Tag: Jelly Roll

Ketch Secor
Contains Multitudes, Too

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

After a quarter century fronting the frenetic bluegrass and jug band outfit Old Crow Medicine Show, Ketch Secor is finally breaking out on his own with his solo debut Story The Crow Told Me. The retrospective record looks back on the past few decades, from his own journey to stardom spurred by a chance encounter with Doc Watson to the certified platinum hit “Wagon Wheel,” through the lens of a soundtrack that’s equal parts bluegrass and contemporary country.

“Because the band [recently] celebrated 25 years, I was already in the mindset of a retrospective look,” Secor tells BGS. “I was thinking about everything that’s happened and transpired over that time and started writing about it. In fact, at first I really thought it was going to be a spoken word record before the music eventually took over.”

Talking over the phone, Secor spoke about the timing for his debut project, its connections to both Old Crow and contemporaries like Dierks Bentley, becoming the new host of Tennessee Crossroads on Nashville PBS, and more.

You mentioned this album was initially envisioned as a spoken word compilation. What led to its transformation into a fully realized album?

Ketch Secor: I was working with Jody Stevens. We had written a couple songs that were largely based around spoken word and others we were looking to add background sounds on. Those sounds started getting more and more like what I already do, which is writing songs with choruses and verses and hooks. It just evolved out of the beat poetry version of the album, which was probably a little less listenable but closer to what I was striving for. The musicality of it is a bit of a compromise to be like “Well, I’m going to make this an actual record people might want to listen to” because the spoken word records I enjoy are not highly listened to.

I recently was trying to find them again since my record collection got lost in the 2010 floods we had in Nashville. I went on Spotify, which I’d never used before, to find all these songs in my head like Amiri Baraka’s “It’s Nation Time” or Moondog – a 1950’s renegade beat poet from New York – in trying to get an understanding of how the spoken word music I heard as a kid was being utilized today. It quickly became clear that nobody listens to that stuff anymore. [Laughs] So it seemed like making it musical would make it more fun for people.

It seems a bit ironic that you had to look up all these songs – many of which would be considered part of the Great American Songbook – on a digital streaming platform like Spotify. Talk about two very different worlds colliding!

I talk a little bit about that phenomenon on the song “Junkin’.” A lot of the experience of making music with Old Crow, especially in the beginning when we were still developing a canon, was about music’s physical form. When the band first started the internet was still new and we were still selling cassettes. The last time I made a solo record was on tape, the band didn’t have a website and none of us even used email when all of this started. It meant that searching for the physical was really important.

There’s another song on the album called “Thanks Again” that highlights the personal relationships that you develop out on the road – these chance encounters that are very much real and put the wind in your sails. There’s something to be said about having to come of age in a time when information was so tactile and often involved a human touch.

With the emergence of the internet and things like streaming and social media it really is an entirely different world for artists to navigate nowadays.

I realized that I had a kind of time capsule in my mind I had yet to crack open in the days before going in to make this record, which was done quickly and often with me writing the songs as we were recording them. Opening it up was really cathartic and essential for me to process and move past because the experience of coming to Nashville when we did and the kind of band we were in was, at times, slightly traumatic. It was a very intense quest similar to a military deployment, being a minor league ball player fighting your way through the ranks or even being a teenage whaler in Moby Dick. You end up leaving everything else behind in search of this one pursuit.

It’s not unique to come to Nashville to make it big, but what made our experience unique was that we were trying to do it with these traditional sounds in an era in which technological changes were happening as we were doing it. It was almost like we were going against the literal tide with our choices and artistic motivation.

You just mentioned writing these songs as you were recording them. Is that something you’d done before?

That was a very new way of going about things. I understand that record-making has changed a lot since we first started – our most popular Old Crow records that gave us a career were the early ones we made with Dave Rawlings on analog tape that we cut with a razor blade. Making a record the way Gillian [Welch] and Dave do is very studious, labor and time-intensive. But now the technology exists to do it super fast.

This record almost felt like a throwback to the seminal recordings of the 1920s and ‘30s that are the headwaters of our sound. Those records were made in three minutes oftentimes without knowing what the arrangements would be. Three minutes wasn’t the time frame of hillbilly music until the record company said it was – they just sat there, watched the light turn on and played. Writing a song and building a track like that actually felt really on par with what it would have been like going to Camden, New Jersey, in 1928 on a train when you’d never left your county before that. The challenge is keeping one foot in the past and one in the present. When you play fiddles and banjos and blow harmonica for a living the instrument kind of does it for you.

You name dropped Jody Stevens a few minutes ago. How’d y’all come together and what was it like working with him?

