and musicianship, has been mind-blowing. None of that was the case when we were starting out in the ‘90s. We loved bluegrass music but were a lot more beholden to the spirit of the Grateful Dead than we were Bill Monroe, but we still wanted to play it.

I look at it in the sense of me being good at what I do, but by no means am I the best bass player around. None of us were the best at what we did and when you put it all together it goes against all the laws of physics, mathematics, and common sense. But two plus two equaled five for that one moment in time. I can’t tell you why, but it did and here we are now.

As a result, I get to live this extraordinary musical life that’s navigated some big ebbs and flows. That, along with all the fans who’ve embraced our music through the years and found us in different ways, is what keeps us going.

Photo Credit: Lead image by Robin Vega; alternate images by Mountain Trout Photography, Trent Grogan

Our Jamgrass column is brought to you in partnership with Preston Thompson Guitars.

An Oral History of the Infamous Stringdusters

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CP: The Plough and Stars! Andy was playing–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AH: I think that would’ve been 2005.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CP: Ben Eldridge.

AH: Yeah!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CP: Critter introduced us.

AF: Yeah.

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

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

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

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

CP: Also, we were into that stuff.

AH: Yeah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credit: Daniel Milchev

Steve Poltz Loves a Tangent

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Steve Poltz has built a career by following each song wherever it wants to go. Sometimes that means a meticulously fingerpicked melody. Sometimes it means a story that veers off into comedy, confession, or absurdity before circling back to the heart of the matter. That tangential nature – equal parts songwriter, raconteur, and road-tested troubadour – has become his signature, especially onstage, where no two of his shows are ever the same.

Poltz’s new album, JoyRide (released January 30, 2026), reflects that same restless curiosity. Trim, deliberate, and capped at 10 songs, it distills decades of touring, collaboration, and lived experience into a tightly sequenced record designed to be heard in one sitting. From satirical observations about modern life to deeply personal reflections shaped by years on the road, JoyRide captures Poltz at a moment of clarity – still chasing the perfect song, still trusting instinct over plan, and still finding meaning in the long way around.

Long before JoyRide, Poltz earned his reputation the slow way – by logging miles, swapping verses with fellow songwriters, and learning how a room breathes. Founder of the San Diego-based rock band the Rugburns and co-writer of Jewel’s breakthrough “You Were Meant for Me,” he has never been defined by that early success, instead carving out a singular path marked by humor, humility, and an almost reckless openness.

In a conversation with BGS, we spoke with Poltz about the making of JoyRide, the longtime relationships that have sustained him, and the zany, unpredictable ride that has been his career. Whether sharing a bill with old friends or holding a crowd rapt with nothing more than a guitar and an improvised aside, Poltz approaches music less as a performance than as a conversation – one where the destination matters less than the unexpected connections made along the way.

Let’s start with early memories. Was there a moment when music really clicked for you?

Steve Poltz: I remember when I was in second or third grade, I stuttered, had asthma, eczema, and I didn’t hang out with many people. I started playing guitar when I was six. So I brought the guitar to school for show and tell. And I sang the song “Sloop John B” in class. And other kids brought snakes, brought their moms who were nurses or doctors or firemen, and their dads and stuff. I sang a song on guitar. I went out and sat alone. I remember I opened my lunch and I looked up and there were six girls around me. I thought, “This is all I have to do!” That was it. That was the plan.

I had a friend who was a DJ at San Diego State University [radio station] KCR, and she moved in with these roommates. They had brought this record by that had just come out by this woman named Rickie Lee Jones. It was her eponymous debut LP. And, oh my God, I listened to that record nonstop. There was a song called “On Saturday Afternoons in 1963,” which is still one of my favorite songs. It was in the movie Stripes with Bill Murray.

Man, two years ago I played Byron Bay Bluesfest in Australia and Rickie Lee Jones was on after me. Just the way the world works and the universe works, I knew her percussionist who plays the vibes, Mike Dillon. He sees me, and he’s sitting with Rickie Lee Jones, who’s like my hero. She’s one of my favorite lyricists ever. I’m a Dylanologist, and still, Rickie Lee Jones – those first two records especially – her poetry, the way she puts the songs together, I put it at the top of my whole pyramid.

[At Bluesfest] I told her I’d do a cover of “On Saturday Afternoons in 1963” and I segue into it from John Hartford’s “Presbyterian Guitar.” She loved John Hartford, too. She comes out during the song in front of 5,000 people, sings the second verse, and I just started crying. It was one of those full circle moments. These are the people that are my heroes.

You’ve become very deliberate about keeping your albums, like JoyRide, short and sweet. Why?

We’re just in such a quick world, where people don’t have the attention span. I’ve come to this conclusion that 10 songs is the perfect amount of songs to have on a record. Leave all these other ones on the cutting room floor. Put them out later on B-side compilations or something. Keep it under 33 minutes. It fits on vinyl perfectly. It doesn’t lose any of the resolution. If people are into you, it’s not too hard to give 32 minutes of your time. My hope is they go, “Let’s hear it again.” That’s my fantasy. One day I’ll get it right.

You’re known as a road warrior. What still thrills you about touring?

I feel like I’m kind of like the Grateful Dead in that I’m better experienced live than on record. Live, there’s magic. I’m still looking to make the perfect record. Maybe when I’m 80. I can’t believe Bob Weir just died, I mean he’s so young, 78. I’m like, “God, that’s like 12 years older than I am, I better get my shit together.”

I love it when things don’t work on the road. When something goes wrong, when animals attack. It took me a lot of years to get there, but sometimes things are really good when they don’t work. It messes with the audience. It’s like mental jiu jitsu.

Perhaps not surprisingly, you often reference comedy as an influence. How important is humor to your music?

I loved Andy Kaufman. I loved Richard Pryor. The early Steve Martin albums, Cheech and Chong – I memorized all that stuff. When I heard Allan Sherman sing “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah!” I remember thinking, “Why can’t every song be like this?” Same thing with listening to the Dr. Demento [radio] show. Dr. Demento was huge. He played the Rugburns [on his show]. “Weird Al” Yankovic used to come to our shows and loved [our 1995 record] Dick’s Automotive. Because of that song, he wrote “Albuquerque.”

What are some of your earliest musical memories? You mentioned Rickie Lee Jones earlier. What are some other early prominent memories of being moved or touched by a song? Where were your first performances?

