Ashley Monroe’s Patchwork Quilt:
Tennessee Lightning

“Let me look at your radar,” Ashley Monroe says, pulling out her phone. “I have all kinds of radar apps on here: 24-hour flight radar, storm trackers…” She types in my location. “Yep, it just popped up red,” she says, forebodingly.

We’re speaking over Zoom about her album Tennessee Lightning and, fittingly, a massive storm is rumbling through New York, with loud thunderclaps sending a jolt through our conversation. Monroe is calling from an apartment in West Nashville, which she rents as a creative space in a building shared by fellow musicians and friends Meg McRee, Ben Chapman, and Lukas Nelson. The weather in Nashville is calm for now, but there’s always the chance another tempest could be brewing.

“For a while there I was like, someone’s gotta get me a bunker. ASAP,” she says.

Tennessee Lightning is her sixth studio album (not including the four she’s released as part of supergroup Pistol Annies alongside Miranda Lambert and Angaleena Presley) and her first since 2021’s Rosegold. The latter found her sloughing off the classic country sounds that defined her early work and embracing trap beats and synthy pop moments. Shortly after the release of Rosegold, Monroe underwent treatment for a rare form of blood cancer, a life-altering experience that she’s still processing. Now in remission, she feels newly awash in creative inspiration, breaking the creative silence that immediately followed her diagnosis.

The resulting album, her second as co-producer with GRAMMY-winning producer and engineer Gena Johnson, is a sprawling, 17-song “patchwork quilt” of songs that range from gritty rockers to moony love songs to bracingly stripped-down piano ballads. It’s less story-song-heavy than her beloved early work, but Monroe says that the album – a mix of new and older originals, along with a few carefully chosen covers – is as personal and revealing as anything she’s ever recorded.

“With every song on this record, I feel and see my own personal story in it,” she says. “Maybe I just didn’t need to put the third parties in this time.”

The release of Tennessee Lightning dovetails with the tenth anniversary of The Blade, Monroe’s GRAMMY-nominated 2015 album, which she recently celebrated with an intimate show at The Basement East and it remains fresh on her mind. She spoke to Good Country about her rootsy new sound, whether it’s safe to call this her Americana turn, and how music helps her weather life’s most painful storms.

I’m curious about the title of the album. It’s interesting, because in many ways, this feels like a homecoming, but then it’s also quite different from your earlier music. How did Tennessee Lightning start coming together?

Ashley Monroe: There’s actually a song called “Tennessee Lightning” that I wrote with Shelby Lynne and Jedd Hughes. It’s awesome, but by the end we had over 25 songs and it wasn’t fitting the album anymore. And at that point, it’s almost like Tennessee Lightning had become me, in a way. It’s just a zap of like, “This is everything. Boom.” Gena Johnson is the co-producer and engineer on this record and a dear friend. The two of us loaded up a ton of gear a couple years ago and rented a cabin in East Tennessee. We went to my dad’s grave, we went to see my Granny and Poppy and drove the back roads in Tazewell, Tennessee. We just immersed ourselves in going back to the roots of it all.

We set up the studio there and she recorded me on the front porch, she recorded me in the yard. We started recording “I’m Gonna Run,” which is a song I wrote in 2004, on the same trip as I wrote “Satisfied” and “Used.” We started with that song, and I was really trying not to overthink anything. I was just letting whatever songs needed to come through, come through. I always say this album is like a patchwork quilt of my life, and that applies to my friends that I’ve asked to play on this record: T Bone Burnett, Butch Walker, Brendan Benson, Marty Stuart, Brittney Spencer, Karen Fairchild. I made a joke the other day, “I’ve called in so many favors, I’m going to have to make new friends to call it more favors.”

I think people may be tempted to call this your Americana record. How do you feel about that?

Great. I’ll take that. Americana has been good to me. A lot of Americana radio stations played “Hands on You” when no one else would, and a lot of other songs. So that’s good company.

Also, I’m from East Tennessee, so no one can really hear my voice and say that I’m not country. It’s just there in the accent and the tenor of it. It’s Appalachia. That’s why I think it’s cool to not do something obvious sometimes, to not cut yourself short or shave the edges off. “I’m Gonna Run” reminds me of when Emmylou did Wrecking Ball, just those weird things she did that I love so much. I’ll take Americana all day.

The sound of this record is quite varied as well.