We met through my publishing company. I was going to do a co-write with him and knew he’d written a lot of songs for contemporary country artists, so I brought my bag of tricks that I bring out when I try to pretend I’m going to write the next big, top 10 country smash, except for this one time with Darius [Rucker]. I love country music even though I feel that in the past 25 years I have a whole lot less in common with it than I did when I was a kid, in terms of what it sounds like today in its mainstream output versus when I was singing along to Jo Dee Messina when I was 19. It was interesting to circle the wagons with Jody because he brought such a unique perspective in record making that comes from contemporary country music even though his roots are in hip-hop.

The other thing that brought us together was that Jody had seen Old Crow a lot, especially in our early days from 2000-2005, which is the sweet spot I try to explore on this record. He’d been there at the Station Inn and the festival Lightning 100 used to do downtown and some of these other places that have since been replaced by high rises. The fact that he had been a first-account witness to the band was really helpful to bounce ideas off of. His sister was also a big Old Crow fan and even though I’ve never met her I thought about her as my target demographic – someone who saw us back in 2001 and wanted to know what that time capsule looked like.

The fact that Jody had done all this work with people that rapped – only to find that 25 years later the tapes and demos he’d made with Jelly Roll were now part of a pop culture consciousness that hadn’t been there when he first started working on them – gave him a similar orientation to country music that I have about Americana. When I got started there was nothing called Americana and nobody lived outside of contemporary country music unless you were alt-country. Coming into this period of time in Nashville where it wasn’t yet determined that anyone with a banjo could make it that wasn’t bluegrass is another place where Jody and I shared commonality. The rap game has since become a massive component to contemporary country music similar to how Americana has become the tastemaker for anything roots-related.

In terms of the sound on this record, the way you move between more Old Crow-esque bluegrass and those pop country flavors reminds me a lot of Dierks Bentley, another person who excels at showcasing the best of both sides of roots music.

I came up with Dierks and remember witnessing his arrival. Before [“What Was I Thinkin’”] came out there was an issue of CMA Up Close that had a story about us on the page opposite one about Dierks and I thought to myself, “Well, if a guy named Dierks Bentley can make it, then probably a guy named Ketch Secor can, too.” Surely Nashville has the appetite for two oddly-named boys. [Laughs] Then I went on and took a moniker that wasn’t my name. Because of that I feel very much like a brand-new artist now and have developed a strong sense of empathy for the young guns who are out there trying to put their stuff out for the first time, because it’s so much harder now than when I was a kid.

What are some of those major hurdles you’ve noticed for new artists today compared to what you first encountered with Old Crow?

Now the way you stand out in a crowd is through visual means that often require the least amount of artistic acumen and the most amount of social media acumen. So far, I’m not sure it’s helping the cream rise to the top, though. The skill set should be how good can you pick a banjo, not how good can you pick the keypad on your iPhone, even though you have to do both to be successful today. When I was a kid it was about making these connections with people, knocking on doors so many times that every time something good came to me [it did] on account of me showing up and being in the right place at the right time.

Seeking a viral moment has an undue effect of potentially limiting the number of new entrants into the arena. For one generation, what was once divinized is now digitized. I’m sure that if there’s a God above that He or She can use the binary code to reach people and connect their children. I can pick up The New York Times and feel like there’s a closeness with the loss in Texas right now, which is only amplified by me having swam in the Guadalupe before and having a personal connection to the area. If you’ve plunged in the waters yourself then you’ll share something so much more vital with those who are experiencing the loss.

It’s really a metaphor for how we all have a shot at playing the Grand Ole Opry or going from the Station Inn to the Ryman like I did. There’s a turnstile in front of that and I want to see it spinning wide so that artists of all stripes can find their way up to that stage where they belong. As a steward of those stages, I want to see the people show up who have found music as the great connector that, regardless of the speed of the computer in your pocket, the speed of music breaks all other forms of sonic barriers.

In terms of personnel, what motivated you to bring in past and present Old Crow members like Willie Watson, Critter Fuqua, and Morgan Jahnig to record these songs with?

I really wanted to have all the past members of Old Crow on the record, because it felt like a bit of an offering to the gods to say “thanks.” So I really wanted a little bit of all their spirits on it. Not only that, but I read through a lot of old journals and called up some people I’d met hitchhiking, but hadn’t talked to in 25 years. I went and visited the guy who coined the term “Wagon Wheel,” because that song was always called “Rock Me Mama” until I met James Sizemore – a wonderful rascal and drug-dealing Vietnam vet.

I went to see him on his deathbed and recorded phone conversations late at night with old friends. While none of that stuff is necessarily on the record in its physical form, it all went into the process of trying to bake something that really felt like I was living in the past and bringing it to the present through these songs. I think a lot about cairn stones that the Inuit people up north call inuksuit, which are like sign posts that tell you where to turn, but they’re also spiritual. So imagine a road sign that could say “300 miles to Memphis,” but also told you the ancestral route of the settlers who first brought buffalo down 7,000 years ago, sort of like the duality of a time signature.