My uncle took me to see Julian Bream at the Hollywood Bowl. Classical guitar. That was it. I wanted to learn classical guitar. You know, with my left foot up on a stool, with a nylon string guitar, the way you hold it all in the proper classical way. I learned to read music. Fernando Sor’s etudes. My first gigs were in Mexican restaurants in San Diego. Four hours of classical guitar. Free meals. One night I got the courage to sing “Time in a Bottle.” The waitress said, “I didn’t know you could sing.” That night ended with me running out a window and leaving my left shoe behind. I never went back to that restaurant.

And then there was another one in El Cajon and it was called El Amigo. The El Amigo Ballroom. Then I got a job at Round Table Pizza in La Mesa. I got fired because I sang on the mic and I sang “The Rodeo Song.” One night, I got really drunk with the manager and I didn’t know the owner was in the audience. That was where I kind of learned mic control, because the manager was like, “Man, you’ve got a good voice for speaking. I want you to be the guy who says, ‘McDonald, party of four, you’ve got a large pepperoni pizza.’”

One night the manager got me really drunk. He was a younger guy. I started singing “The Rodeo Song,” which was this Canadian song that went, “Well, it’s 40 below and I don’t give a fuck, got a heater in my truck and I’m off to the rodeo.” And the chorus goes, “You piss me off, you fucking jerk, you get on my nerves.” It’s like a really juvenile song that was played on the radio in the late ‘70s. They would have all these bleeps where the cuss words were. And I sang it on the mic. Then the next morning I got a call from the manager. He’s like, “You need to come in and pick up your check.” I said, “We’re getting paid early.” And he goes, “No, you’re fired. We need pizza makers, not entertainers.”

Let’s talk about JoyRide. Tell us about the opening song, “If It Bleeds, It Leads.”

It started with a guitar riff. A major seventh chord. Then the melody. Then the words came. And the next morning when I woke up, I was kind of laughing. I always saved ideas, it’s like a junkyard of melodies, words, everything in my iPhone on my notes page, and then also in my voice memos. And I went, “Oh, this fits.” [Quotes:]

I can never watch the news with you because you yell back
You scream like they can hear you in the television set
What am I to do when all you’re doing is yelling at the top of your lungs?
You’re even scaring all the pets.
You’re scaring all, you’re scaring all, you’re scaring all the pets.

And it just worked out perfectly. You just kind of shave off syllables and fit it into this sort of Sudoku puzzle or something.

And next thing you know, it’s like you’re fishing and you have this song on the line. Like, where do I want it to go next? You can say, “I remember one time when you went and grabbed your pistol.” And so that harkens back to Elvis Presley, who I was lucky enough to meet when I was nine years old. He put me on his shoulders. I’m like, “I gotta name check Elvis in this.”

The songs comprising JoyRide seem especially quirky, even by your standards. Can you tell us about some of the ones that you have the most affection for?

“Petrichor,” which is track two, I really love because it’s really fast fingerpicking. I wrote that with Gary Nicholson, who wrote a bunch with John Prine and toured with Guy Clark. He’s just a wonderful songwriter. I went over to his house and I was like, “I have this idea for this song called ‘Petrichor.” I showed him the guitar riff, we wrote that song, and it’s a banger. I love playing that live. There’s one called “At It Again” that I wrote with Jim Lauderdale that I love playing live, and I love playing “Love a Little Bigger.”

There’s a song called “Hair Lift,” where I learned a tuning from Richard Thompson. It’s just my E string goes down to C and my A string goes down to G, and everything else is the same. He uses that tuning in “1952 Vincent Black Lightning,” but he capos it up. So I took that tuning and wrote this song called “Hair Lift.” I love singing that song because it’s got lines in it that are just so goofy, they still make me laugh. Stuff that I find funny, not everybody else does, which makes me laugh even harder.

My favorite one to do live is called “The Son of God,” and that’s because I get to play myself and Jesus. I’m having a conversation with Jesus, and that whole song came about because when I was a kid – it’s one of my fondest memories – [there] was this door-to-door salesman [that] came to our house. He was selling Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedias. Dude, it was like a new iPhone. All the answers to everything were in this set of encyclopedias, and I begged my parents to get them. I begged them and they got the Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedias for me.

My mom said, “You gotta read every one of them cover to cover.” And I did. Every day I would just read the encyclopedia, because I found all this knowledge so fascinating about everything. Words I’d never heard of and countries I’d never heard of. Niger! I mean, come on. And I’d want to read everything about it. So I was thinking when I made up this song, “The Son of God,” like, “Hey, whatever happened to all those Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedias?” I had this fantasy that Jesus called me up and he was trying to get rid of them, because you have to have a storage unit in heaven.

What came together perfectly on this record?

It’s hard to get me into the studio, so just that it happened is like a dream. I’m always on the road. But I recorded at this guy’s house in Nashville. The vibe was good. That’s everything to me. I wrote songs with Jim Lauderdale. One with Vince Herman. It all came together naturally.

You spent ten years in Nashville before returning to San Diego. What did that city give you?

From the moment I got there, it was where I was meant to be. Everywhere you go, you’re making contacts. Coffeehouses are where everything happens. People are polite. You don’t know who anyone is. Your Uber driver might get you a record deal. I remember I was at this coffeehouse and I looked over and there was Lisa Loeb, who I hadn’t seen in years because I toured and opened for her back in the ‘90s. I hadn’t seen her since that tour and she just happened to be in town and I was in this coffeehouse and she was like, “Steve?” “Lisa?” And she said, “You know, I always come here to write and hang out.” Then, the same coffeehouse, there is another amazing person just a week later. And then at a different coffeehouse, Jim Lauderdale. Then me and Jim became really close – and must have like 30 songs [written together] – and it just went on and on and on. Like wherever I went, I was just making contacts.

Circling back to where we started our conversation, some people don’t want humor or irony or banter in their music, staples and bedrocks of JoyRide and perhaps your entire career. How do you continue to approach and navigate those variables?

Luckily, there are hundreds and thousands of artists for everything. Some people want to slam dance or listen to really serious bluegrass. Some want to cry. My audience wants stories. They want to laugh and to cry. They want to hear some guitar playing. In today’s world, part of the whole thing is you got to be consistent, you’ve got to get out there, and you got to keep doing it, because nobody’s going to just tap you on the shoulder and say, “Hey, kid, I’m going to make you a star.” It just really doesn’t happen.

I like small rooms. Low ceilings. Shoulder to shoulder. Quiet listening rooms. Tangents. That’s the ultimate job.

Photo Credit: Jay Blakesburg

Somethin’ About Train Songz

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

What first began as a locomotive and string music meme page has transformed into one of the most quirky and beloved sources of independent journalism in roots music, one zine at a time.