That duality of time reminds me of one of the album’s songs, “What Nashville Was,” which highlights how much Nashville has changed over the decades while also highlighting how no matter how many venues are replaced with condos, music will always be the city’s heartbeat.

A lot about the way Bob [Dylan’s] record Nashville Skyline had a way of pointing out Nashville for the first time to anyone who didn’t live in the South or listen to country music. He was really pointing to Nashville from a unique perspective and certainly Bob Dylan’s Nashville was the kind of Nashville that I was looking for when I first started playing on the street corner there in 1996.

Similarly, I was also looking for Dolly Parton’s Nashville. I wanted the Nashville that Dolly got when she stepped out of the pickup truck and married the first guy that honked his horn at her, the kind of Nashville where Willie Nelson was laying down in the street in front of Tootsie’s thinking he’s gonna kill himself because nobody wants his songs.

I used “Girl From The North Country” as the template for a love letter to a changing place and a cityscape that has gone on to do so much stuff that it itself is largely oblivious to the price it pays for its constant reinvention. And the price is that who we’re ushering in … is probably because you were on a reality TV show more consistently than because you had a song that people couldn’t stop singing at summer camps. Not that those things are good or bad, they just change. But we’re at a point now where the legend and lore of Nashville has grown so much that we’re at risk of the bubble bursting and it being something like Seattle after grunge or Austin after it wasn’t weird anymore – which is a glass, monolithic, industry executive business center. Oftentimes those forces stand in opposition to the ability of songwriters, hucksters, showmen, and the survival spirit that goes into creating the next Bob Dylan of a generation. I’m hoping that we, the architects of Nashville, can endeavor to build a place that still allows a hearty hero or heroine to come through the gates just like Loretta Lynn or Jack White did.

You were recently named the new host of Tennessee Crossroads on Nashville Public Television. How’d that opportunity come about and what’s it mean to you?

When PBS called me about this unique role that had come available with the sudden and sad loss of Joe [Elmore] – who ran the show for 30 or so years – it only made sense to find someone else to step in who’s also run a business for around 30 years that’s similar to Tennessee Crossroads. Old Crow Medicine Show has been criss-crossing the American south getting inspired by quilters, gee-haw whimmy diddles, carvers, and folks that plant by the lunar signs – those are the kind of folk heroes that go into our music. They’re also the same kind of stories that this show loves to tell.

I love public broadcasting and care a lot about access to it in this country. I made my television debut on our local PBS affiliate up in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia when I was in fifth grade. I fell in love with my own backyard because Ken Burns showed me what was so rich about it and so frightening and tragic, which was the bones of the Union and Confederate armies right here, just past the fence. Ken Burns really illuminated that for me and ever since I’ve been the biggest fan of public broadcasting.

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

I was born about 35 miles outside the birthplace of Walt Whitman and always wondered why I like the guy so much. Then I recently rode my bicycle there and thought, “God, this guy’s place is really popular!” There were people sleeping on a stoop and waiting for a free sandwich in the parking lot. And it turns out where Walt Whitman used to live is like the center of the drug-addled corpse that is parts of Camden, New Jersey. It looks a bit like the Dickerson Road corridor, at least as it was in about 1999.

I feel like Walt really said it best when he said he contains multitudes on “Song Of Myself, 51.” I feel as a picker of banjos and fiddles and guitars and dulcimers and auto harps; and a blower of jugs and juice harps and harmonicas; and a singer of ballads and lamentations pretty songs; and [an attender of] corn shuckins, frolics, and cotillions, that I am like you, a container of multitudes.

Photo Credit: Jody Stevens

Embrace the Past,
Move Forward

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Music has and continues to be a form of healing for Fancy Hagood. The Arkansas-raised singer who takes his forename from the Drake song – not the Bobbie Gentry and Reba McEntire hit – first began writing songs as a queer junior high student struggling to fit in before dropping out of school at 17 to chase his newfound dreams in Nashville.

Despite growing up listening to everything from contemporary Christian music to The Chicks, Shania Twain, Tim McGraw, Destiny’s Child, and Missy Elliott, it was choir and theatre that brought Hagood’s own creative aspirations to life.

“I really found myself in those classes,” Hagood tells Good Country. “I was dealing with a lot of bullying at the time and writing music became one of the few ways I could truly express myself.”

But upon his arrival to Nashville, Hagood was told that a career as a queer country musician was unlikely. This was followed by a move to Los Angeles, coupled with a transition to pop, that led to him to opening for the likes of Meghan Trainor and Ariana Grande as he juggled a day job at Forever 21. Those opportunities coincided with a decrease in creative control over his own work, something he’s taken back for himself on 2021’s Southern Curiosity and his most recent project, American Spirit, which released October 25.

“I was hell-bent on this album not being a breakup record, but instead one about healing, moving forward, and finding yourself,” Hagood says of American Spirit. “I don’t want to be on the road singing songs about my ex, but I do want to sing about reclaiming your story, bouncing back, and that being the most powerful thing after experiencing something like that.”

Speaking on the phone from his Nashville home, Hagood detailed his ambitious Music City move, experiences with gatekeeping, his work with Apple Music, and more.

What was it like for you moving to Nashville so young? I imagine on one hand it’s quite empowering, but it can also be overwhelming too.

Fancy Hagood: On my song “Fly Away” I sing, “You were scared as hell to take the highway/ You barely knew how to drive…” and that’s the truth. I got my driver’s license when I was 16 and I never drove on the highway until I moved to Nashville, so it was very much a culture shock. I know a lot of people don’t view Nashville as a big city compared to New York or Los Angeles, but when you’re coming from small-town Arkansas it felt like the whole world had opened up for myself. There were parts of it that were really intimidating, but for the most part I had so much enthusiasm that you couldn’t really tell me anything. I had this idea that I was going to be a country superstar and you couldn’t tell me otherwise.

I know things haven’t always been easy for you though. You’ve dealt with some gatekeeping and other hurdles along the way. What’s that been like?

Before I moved to LA, I was getting all this attention in Nashville, selling out shows on my own. A lot was going on for not having any music out in the world yet. I quickly got a publishing deal, but instead of things taking off from there I started getting a bunch of people putting their own opinions on me and putting their own stuff into my music, thus limiting me because of their own fears. That was something I never had going into all of this – fear. It’s a complicated thing when you start mixing art and commerce. The powers that be recognize you have talent, but in figuring out how to make money from it they start thinking of Middle America and who’s going to buy it, leading to a fear game rather than just letting the artist be an artist.

When I moved to LA and got a record deal, that’s where other people’s fears began sinking into my own train of thought and my delusion began slipping away. I was accomplishing all these things, from performing on Dancing With the Stars to hitting the road with Ariana Grande, but on the inside I felt miserable. I realized I’d sacrificed so much of myself and my art to get to a place where other people found it comfortable for me to be successful, but a year and a half into it I just imploded and lost all the deals.

It wasn’t until moving back to Nashville in 2016 that I was able to shake all that off. In 2018 I signed a new publishing deal and began work on my album Southern Curiosity, a slow burn that didn’t release until 2021. It was a really difficult transition having [to go from] a Top 40 hit and everyone treating you like you’re the king of the castle to no hits, no deals, and nobody wants to touch you with a ten-foot pole. It was a humbling experience that taught me that the industry in place was not set up for someone like me to be successful. Because of that, my train of thought stopped being about how do I fit into the industry to thinking about how to create my own, which is exactly what I’ve been doing since Southern Curiosity.

One way you’ve been building that community you speak of is through your role as the host of Trailblazers Radio on Apple Music. What’s that gig meant to you?

I’ve never experienced a company that puts their money where their mouth is quite like Apple. They were supportive of me and my first record before hosting a radio show was even a thought. They first came to me after I guest-hosted on the late Leslie Jordan’s Apple Radio show, which I did three or four times with him. After that, they approached me with the Trailblazers idea and threw me into the deep end. When they offered it to me in 2021 I’d never done radio before and just recently we were picked up for our fourth season. My idea is to feature artists who don’t typically get those opportunities, allowing country music to be for everyone. If you look at our playlist you’ll see all kinds of artists on there, not just what country radio suggests Nashville is.

It’s also been meaningful getting to sit across from actual legends and people who have shattered the glass ceiling in country music. Each artist that’s come through our doors has taught me that not one artist’s journey is the same, which has done a lot for inspiring, motivating, and informing me as an artist.

Are there any particular moments or guests from the show that stand out?

I’d never met Jelly Roll before he came in for his interview and his heart just blew me away. Who he is at his core is so full of joy and his philanthropic side was really inspiring to me. He had just sold out Bridgestone Arena and donated all the money to an organization that helps incarcerated youth. Even when we weren’t recording he was wanting to know more about me, my art, and what I do. He’s just a stand-up person.

A moment ago you mentioned Leslie Jordan, whose loss you touch on (along with your grandmother’s) on the song “Good Grief.” I guess that goes back to songwriting being a method of healing?

Yeah, it came about during a writing session with my friend Jeremy Lutito on a particularly solemn day. We were both in sad moods, but in typical fashion when two guys are alone in a room the last thing they’ll do is ask, “What’s on your heart?” We got to talking about a situation with his family where their dog had passed away the night before, which led to a conversation about grief and having to walk his kids through it for the first time. As he was telling me this I just fell apart thinking of how grief is such a hard thing to come to terms with and reckon with, but sometimes it’s ultimately a good thing. We’d been struggling all day, but that song came about in only an hour or so. It was pure magic.