Founded by Anthony “The Conductor” Perasso and James “Promontory Paul” Lucey in July 2023, Train Songz has since grown its community to over 28,000 Instagram followers and more than 1,200 paid subscribers. Readers collectively contribute anywhere from $33-$99 per year (or $11 per copy), with three to four issues published per year. The latest, eighth edition features a 44-page interview with Billy Strings’ bassist Royal Masat.

The interview for Masat is a full circle moment for Train Songz, which began with a Billy-centric focus before expanding to feature other bluegrass acts like Mountain Grass Unit, East Nash Grass, and Valley Flower. In fact, it was a Billy Strings show in Bridgeport, Connecticut, attended by Train Songz co-founders (that they rode the train to themselves, no less) where the concept for the then-meme page first came together.

“At the show Billy was wearing a hickory-striped railroad hat that someone (who we’ve since connected with on Instagram) threw up on stage a few shows prior, as trains were passing by the stage,” recalls Perasso.

“I tweeted from my personal account a photo of Billy with the hat on and the caption ‘Train Songz,’ which was a Trey Songz pun – like if Trey Songz is Trey Songz, then Billy Strings is Train Songz,” Perasso laughs. “Four days later, I locked down the @train_songz username and posted our first meme.”

After publishing some popular Billy and Grateful Dead inspired memes, Train Songz began transitioning to a zine in December 2023, while Perasso was home for the holidays and more sedentary than usual after recovering from multiple surgeries. No stranger to producing print media, having previously worked on a satirical newspaper while in college, he says the zine quickly filled a void left empty since graduating in 2017. Now two years in with eight installments of the printed zine, Train Songz has grown into a thriving community bigger and wilder than Perasso, Lucey, and the rest of the core team – including Liza Chaplin (art/design) and Mitchell “Brakeman” Harbin (writer/editor) – could have ever imagined.

Original artwork by Morganne Allen from ‘Train Songz’ Vol. 7, Summer 2025.

“Beyond my personal penchant for print, Train Songz was gathering a community of wooden-instrument-music enjoyers, so print felt like a natural extension of that vibration,” Perasso continues. “And from a more boring media strategy point of view, print (and email!) offers you a direct relationship with your audience that algorithms can’t get in the way of and platforms can’t take away. So for both those reasons, a Train Songz zine felt like a perfect move.”

After wrapping up production on the eighth installment of the zine, the Train Songz crew spoke with BGS via Zoom about the zine’s origins, how they first discovered Billy Strings, the publication’s next steps for growth, and more.

Y’all use pen names in the zine (except for Liza). How did each of you come up with your alter egos?

James Lucey: Before I get to that, I’ll just add that leading up to this interview we all debated if we should do this as ourselves or go by our pen names. It’s been an interesting dynamic, [navigating] who are we in relationship to the zine [and] what the zine is in relationship to us and our audience. We made the zine to try and participate in some way in the broader conversation about modern-day bluegrass music; we’re not the face of the zine, we’re just the people that are powering it.

But regarding my pen name, “Promontory Paul,” he’s the voice of the Old Tune Review, which is one of the core pieces of the zine. In it we pick a handful of old songs [and] dive deep into [their] history through independent research. It’s born out of the idea that these old songs are still being played today and still resonate in some way. In some ways it’s like a time machine, because you’re feeling the same emotions that someone felt hundreds of years ago when they wrote these things. So it’s cool to dive in and see what the actual genesis of those songs are.

[Paul’s] the guy who runs that, but we also feature him in a little recurring cartoon series that sees him playing banjo and getting into all kinds of crazy adventures. “Promontory” is a reference to the Promontory Summit, which was the final completion [point] of the first transcontinental railroad in Utah, when the Union Pacific Railroad and the Central Pacific Railroads (which had been building from Nebraska and Sacramento, respectively) finally met.

This effectively connected the old world with the new one, sort of like what we do with the zine.

Mitchell Harbin: My name actually came out of the fact that a brakeman is a role on an actual train – he’s the guy that pulls the brakes. It was actually during the production of the zine’s third issue that I had come aboard to help with proofreading and copy editing. There were a couple of times in that process where James and Anthony were like, “Alright, we’re good to go, ready to launch” and I would pump the brakes and say, “Whoa, hold up.” Which is what eventually spawned the name idea.

Liza Chaplin: I’m still working on mine. [Laughs] It’s an ongoing thing that I’ve been thinking about, but so far I haven’t gotten anywhere with it. At first I decided to put my own name on it to use as a portfolio-building mechanism, but now with how the zine has grown it feels very silly to still have my actual name on it.

Anthony Perasso: “The Conductor” came to be when James and I were talking about taking the meme page offline [and moving] into print form with our first issue. We made a decision that Train Songz was the name of the publication and brand and community – or whatever vibration of people who value the same kind of music as we do, cultivating this eponymous meme page.

As the person who had started the meme page, I didn’t want Train Songz to be seen as an individual, as in, “That’s Anthony, he’s Train Songz.” Our desired outcome would be: “That’s Anthony, he’s The Conductor for Train Songz.” That allowed Train Songz [to be] less a single being and more of a vehicle for those involved. Pun intended. (A mentor even recommended to me that the title of The Conductor be something that can be passed on from individual to individual, like the Pope or the President. Time will tell if we get to that point!)

A Billy Strings train songs data visualization from ‘Train Songz’ Vol. 5, fall 2024.

What was Promontory Paul’s role in this latest issue of Train Songz given its focus on the Royal interview?

AP: Paul’s column still exists in the newest zine, but he went about it in a really cool way. The idea began with our third edition, when we gave Promontory Paul an entire section to write about old bluegrass songs regularly covered by the likes of Billy, the Sam Grisman Project, and whatever other bands we listened to or saw live that quarter. So we’d cite where we heard it played before diving into a history lesson and where it came from.

Then, for this issue with Royal, we took that Old Tune Review and instead of songs we heard out in the wild made it all about songs that he mentioned during the interview. Throughout the interview there are little interjections from Promontory Paul – almost like Clippy, the office assistant on Microsoft Word. It’s been fun to take these gimmicks that worked for us a year ago and apply them to the restrictions presented by this long-form interview. Royal gave us so much that we wanted to give him the entire issue, but we’re still going to sprinkle in the ethos of what our readers are familiar with and what we like to do, which is to connect something that’s happening in the present day – like the recent Billy Strings and Bryan Sutton tour with Royal – to the past. It’s been really fun connecting with folks like that through the zine. It’s almost like Paul’s on a time-traveling train or something. [Laughs]

We send surveys out to our subscribers after publishing each issue and Promontory Paul’s history lessons are always towards the top when it comes to [readers’] favorite parts of the zine. It’s also been a cool way to make note of the fact that it’s not just us behind the scenes who are enjoying this. It really speaks to how much we respect the audience that we have and how that drives us to create the best issue possible every quarter.