I’ve seen you refer to this album as a “breakup record,” and I feel like one song that really captures that essence is the title track, “American Spirit.” How’d it come about?

I wrote that with Gina Venier and Summer Overstreet. It started with this idea of cigarette season or a time in your life where you’re smoking and stressed. But with Gina, who’s also a queer artist, it evolved into a song about becoming someone else’s vice. It’s not an unheard-of story in the South, people not being able to fully speak to who they are or how they feel – there’s a lot of closet cases among us. I’ve dealt with that a lot in my time in Nashville and I know others have, too. The song is mostly a nod to those experiences and being an openly queer person dealing with others who aren’t open but are addicted to your openness and freedom and not being able to let that go.

What has music taught you about yourself?

It’s taught me that I’m resilient and can get through anything along with the power of believing in yourself. I’ve gone through a lot in this industry, but I keep coming back. This is what I love and I’m never going to stop.

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Photo Credit: Natalie Osborne

The Remarkable Rootsiness of the 2024 CMA Awards Nominations

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

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The headline takeaways from this year’s CMA Awards nominations may be the inclusion (and exclusion) of pop superstars, with understandable interest in what that says about today’s country format. But the 2024 field features plenty of roots and bluegrass influence, too. Regular BGS and Good Country readers might even be surprised at the confluence of the modern mainstream and its traditional tributaries.

We want to highlight that dynamic as well. Country has always been a big tent, but is it now becoming more receptive to its roots?

Let’s start with the superstars. These days, many can claim a rootsy kind of rebelliousness, and chief among those is Chris Stapleton. With his long history – in bluegrass, in Southern rock, in classic country songwriting, and with a train load of CMA trophies – Stapleton vies once again for what would be his first Entertainer of the Year award – after a record-setting eight nominations. Yet he still sings with the fiery Appalachian soul he debuted at the front of The SteelDrivers.

Others earning top billing this year include Zach Bryan and Lainey Wilson – and both have a reputation for gritty, creative realism. Some of the hottest new names country has to offer, Bryan has been selling out stadiums with his confessional alt-country and Wilson’s bluesy Louisiana swagger earned her last year’s Entertainer of the Year title. Those are not the only established artists holding true to the cause, though.

Kacey Musgraves continues to show salt-of-the-earth songcraft is not mutually exclusive to shimmering pop decadence. And while Ashley McBryde has perfected the art of making arenas feel like a massive, county-line roadhouse, Cody Johnson proves the appetite for hardcore Texas twang did not die with King George’s (semi) abdication. All have become perennial fixtures in the format’s upper echelons.

Likewise, this year’s nominees offer excitement for the future, awash with fresh talent. Shaboozey turned heads with the Number One ear worm, “A Bar Song (Tipsy),” but dig beyond the single and his catalog marks an elusive missing link between the hard-times inspirations of both hip-hop and country. Artists like Zach Top – who also came up through bluegrass – accept no substitute for twangy telecasters and shuffling, two-step beats. And while The War and Treaty continue their mission to bring soul and gospel back into the heart of country, The Red Clay Strays find a home for their blend of heady roots rock and commanding, fire-and-brimstone vocals.

Even the behind-the-scenes nominees highlight this rootsy resurgence, with the Musician of the Year category dominated by keepers of the instrumental flame. Fiddle phenom Jenee Fleenor goes head to head with steel-guitar legend Paul Franklin and the multi-talented guitarist/Americana artist Charlie Worsham – while the other two, guitarists Tom Bukovac and Rob McNelley, are certainly no slouches when it comes to six-string scholarship.

In fact, the commonalities between this year’s CMA Awards nominees and the artists covered by BGS and GC are so striking, we wonder what you think. Take a look at the full list of nominees below, and let us know.

THE 58TH ANNUAL CMA AWARDS – FINAL NOMINEES (by ballot category order):

ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR

Luke Combs
Jelly Roll
Chris Stapleton
Morgan Wallen
Lainey Wilson

SINGLE OF THE YEAR
Award goes to Artist(s), Producer(s) and Mix Engineer(s)

“A Bar Song (Tipsy)” – Shaboozey
Producers: Sean Cook, Nevin Sastry
Mix Engineer: Raul Lopez

“Dirt Cheap” – Cody Johnson
Producer: Trent Willmon
Mix Engineer: Jack Clarke

“I Had Some Help” – Post Malone (Feat. Morgan Wallen)
Producers: Louis Bell, Charlie Handsome, Hoskins
Mix Engineer: Ryan Gore

“Watermelon Moonshine” – Lainey Wilson
Producer: Jay Joyce
Mix Engineers: Jason Hall, Jay Joyce