 

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A post shared by Royal Masat (@royalmasat)

I saw recently that Royal left a copy of Train Songz #7 at the NPR Tiny Desk following the session he recorded there with Billy. What did seeing that mean to y’all?

AP: He’s been a follower of ours for a long time and brought that copy of the zine to NPR on his own after reaching out to us to subscribe about a year ago. We knew he’d been reading along for a while, so once this tour came up with him, Bryan, and Billy, it just seemed like the perfect thing for the zine to cover. It was important for us to capture the combination of old and new in those shows dedicated to Doc and Merle Watson and T. Michael Coleman and featured the King of arena-grass playing these smaller rooms of 400 to [2,200] people with one of the most preeminent guitarists alive in Bryan Sutton.

It took us a second to come around to the idea, because we’ve been very cautious about not becoming a Billy Strings-exclusive fan zine. We want to serve the broader ecosystem, but that tour was something we couldn’t pass up, especially with Royal being a reader. Once we did reach out, he blew us out of the water with the time he put into it. His interview with Mitchell ended up being over 4,000 words that he sent us by email after wrapping up a tour in Europe. Once that wrapped I remember him sending us a literal tome – he took it very seriously and his responses were so thoughtful.

The final result almost looks like a children’s book with the way Liza designed it. None of that would be possible without our paying supporters, who make it possible for us to work with the 17 artists we partnered with on this issue to bring it even more to life with quirky illustrations that tie back to things Royal said, like throwing in an illustration of a medieval horse with a knight in shining armor where Royal refers to his bass as his trusty steed. I like to refer to what she does as “Andy Warhol-ing.” [Laughs]

Inset artwork by Sara Dennis from the 8th and most recent edition of ‘Train Songz.’

I know you just mentioned not wanting to become exclusively a Billy Strings fan zine. However, I’m curious to hear when and how y’all first encountered his music?

LC: The first time I saw Billy was at RiverRock, a free festival on Brown’s Island in Richmond in 2019 before he blew up. I had heard of him prior to that, but after seeing him live I became absolutely mesmerized. I didn’t like bluegrass for the longest time, but something clicked with me when I saw Billy and was like, “Oh, this is what I want to keep following and chasing.”

MH: In college, I was a huge Deadhead and Phish fan and was consumed by the jam world. Then I heard about Billy on some Facebook groups and message boards, talking about how he covers The Dead really well.

I moved to Boston shortly thereafter and the first month I was living there Billy played at the Wang Theater. I wound up buying a ticket and went without having listened to his music at all beforehand and was absolutely blown away. To me, it was like a psychedelic Dead or Phish show combined with bluegrass, which in hindsight probably hit on the homesickness I was feeling at the time, because I had been around bluegrass before, but wasn’t really interested in it when I was living in the South. From there, I jumped down the rabbit hole into more old-time bluegrass, which is when I started playing the music myself. So I attribute my musical pursuits now to that moment and think that is probably true of other people, too.

JL: I remember [going down] a YouTube [rabbit] hole in 2020 and coming across a set of Billy playing Doc Watson tunes. It may have been Royal’s first gig with him. I just so happened to be in a bit of a bluegrass moment at the time I found that video of Billy and was instantly hooked, resulting in me digging even deeper. I was already a Deadhead as well, so I loved his covers of those songs too. Then I worked my way to his original stuff – which is also sick – and I have YouTube to thank for it!

AP: I remember James, “Promontory Paul,” showing me Billy for the first time. Like most of the bands I like, I channel my music taste through him. When we first got into him there was still a lot of remote work going on, so we’d listen to Billy while doing that or even while we were playing games like Fortnite. I started listening to a lot of The Dead in order to try to get to the point where I could listen and name the year the show came from. But over time Billy started taking more and more of the market share of my listening time away from the “What year is this Grateful Dead show from?” project.

What are your next steps for continuing to grow Train Songz?

AP: We occasionally host concerts (the next one is February 12, 2026 with The Asheville Mountain Boys), and have captured audio recordings – which we call Tiny Train Sessions – in the past, but we look at them more as a marketing tactic than a growth mechanism.

My day job is a social media manager and doing that I’ve noticed that the best way to get a lot of views on Instagram is to post reels, because they [are served] to non-followers and new followers first. We could post a bunch of concert clips and other things to build our audience, but we intentionally opted to not do that because we’re firm believers that things that grow slow last a long time. We don’t want to gatekeep or make it hard to find us, but rather [hope folks will] find us organically through a friend sharing one of our memes or sending you a copy of the zine itself. I want the first point of contact to be someone who’s already within our ecosystem that really digs it and turns you onto it, one person at a time.

All visuals, artwork, and zine scans courtesy of Train Songz. Learn more about artists Morganne Allen and Sara Dennis.

Clay Street Unit Chat Sin & Squalor and Excitement for the Future

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Since their inception in 2021, Clay Street Unit has quickly risen into the national spotlight. The rollicking Americana string band is garnering the frequent tag of “must-see” by their rapidly growing fanbase.

Formed in Denver, Colorado, the sextet is unique in sight and in sound. With a foundation soaked in bluegrass, the ensemble also includes a drummer and a pedal steel player – which often kicks the act into the realms of indie folk and honky-tonk. Ultimately, this lends them to a wildin’ out scene when placed in a packed room of fans and the curious alike, something that has become commonplace as of late.

It’s at this exact juncture – of deeply held dreams and aspirations coming to fruition – that Clay Street Unit will finally release their debut album, Sin & Squalor (out February 13 via Leo33). The 11-song LP is a perfect introduction to this band of melodic pirates as they currently navigate the high seas of the music industry. The record not only captures the essence of the outfit, it’s also impressive in nature, showcasing the vibrant energy of the group’s live show via the studio.

Produced by the Infamous Stringdusters’ Chris Pandolfi, Sin & Squalor is a sonic roadmap to the here and now of where jamgrass stands in the modern era. With members of Clay Street Unit hailing from a variety of places in the U.S. (Alabama, Virginia, Colorado, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Illinois), their multilayered influences lead to traditional acoustic aspects mirrored by modern sounds. Each texture a product of the unique environments from which these musicians proudly emerged.

Catching up with mandolinist Scottie Bolin and guitarist Sam Walker, the duo spoke at length with BGS about the group’s origin, how their sound came to be, and what’s in store for Clay Street Unit. The road seems to be wide open as this troupe has created quite a buzz, coast to coast, coming into 2026.