“White Horse” – Chris Stapleton
Producers: Dave Cobb, Chris Stapleton, Morgane Stapleton
Mix Engineer: Vance Powell

ALBUM OF THE YEAR
Award goes to Artist, Producer(s) and Mix Engineer(s)

Deeper Well – Kacey Musgraves
Producers: Ian Fitchuk, Kacey Musgraves, Daniel Tashian
Mix Engineers: Shawn Everett, Konrad Snyder

Fathers & Sons – Luke Combs
Producers: Luke Combs, Chip Matthews, Jonathan Singleton
Mix Engineer: Chip Matthews

Higher – Chris Stapleton
Producers: Dave Cobb, Chris Stapleton, Morgane Stapleton
Mix Engineer: Vance Powell

Leather – Cody Johnson
Producer: Trent Willmon
Mix Engineer: Jack Clarke

Whitsitt Chapel – Jelly Roll
Producers: Andrew Baylis, Brock Berryhill, Zach Crowell, Jesse Frasure, David Garcia, Kevin “Thrasher” Gruft, Austin Nivarel, David Ray Stevens
Mix Engineers: Jeff Braun, Jim Cooley

SONG OF THE YEAR
Award goes to Songwriter(s)

“Burn It Down”
Songwriters: Hillary Lindsey, Parker McCollum, Lori McKenna, Liz Rose

“Dirt Cheap”
Songwriter: Josh Phillips

“I Had Some Help”
Songwriters: Louis Bell, Ashley Gorley, Charlie Handsome, Hoskins, Austin Post, Ernest Keith Smith, Morgan Wallen, Chandler Paul Walters

“The Painter”
Songwriters: Benjy Davis, Kat Higgins, Ryan Larkins

“White Horse”
Songwriters: Chris Stapleton, Dan Wilson

FEMALE VOCALIST OF THE YEAR

Kelsea Ballerini
Ashley McBryde
Megan Moroney
Kacey Musgraves
Lainey Wilson

MALE VOCALIST OF THE YEAR

Luke Combs
Jelly Roll
Cody Johnson
Chris Stapleton
Morgan Wallen

VOCAL GROUP OF THE YEAR

Lady A
Little Big Town
Old Dominion
The Red Clay Strays
Zac Brown Band

VOCAL DUO OF THE YEAR

Brooks & Dunn
Brothers Osborne
Dan + Shay
Maddie & Tae
The War And Treaty

MUSICAL EVENT OF THE YEAR
Award goes to Artists and Producer(s)

“Cowboys Cry Too” – Kelsea Ballerini (with Noah Kahan)
Producers: Kelsea Ballerini, Alysa Vanderheym

“I Had Some Help” – Post Malone (Feat. Morgan Wallen)
Producers: Louis Bell, Charlie Handsome, Hoskins

“I Remember Everything” – Zach Bryan (ft. Kacey Musgraves)
Producer: Zach Bryan

“Man Made A Bar” – Morgan Wallen (feat. Eric Church)
Producer: Joey Moi

“you look like you love me” – Ella Langley (feat. Riley Green)
Producer: Will Bundy

MUSICIAN OF THE YEAR

Tom Bukovac – Guitar
Jenee Fleenor – Fiddle
Paul Franklin – Steel Guitar
Rob McNelley – Guitar
Charlie Worsham – Guitar

MUSIC VIDEO OF THE YEAR
Award goes to Artist(s) and Director(s)

“Dirt Cheap” – Cody Johnson
Director: Dustin Haney

“I Had Some Help” – Post Malone (Feat. Morgan Wallen)
Director: Chris Villa

“I’m Not Pretty” – Megan Moroney
Directors: Jeff Johnson, Megan Moroney

“The Painter” – Cody Johnson
Director: Dustin Haney

“Wildflowers and Wild Horses” – Lainey Wilson
Director: Patrick Tracy

NEW ARTIST OF THE YEAR

Megan Moroney
Shaboozey
Nate Smith
Mitchell Tenpenny
Zach Top
Bailey Zimmerman

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Country’s Cool Again: Lainey Wilson’s ‘Whirlwind’ Will Blow You Away

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s Note: Be one of the first to read our Good Country email newsletter, including exclusive features, interviews, and articles by signing up on Substack today.)

Few artists have changed country music like Lainey Wilson.

The bell bottom-wearing, slow-talking singer-songwriter from small-town Louisiana has taken the genre by storm since dropping her breakout third studio album, Sayin’ What I’m Thinkin’, in 2021, and she’s reshaped the country music industry along the way. With Wilson’s highly anticipated fifth studio album, Whirlwind, due August 23, she’s bound to shake things up once again.

If you’ve engaged with just about any form of media in recent years, chances are you’re already familiar with Wilson, who also starred on the fifth season of the wildly popular Paramount Network show Yellowstone. She’s racked up a room’s worth of trophies, including a Grammy, six ACM Awards and seven CMA Awards, including the coveted Entertainer of the Year award in 2023, which made her the first woman to win the honor since Taylor Swift’s win in 2009.

And somehow, in a genre that infamously allows mostly men to dominate charts and radio air time, Wilson has found mainstream country success commensurate with her critical acclaim. She’s notched four number ones on country radio when many women can’t even get their music played. She’s lent assists to big names like HARDY (2022’s “Wait in the Truck”) and Jelly Roll (2023’s “Save Me”), and for a while seemed to be country’s favorite feature – since 2021, she’s also collaborated with Dolly Parton, Lauren Alaina, Ernest, and Cole Swindell.

So, what is it about Wilson that resonates with so many people?

Her breakout single, 2020’s “Things A Man Oughta Know,” is a great place to start. Wilson’s voice is undeniable – like Parton or Loretta Lynn, Wilson has an inimitable sound and style – and a ballad like “Things A Man Oughta Know” gives her ample room to shine. Her voice is nimble and elastic, rich and dynamic. She knows when to stretch a note for emotional effect, like when she sings, “How to keep it hidden when a heart gets broke,” bending the final syllable to reinforce its ache. Lyrically, the track epitomizes the grittier side of Wilson’s persona, as she shows herself to be as adept at love as she is “chang[ing] a tire on the side of a road.”

That tune first appeared on Wilson’s 2020 EP, Redneck Hollywood, and would be reprised on Sayin’ What I’m Thinkin’. It would prove to be no fluke, too, as the LP released to near-universal acclaim. While much of commercial country music was steeped in pop and hip-hop influences, Wilson’s music was traditional but forward-thinking, sounding like AM radio classics, but from a fresh perspective.

It seemed as though Sayin’ What I’m Thinkin’ made Wilson an overnight success, but like most artists who come to Nashville seeking a big break, she had paid serious dues. After graduating high school, Wilson moved to Nashville from Louisiana in 2011, living in a camper van while she found her footing in town.

She’d honed her musical chops as a kid, first discovering a love for music as a young child. As she grew older, Wilson’s dream of pursuing a career in music grew, too, and by the time she was a teenager she had regular gigs as a Miley Cyrus impersonator, showing up at weekend birthday parties to perform for kids.

That would be good practice for building a career in Nashville, as grinding it out at local writers’ rounds, bars, showcases, and open mic nights is, for most artists, a Music City rite of passage. Nashville’s “10-year town” reputation, which posits that an artist must keep at it for a decade to break through, proved true for Wilson, who had spotty success between 2011 and 2021 before finally clearing the hurdle.

Image: Lainey Wilson. Quote: "It's hard to imagine a future in which Lainey Wilson isn't the stuff of country music legend. She's got the chops, the drive, and no shortage of charisma, and it's easy to picture her as a Parton-like figure several decades from now..." – Brittney McKenna

Wilson would follow Sayin’ What I’m Thinkin’ just a year later, eschewing a more traditional two to three years between records in favor of maintaining her momentum. Bell Bottom Country did just that and then some, catapulting Wilson from up-and-coming country star to household name.

The album, with its retro, Stevie Nicks-coded cover photo, also further developed the Lainey Wilson brand, which is more hippie than hillbilly. (Or rather, it’s both – the second track is called “Hillbilly Hippie,” after all.) Her bell bottoms quickly became part of her iconography, like Dolly Parton’s colorful makeup or Brad Paisley’s traditional cowboy hat. The imagery matches the mood of the music, as even Wilson’s more somber songs still have a sense of looseness, of freedom.

Perhaps a product of her decade-plus in the game, that ease is evident on Bell Bottom Country hit “Watermelon Moonshine,” a spiritual descendent of Deana Carter’s “Strawberry Wine” that is sure to be a country classic. Steeped in nostalgia and illustrated with vivid imagery (“kudzu vines,” “old farm ruts,” “a blanket ‘neath the sunset”), the song is a tender ode to young love, balancing youthful abandon with the melancholy of hindsight. It’s also a showcase for Wilson’s melodies, which are sticky but not cloying, and just poppy enough to catch the ear without distracting from the story.

Bell Bottom Country also birthed “Heart Like a Truck,” a massive hit for Wilson thanks, partially, to its use in a Dodge Ram commercial. The song is, blessedly, proof that a “truck song” can still be creative, as Wilson likens her aching heart to a truck that’s “been drug through the mud.” It’s also one of Wilson’s most powerful vocal performances, letting her play with dynamics before letting go and wailing toward the end of the song.