I was kind of curious about how 2025 wrapped up for y’all.

Sam Walker: I think 2025 was probably the most important year we’ve had yet. It was a huge year for us, as far as crossing off a bunch of big local goals and national goals. We got to play Red Rocks with some of our heroes and buddies, Leftover Salmon and Kitchen Dwellers. We got to play [our] biggest hometown show in Denver at the Ogden Theatre, and had the privilege of selling that place out and playing with our good buddies, Andy Hall and Chris Pandolfi from the Stringdusters. And then, we signed our record deal [with Leo33] and got to plan the rollout for this record and finally get it released.

I would surmise last year will really be setting the pace for 2026, justifying all the blood, sweat, and tears going into this.

Scottie Bolin: Yeah, absolutely. A ton of work went into making the album and getting the songs where you wanted them to be. And finally getting to tour a bunch last year has been really rewarding, getting to play these songs to live crowds and really hitting the road hard.

You guys have had a pretty fast trajectory for five years together. And I was wondering about the background of how the band formed and the timeline of how it all came together.

SW: Our former banjo player, Jack Klein, and I met one night at a brewery in Denver, a couple blocks from Clay Street and the house I was living in at the time. I played some guitar, picked tunes all night at my house, and ended up booking a gig over at that same brewery. It all happened really organically. We weren’t really trying to start a band. It just felt like the right people, right place, right time to try to get something going. We ended up meeting our former drummer and bass player, and then everything kind of picked up steam a little bit quicker than we thought.

We were playing The Patio [at Sloan’s], then [Cervantes’] Other Side, then the [Cervantes Masterpiece] Ballroom. People kept buying tickets, listening, and supporting the music. As things grew, some people weren’t really dedicated to being lifelong musicians in the band. I ended up going on tour and playing with Colorado [jamgrass] band Morsel that our bass player [Jack Kotarba] and Scottie had started. We all became really close buddies over that tour. And things kind of naturally shifted in a different direction for some members. We all kind of crossed paths at the right time.

SB: At the end of the day, we were all just kind of playing music with various groups and side projects in Denver, playing a lot of bluegrass. And things just clicked. Everyone got along really well. The band, at its core, is a group of good friends. And it just snowballed and grew from there.

SW: I moved out here to Colorado eight or nine years ago. And we had this big 4,000-square-foot party house. There were four or five guys living in it at any given time. It was just where everyone would kind of come through and hang, and we would play music all night. It felt like a revolving door of people in there. That house was kind of where everything started.

We got the band going and rehearsed. It felt like the origin of the band. We were listening to a ton of Tony Rice at the time. I kind of came into bluegrass the long way. I didn’t grow up being a huge disciple or anything like that. But, obviously, moving out to Colorado, I got a class in bluegrass culture pretty quick. We were just obsessed with that Tony Rice record, Manzanita.

Was playing in a band something you each wanted to do or is it just the way everything unfolded?

SB: I’m from Charlottesville, Virginia. I started [playing] in college [at the University of Colorado Boulder with] Morsel. We tried to make a go of it. We did a couple tours. [But], the touring lifestyle is hard and takes full dedication from the whole group. Some of the guys [in Morsel] didn’t wanna do that. So, I stepped away from that. Luckily, right around that time, I met Sam and all the Clay Street guys.

SW: I grew up down south in Montgomery, Alabama. I kind of came into it the opposite way. I played in a Widespread Panic/Grateful Dead cover band in college and just sang. Then, I moved out to Colorado and picked up the guitar. I’d always sang and written a few songs and loved live music. But, I really kind of fell into it. It wasn’t something necessarily in my early twenties I expected to be doing for a living.

All the dominoes fell in the right places and I was around the right people that gave me a lot of confidence to push the boundaries of what I was comfortable with. Playing in some side bluegrass bands around town really helped me feel more comfortable about being a part of the Denver music scene. Everything happened step by step. I wasn’t really trying to make it a career, but a few years later, it felt like something that made sense – to take the leap and try to push it as far as we can.

Your band is a huge melting pot of sound. Is that by design or just how it all just came together?

SW: I feel like it’s a little bit of both. We definitely didn’t set out or want to be a traditional bluegrass band. Obviously, when we added the drums and pedal steel and electric bass that decision was kind of made for us. It’s kind of a melting pot of everything we listen to and the music we like.

When Scottie and I go to write a song, we don’t think, “This is a bluegrass tune,” “This is a folk tune,” “This has an indie feel.” We let the music and everybody’s kind of flavor and influence on how the song’s going to sound. We don’t really try to have those guardrails of how it needs to sound or what vibe it needs to be.

When I was listening to the album, I kept thinking how I really want to see you guys live. And I think that’s a real testament to the band, to have that kind of sound radiating out of an album that encourages you to go to the live show, which I think is probably the endgame for you.

SW: Absolutely. At the core of our band, we’re a live band. It’s where we really shine through, and you can just feel the energy up there. We always try to say, “There are only so many Thursday, Friday, Saturday nights,” and we want to elevate that and bring the energy and the emotion and let [the audience] loose – life’s too short to not go out and enjoy live music. We want to make sure at every show we’re bringing that to the table, our full attention to the energy and making sure that everyone’s having as good a time as they can.

Is there any kind of ethos behind the title of the album?

SW: It’s our origin story. [When we started], we didn’t know how to do it or if we were doing it right, and we weren’t doing it with much, just trying to put it together piece by piece. It sounds a little heavy, but it’s more about the beauty of humanity, the nature of [life] we have all been through, and it’s a commonality of everybody. It’s the nature of our music and string instrument music – music that has a little more “down in the holler” feel. It all felt aligned with what we were trying to get out for the first record.

Why was Chris Pandolfi the guy you wanted to produce this?

SB: I had the opportunity to work with Chris before with Morsel, which was a little bit more of an electric rock jam with some bluegrass elements in there. He produced a few albums for [Morsel]. So, I knew what it was like to work with him. I knew that he was just a musical genius and the right guy for setting the vibe and making sure we were comfortable in the studio.

[Chris was] coming in with great arrangement ideas for our band, specifically, and being a great mentor all-around. [Clay Street Unit] actually had the pleasure of being his wedding band this last summer, which was awesome. I feel like the Infamous Stringdusters, Greensky Bluegrass, a lot of those Colorado bands, Leftover Salmon, have really kind of set the tone of what is “allowed” in that genre and for pushing the boundaries of what people want to hear. With the Stringdusters, I’ve seen them live for 10-15 years and they’ve really made a mark on the bluegrass scene, the Colorado music scene, and definitely a big impact on us.

You’re currently hitting the five-year mark together. What does that milestone mean to you right now?

SW: The last five years have been so much of a learning curve and going through so many different stages of figuring out who we are and how we want to operate. I feel like now we’re really starting to get a grasp of what we want to do and who we want to be as musicians, as a band, and as people. The last five years were such a blessing and such a great learning experience, but I think we’re just so excited for the next five years of just pushing this thing to the limit and, and trying to, to make the best music we can and, and really just enjoy every step of it together.

SB: It just takes a long time to get a group of people on a mission aligned and I think we’re finally there. Everyone’s on the same wavelength of what we want to get done and what we want to accomplish. We’ve got a really busy year ahead of us, and it’s kind of the culmination of the last five years of hard work that’s been coming to fruition – we’re pretty excited.

Photo Credit: Lead image by Robert Chavers. Alternate image by Tobin Voggesser.

Artist of the Month: The Infamous Stringdusters

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credit: Daniel Milchev

Jason Sinay’s Peace & Love Playlist

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It’s 2026 and the world remains deeply shaped by persistent conflicts and social divisions, making songs of peace and love an essential “universal language” for fostering unity. As global tensions in regions like Ukraine and the Middle East continue to create an us-versus-them mentality, music serves as a critical bridge that transcends cultural and linguistic barriers to remind us of our shared humanity.

These songs do more than provide comfort; they act as a tool for disarming hearts and promoting reconciliation in an increasingly polarized landscape. By lowering anxiety and increasing empathy – the emotional foundation for peaceful coexistence – music provides a rare space where diverse groups can connect without prejudice. Now more than ever, these songs are needed to shift the global narrative from division and “moral degradation” toward a future built on compassion, harmony, and collective resilience. The lyrics of these amazing songs epitomize “peace & love” and speak for themselves. – Jason Sinay

“Imagine” – John Lennon

This song still remains a timeless global anthem that serves as a “hymn for peace.” It transcends cultural and political boundaries by challenging listeners to envision a utopian reality free from the divisions of nationality, religion, and material possessions.

“Blowin’ in the Wind” – Bob Dylan

Dylan uses evocative symbols like the “white dove” to represent the enduring human quest for a world without conflict. Its series of rhetorical questions challenges listeners to confront social injustices and the “cannonballs” of war, suggesting that while the answers for global harmony are as ever-present as the wind, they require collective courage to grasp and implement.

“Get Up, Stand Up” – Bob Marley & the Wailers

Marley emphasizes that true harmony can only be achieved through justice and the active defense of human rights. The song challenges listeners to seek fulfillment and equity “on earth,” rather than waiting for divine intervention, serving as a global rallying cry for unity against all forms of oppression.

“Give Me Love (Give Me Peace On Earth)” – George Harrison

This amazing song’s lyrics act as a personal mantra for divine guidance, asking for the “light” and “life” necessary to heal a world filled with conflict and social burdens.

“Ripple” – Grateful Dead

“Ripple” promotes a sense of shared humanity by acknowledging that while every individual must walk their own path, we are all “in the same boat” and should reach out to help one another.

“Heart Of Gold” – Neil Young

Written while Neil was physically vulnerable and recovering from a back injury, he describes himself as a “miner” traveling across oceans and forests. The song emphasizes that the pursuit of a loving and compassionate soul is a lifelong, global journey that connects us all.

“She’s a Rainbow” – The Rolling Stones

This incredible tune captures the vibrant spirit of the Summer of Love through its whimsical, baroque-pop arrangement. It functions as a “pure love song,” departing from the Stones’ typically gritty style to offer a colorful, psychedelic tribute to femininity and universal beauty.

“Ophelia” – The Band

While this song is often interpreted as a lively, Dixieland-style track, it functions as a song of peace and love in exploring the deep emotional bonds and protective concerns shared between friends or lovers.

“Feels Like Home” – Randy Newman

This song truly captures the profound sense of safety and belonging found in a deep connection. The lyrics contrast a harsh external world with the sanctuary of a relationship.

“The Best Part of the Day” – Elton John & Leon Russell

This incredible tune celebrates the simple sanctuary of a deep, lifelong friendship. It portrays a serene “peace of mind” found in the presence of someone who has shared one’s “crazy ways” and provides comfort through life’s trials.

Photo courtesy of the artist.

Artist of the Month:
Greensky Bluegrass

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Michigan music isn’t just Motown or the MC5, Bob Seger or (ugh) Kid Rock. While it’s seldom mentioned as a modern bluegrass hotbed, the Wolverine State has become an unlikely 21st century hub of the latter-day bluegrass offshoot jamgrass. And at the center of this upland strain of music is where you’ll find Greensky Bluegrass, a quintet that is our Artist of the Month for October.

The roots of jamgrass go back to the 1970s, when New Grass Revival took inspiration from the bluegrass adjacency of the Grateful Dead and other proto-Americana rock acts, injecting rock and roll overtones into their music. It was also during this period that Dead guitarist Jerry Garcia went back to his original folkie roots with 1975’s Old & In the Way, a super-session album that would stand as the top-selling bluegrass LP of all time until O Brother, Where Art Thou? a quarter-century later.

Fast-forward to the 1980s, when New Grass Revival banjo maestro Béla Fleck went in some truly idiosyncratic and worldly directions with his new group The Flecktones. Then came the 1990s-vintage H.O.R.D.E. Festival and a generation of bands like String Cheese Incident, Leftover Salmon, and Phish that further obliterated whatever boundary remained between bluegrass and rock.

That set the stage for Greensky Bluegrass, whose emergence in 2000 cued up another chapter of combining traditional bluegrass with rock-band theatrics (to the point of even including a bitchin’ onstage light show). Greensky originally formed as a trio of mandolinist/frontman Paul Hoffman, guitarist Dave Bruzza and banjo player Michael Arlen Bont, convening in the fall of 2000 after meeting at an open-mic show in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

Greensky had plenty of traditionalist bona fides, covering classic bluegrass pantheon cuts by the likes of Stanley Brothers, Charlie Poole, and Bill Monroe. But they’d cover the likes of Pink Floyd, Bruce Springsteen, Prince, Talking Heads, and (yes) the Grateful Dead, too. That has continued over the years as their lineup expanded to a quintet with the addition of resonator guitarist Anders Beck and bassist Michael Devol. As an indicator of their eclectic tendencies, one of the studio producers Greensky has worked with is Steve Berlin (who handled 2016’s Shouted, Written Down & Quoted), best-known as saxophonist of the acclaimed Latino rock band Los Lobos.