Wilson uses Bell Bottom Country to show off her broader musical ambitions, too. “Grease” is syncopated and funky, reminiscent of more recent work from The Cadillac Three or Brothers Osborne. “This One’s Gonna Cost Me” flirts with arena rock, made epic with production from Jay Joyce, famous for his work with Eric Church. And Wilson surprises with a vibrant cover of “What’s Up (What’s Going On),” the iconic 4 Non Blondes hit.

Such sonic detours hint at what might come with Whirlwind, whose title no doubt references the wild last few years of Wilson’s life. Lead single “Hang Tight Honey” is tight and catchy but sonically complex, with girl-group vocals and a rockabilly beat accompanying Wilson’s soulful, swaggering delivery. “4x4xU” recalls the mid-tempo drama of the best Lee Ann Womack songs, though with a funkier groove. And on “Country’s Cool Again,” Wilson reminds that her country roots run deep, with a deliciously twangy chorus that more than earns the song’s Garth Brooks and Brooks & Dunn references.

Despite these country bona fides, Wilson has still faced accusations of inauthenticity, particularly around her thick Louisiana accent. In a January interview with Glamour, she says, “I think sometimes, especially when people were first getting introduced to me, they heard my accent and immediately thought, ‘There’s no way this girl could be that country.’ The truth is, you can say anything you want to about me, but when you start talking about my accent, I’m ready to fight somebody because then I start feeling you’re talking about my family.”

Debates about authenticity in country music are a dime a dozen, though they tend to be directed at women artists more often than their male counterparts. You don’t hear skeptics of, say, Morgan Wallen’s accent or Tennessee roots, or of Jelly Roll’s history with incarceration. But a quick search of “Lainey Wilson fake” turns up video after video dissecting her accent, most of which barely – if at all – engage with her actual music.

For her part, Wilson seems largely unfazed by doubters and detractors. In that same Glamour piece, she later shares, “When you grow up somewhere like I did with the kind of people that I did, you can’t help but to be country. You can’t escape it no matter if you move eight hours away like I did. Country music was the soundtrack of our lives. We lived it out.”

While Wilson’s musical talents will always be her biggest draw, her larger-than-life personality is a close second. She’s a famously electric live performer, vamping across the stage and bantering with fans with such ease it seems second nature. That she does this without missing a note is what elevates her artistry – that CMA Award isn’t called “Entertainer” of the Year for no reason.

It’s hard to imagine a future in which Lainey Wilson isn’t the stuff of country music legend. She’s got the chops, the drive, and no shortage of charisma, and it’s easy to picture her as a Parton-like figure several decades from now, ushering in and supporting a new generation of country artists whose reverence for and innovation of the genre will help keep it alive.

Until then, at least country’s cool again.

(Editor’s Note: Don’t forget to sign up to receive Good Country direct to your email inbox.)

Photo Credit: Eric Ryan Anderson

Artist of the Month: Lainey Wilson

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

(Editor’s Note: For the first time, BGS and Good Country are teaming up for a very special crossover Artist of the Month! During the month of August, on BGS and GC we’ll be celebrating music, songs, and stories by and a new generation’s country superstar, Lainey Wilson.

Check out our Essential Lainey Wilson Playlist below and sign up for our Good Country email newsletter now, to be one of the first to read our upcoming Artist of the Month feature.)

There’s no wrong place to start with Lainey Wilson’s music. Though the small-town Louisiana-born country star is still deepening her catalog, Wilson boasts four excellent records (and a fifth is on the way — Whirlwind is due August 23), each jam-packed with traditionally informed country, swaggering Southern rock, alt-country and roots rock grooves, and no shortage of emotional ballads. Good Country and BGS have compiled our Essentials Playlist of the fiery singer-songwriter’s best and most beloved tunes, with some deep cuts tossed in for good measure.

Despite being a relative newcomer and a woman in a male-dominated genre, Wilson has notched a string of hits since breaking out with her 2021 album Sayin’ What I’m Thinkin’. That record features “Things a Man Oughta Know,” a nuanced take on traditional country gender tropes and Wilson’s first number-one hit on Billboard’s Hot Country Songs chart.

Arriving as Wilson’s ascent grew steeper, 2022’s Bell Bottom Country expands on its predecessor’s sound, giving Wilson space to get more vulnerable – “Watermelon Moonshine” is a sweet and nostalgic tribute to teenage love – and a little funkier, like on her unexpected but perfectly suited cover of the 4 Non Blondes hit “What’s Up (What’s Going On).” That album is also, of course, home to “Heart Like a Truck,” a centerpiece of Wilson’s discography and one of the best examples of her singular songwriting – this is not your run-of-the-mill “truck song.”

Dive into some of Lainey Wilson’s best songs below on our Essential Lainey Wilson Playlist. And stay tuned for more Artist of the Month coverage on Wilson coming soon from BGS and GC.

Photo Credit: Eric Ryan Anderson