One big milestone of Greensky’s first decade came at Telluride, the storied annual bluegrass festival in Colorado, where they won the band contest in 2006. They’ve steadily built themselves up as a live draw playing bigger venues, becoming a major presence at Red Rocks, the Colorado amphitheater that is the high church of jamgrass. This September, Greensky played the 20th headlining show of their career at Red Rocks.

As they progressed, Greensky provided an inspirational example for younger acts following in their wake, most notably a young guitarist from their home state of Michigan. Born William Apostol in 1992 in the college town of Lansing, he adopted the stage name Billy Strings as a teenager. Greensky was well-established by then and served as Strings’ mentors, collaborating frequently and giving him a choice opening-act slot on a 2018 tour. Strings has gone on to become a worldwide arena-level star, something like the jamgrass genre’s Nirvana equivalent to Greensky’s Sonic Youth.

Fittingly, Strings is one of the cameo guests appearing on the new Greensky album, XXV, which marks the group’s 25-year anniversary with all kinds of star power. Nine of the album’s 13 tracks feature guest appearances from some of the top names in the field.

Sam Bush, a co-founder of the previously mentioned jamgrass pioneers New Grass Revival, opens the first track “Can’t Stop Now” with one of his trademark lightning-speed mandolin runs. Americana stars Nathaniel Rateliff and Aoife O’Donovan turn up to provide lead vocals on a couple of songs. Other tracks feature String Cheese Incident drummer Jason Hann, New Orleans scion Ivan Neville and, from Trey Anastasio Band’s horn section, trumpeter Jennifer Hartswick and trombonist Natalie Cressman. Among the guests with Michigan ties are Phil Lesh & Friends pianist Holly Bowling and, from the Great Lakes State supergroup Sweet Water Warblers, vocalist Lindsay Lou.

Greensky has always been more than willing to expand tunes out to epic, near-galactic dimensions, and XXV has more than enough sprawling solos to satisfy the pickiest of jamgrass fans. Most notable is the 14-plus minutes of “Last Winter in the Copper Country,” on which Bowling’s rippling piano takes center-stage. Bowling also stars on “Windshield,” a longtime Greensky favorite that appeared on the band’s 2014 album If Sorrows Swim in an arrangement of just her piano and Hoffman’s powerful bellow – the closest thing to operatic bluegrass this side of The Hillbenders’ bluegrass take on The Who’s Tommy. That’s only one of the songs from throughout the Greensky discography that they reprise in (sometimes drastically) rearranged form for XXV.

In anticipation of the new album’s release date, which is set for Halloween, check out our Essential Greensky Bluegrass playlist below. Plenty of further Greensky content is also on the way, including a feature interview with the group and plenty of excellent picks from the archives, as well. Follow along all month here on BGS and on our social media pages as we celebrate Greensky Bluegrass as our Artist of the Month.

Photo Credit: Dylan Langille

Daniel Donato Has Many Horizons in Sight, Literal and Metaphorical

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Although names like Billy Strings and Sturgill Simpson currently corner the market at the intersection of country, jam bands, and bluegrass, rising star Daniel Donato has emerged in recent years with an out-of-this-world sound – and his newest project may be his best yet.

On Horizons (which released in August) the prodigy who as a child honed his skills on Guitar Hero and Nashville’s Lower Broadway turns a new page with an 11-song, hour-long compilation that brings his live and studio sounds together with drawn-out jams conjured up by his longtime bandmates from Cosmic Country – a moniker that describes both the group’s sonic and spiritual ethos.

“I want there to be a Cosmic Country sound where you can hear it right away, you can hear the first eight bars of any song and say, ‘That’s it!'” says Donato.

“Some of it is technical, like using the same microphones and the same studio as the last record. And some of it’s just in the way we approach it – and that’s something we get better at every time.”

Sitting on the back of his month-old tour bus affectionately referred to as “The Snowman” prior to a recent show in Lexington, Kentucky, Donato spoke to BGS about his Lower Broadway roots, creative freedom and restraints, and the catalysts for Cosmic Country.

We already touched upon your similarities with Billy Strings, but what about your parents’ influence – I know they played a big role in your musical foundation as well?

Daniel Donato: Everything when I was younger came from my parents. My father had a certain disposition for great rock and roll music like Pink Floyd, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Led Zeppelin. But to be honest, I really don’t know where all of it comes from, because if you and I listen to a record we’re both going to hear it in different ways. For that reason I think a lot of this just comes from something that’s already dwelling within us and we’re just expressing from within that place.

For example, when I first heard Marty Robbins, I loved all the great guitar on it. And when I heard the Grateful Dead play “Big River” and make it eight minutes long in a really artistic and authentic way, I love that too. They’re all influences, but they start externally and creep inside you to the point that you take them with you everywhere you go and create from that place of soul, which is a combination of the body, the mind and the spirit.

Ever since I started playing guitar, I’ve always felt like I sounded like me and that “me” is constantly changing and revealing itself more and more. It’s like what Bob Dylan said – “I contain multitudes” – and it’s true. There are multitudes of self that just keep getting revealed through this authentic expression.

Was there a specific moment that served as the catalyst for you picking up the guitar and pursuing a career in music?

There have been many, but arguably the biggest was when I first saw the Don Kelley Band at Robert’s Western World and was in a state of shock – I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. That moment of hearing them and seeing how they interacted was amazing and was a big motivator in me wanting to do that too. It was a call to adventure and a reminder to believe I’m capable of anything, which is what ties all of these moments together.

That is not a self-assertive belief, that is a belief grounded in an authentic desire to make something beautiful so I can be of service. It was a big turning point in my life when I first started conceptualizing and receiving that, because then you can give it and then it turns into the cosmic circle of all things.

Some might perceive it as arrogance, but I think there’s a lot to be said for having the confidence to know what you’re doing is worthwhile and constantly chipping away to get better and reach your goals, whether that’s in a musical sense or wherever else life takes you.

I had already tried other forms of expression in my life before it, like sports. I also tried skateboarding and really loved video games like RuneScape, World of Warcraft, and chess. Even so, there were so many things I was bad at and I didn’t have beliefs that I could do them. But with music and the guitar, I could intuitively feel the potential I had with it and immediately locked in.

Artistry nowadays is parasocial on a lot of levels because of this immense amount of connectivity that we have on the various social platforms. [They] make it so anyone can get into the business of needing the world to give them permission to say something or express something real, when in reality the world does not need to give you permission for any of that. I’m not saying you should participate in any of the unspeakable, ungodly things we see happening to humans around the world, but if you want to express something artistically and you feel it’s true to you, then why should you need to get someone else’s approval to do that?

That idea to the mind is [like a] letter to the Pony Express – it needs to be delivered and it needs us to exist in flesh so we can externalize these internal values and expressions. It doesn’t need other people, it needs you, but at the same time it does bring people together – it’s so strange. It’s the thing that comes from most within an individual, but it’s also the thing that is the most unifying to an external community. It’s this weird “as above, so below” reflection that is purely righteous, so as I get older I feel I have more grace in relation to that particular part of existence.

The communal element seems to be a huge driving force behind not only your live show and fans, but this new record as well. Whereas some artists opt for a more straightforward studio approach, what made you want to emulate the energy from a gig on Horizons?

Cosmic Country records, to me, are like movies. The most enduring elements of certain movies that I love are the really long ones that have a very dynamic and rich storyline with a lot of drama and comedy in an attempt to scale the human experience. Like in A Fistful of Dollars, Django Unchained, or The Hateful Eight. The art is asking a lot of you during these three hour-long films, but it’ll give you a lot, too. There’s reciprocity there and our community is always willing to take the trip, which is equal parts liberating and terrifying. [Laughs]

If you were asked to write the score for a film, what would you want it to look like?

It would have to be a very truthful opportunity for me. I have always wanted to do that, even when I was really young. I always wondered where music and movies came from. But for now, we put out our records, and we play a lot of shows.

Speaking of the new album, you’ve been playing most of the songs on it live for a while now. What kept you from holding some or all of these songs back until the project’s official release, which it seems more and more singers are doing nowadays?

I like to look at our music as living music. It’s liberating in potential, but it’s also liberating because it gives you a framework to operate and create within. Every day of your life is different, so why wouldn’t the music that accommodates your life every day be different? These new songs are no different than a young child – they do better when they get to go out and be around people so they can grow spiritually.

That’s why it’s also important to share stories that everyone knows, which is why we incorporate a lot of covers into our shows and even recorded a volume called Cosmic Country & Western Songs in 2021. It gives people context and I love doing that. My favorite part of playing at Robert’s was we only played covers all those years so I’ve always loved making other’s songs my own – because if a song is good enough, you can play it with an original feeling.

But with Horizons every song I had my hand to the pen, even “Hangman’s Reel” – a traditional Celtic fiddle tune that the band and I fit into the Cosmic Country framework.

You’ve mentioned Robert’s Western World a couple times now. A couple weeks ago you returned there after making your headlining debut at the Ryman. What was that like?

We’ve done what’s never been done down on Broadway – going from cutting your teeth on the street corners and at places like Robert’s to topping a bill at the Ryman. It’s a common storyline for folks in Nashville to get their starts down here. Some go on to become songwriters, others become singers on stage and some become session musicians, but it all starts down on Broadway.

What I learned down there led me to getting in the door at Robert’s and leaving my blood and sweat on that floor there – like a dojo – before carrying us all the way to the Ryman. It was incredible getting to do a full headlining set up there and then going back home to where it all began at Robert’s and doing another set of music for their fans. We’re actually planning to release both soon as live recordings, so stay tuned!

With Horizons you placed parameters on how many times you’d go back to record and work on each song. With how open-ended so much of your creative process seems to be, what made you opt to place constraints there?

If your personality has a disposition for conscientiousness and open mindedness, it becomes that individual’s responsibility to see the trends of that because it can help optimize the way you engage with human relationships when creating projects. When we went and did Reflector we spent a lot of time on things we didn’t need to because I didn’t know better at the time.

When it came time to record Horizons I knew we could take half the amount of time to make it because we play it every night and shouldn’t need a bunch of tries to get it right. So I decided we’d just aim for three takes of a song to be more efficient. There’s a liberating faith that comes with knowing that’s good enough. If you know you have seven chances, you’re probably going to take seven – but we’re trying to work to ensure it only takes one.

You were talking earlier about creating living music, and stuff like this seems like it helps to keep what you do in the studio just as fresh as what you’re doing out on the road.

They’re two very different things. One’s a picture of a person and the other one’s a person. A picture can do a lot, but it’s not that person, especially when it comes to thinking about a picture of someone that you love who is no longer alive. Even then it’s not the same as them being in the room with you again to hug you.

For instance, I know that there will be a day where I have a gig and I won’t be able to call my dad to debrief – that’s gonna be a tough one. So the live thing is almost like a conveyor belt trying to make it an exact replica of what’s going on on the albums. There are people I see do that and I really respect how they do it because it’s authentic to them, but it was never for me.

How did your approach to bringing Horizons to life differ from how you tackled Reflector and other projects previously?

We had two years of intense experience constantly working on these songs between albums. It made me a different person on some level because I had a better idea of what to aim for and what not to aim that really allowed us to hit the bullseye this time compared to Reflector. And I’ll probably be saying the same thing again when the next record comes around, which will be a lot different than Horizons.

You just alluded to going a different direction with your next album. Someone else known for that who I know has heavily impacted your musical trajectory is Sturgill Simpson. How’d you get sent down the rabbit hole of his music?

Man, I remember when Sturgill Simpson worked at the Turnip Truck in the Gulch in Nashville, I would always see him there and thought nothing of it until one night when I was at The 5 Spot and heard him on stage singing for the first time. Then when Metamodern Sounds In Country Music came out I was in my friend Harrison’s basement. We had gone to Grimey’s to buy the record, we smoked some weed, turned it on, and listened with headphones on. It was and still is a defining moment in my listening experience of music – that record is so special.

Looking back I can see why Sturgill wanted to make a bunch of 180s, because from SOUND & FURY to Sailor’s Guide each album is its own thing. Most successful artists have one signature piece of work, like Tyler Childers’ Purgatory, Chris Stapleton’s Traveller, Tom Petty’s Wildflowers, the Grateful Dead’s Workingman’s Dead, or Neil Young’s Harvest. Unless you’re someone like Bob Dylan or Willie Nelson where you have over 100 albums out. There’s usually one record where you’re like, “that’s the one.” With cosmic country we don’t have that album yet, but I think Horizons could be it.

What has the process of bringing Horizons to life taught you about yourself?

The concept of a Horizons is two-fold. There’s a literal, geographical, physical, material horizon where the land meets the heavens. Then there’s the metaphorical one, and we’re always pushing the cosmic country horizon. But there’s also a psychological horizon where you’re meeting your potential that the sky is symbolic of.

As Alan Watts would say, “there’s a dance to those things,” and I feel that since we put out Horizons that the band and I are on the verge of new horizons. It truly is the dawn of a new day.

Photo Credit: Jason Stoltzfus