I guess Tennessee Lightning has different types, but it’s all real musicians, it’s all organic. “Amen Love” I was writing with Ashley Ray and Summer Overstreet, whose dad wrote “Forever and Ever Amen.” We wrote the song for Miley Cyrus, and Ashley’s husband recorded the demo. The song ended up not getting cut, but it just kept haunting me. I always like to do a sexy one, like “Hands on You” and “Wild Love,” so I thought it made sense for the young love part of the record.

Then there’s just me and Marty Stuart and Shelby Lynne on “The Touch,” and that’s as country as anything I’ve done. Gena was really good at getting the raw edges and the breaths and everything. “There You Are” was recorded in one take. It’s just me and the piano. I never did it again in the studio, ever. And then there are other songs that are more polished or have different instrumentation, but Tennessee Lightning to me is like a flash of everything. It’s not just one part; it’s all parts.

I’m wondering if maybe not chasing the country radio thing anymore freed you to explore all these different sounds.

I’m sure it did, even though I will say every label I’ve been on – Columbia, then RCA, then Warner LA and Warner Nashville – I’ve been lucky to have label people who were great at the creative part. My first single was “Satisfied,” which didn’t work, but I love that they chose that. Cris Lacy at Warner was also great at helping me pick songs. I didn’t think anyone would like “Hands on You,” but she heard the work tape and convinced me to record it.

When I got dropped by Warner, I thought to myself, “Now I can do anything.” And it’s been fun to explore. Gena is good about feeling when the spirit is moving through. She knows I like to sing in the dark or with candles. We shut the blinds, and I get to sit in that zone, and she captures it. It’s emotional, it’s raw, and I like recording like that without having to think, “What’s the label gonna say?”

You’ve been called a critical darling pretty much throughout your career. With Rosegold, it seemed like the first time the response was more tentative – warmly received, but not quite as glowing from everyone, particularly the “real country” crowd. Did the response to that record influence your approach to this one?

I really didn’t think about that at all, so that’s interesting. Honestly, though, what I will do next is a honky-tonk record. I know my band, and I know exactly what I’m going to do, which is honky-tonk it to the depths. I haven’t done a live thing like that, and I like switching it up. In my mind, what makes a memorable artist, a true artist, is when everything doesn’t sound exactly the same. Tennessee Lightning just felt like, “What are you feeling? What is it?” It’s cool when art reflects what you’re going through at the time, and for me going back to my roots will always have that earthiness.

I’m thankful for all the great reviews and the “critical darling” thing means a lot, especially as someone who doesn’t win awards or get nominated or included, really, in any circle. I’m okay with that, in a way, because I have a certain confidence — I know I have a gift. I know some people will feel it and some people won’t, but no one can deny I’m doing what I was put on this earth to do. I don’t put too much value on what people think of me, especially now after what I’ve been through. I won’t lose sleep over what a critic thinks.

Another thing that came up with Rosegold was this idea of protecting your joy, of not wanting to feel sadness anymore. Tennessee Lightning has songs that are more cutting – “There You Are” almost feels like it could be on The Blade. It made me wonder if your relationship to your art and this idea of protecting your joy changed between this album and the last one.

You know, when I got pregnant was really the first time I thought, “I’ve got to be careful about what enters here.” That doesn’t mean being delusional or not knowing that things can happen, will happen. Of course, something can always come along and bring you to your knees. But it’s about knowing when everything’s okay and shining a light on it and letting it radiate for a little bit. Rosegold was about hyperfocusing on the good and just letting it beam out for a split second.

I don’t mind if music is sad. I kind of prefer it. With this one, there are some sweet love songs, but also not all these songs are new. “My Favorite Movie” was one Vince [Gill] and I wrote in 2015 around The Blade time. He had it on one of his records, and just never did my version of it. “Hot Rod Pipedream” was written in 2015 or 2016, and “Risen Road” was from around the same time.

Let’s talk about The Blade, which just celebrated its tenth anniversary. You played the album through at a show in Nashville recently. What was it like revisiting those songs?

It was so special because I hadn’t really sung those songs. I’m funny about that – I don’t go back and listen to my old records. It’s not like you forget, but you do move on. Singing those songs, even at rehearsal, I got so emotional.

Did any of the songs in particular hit you differently this time?

I was thinking “I Buried Your Love Alive.” I literally felt thunder. I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s a ghost in that one. “Bombshell,” too. At the show I was thinking about how relevant it still is. I still understand the emotion in that song.

In the commentary you recorded at the time, you mentioned that “Bombshell” could be about a few different scenarios. It struck me that you said it could be about a breakup, but it could be about telling someone you have cancer.

I remember that. I forgot until you started to say that, but it’s so true. It’s that feeling of like, “This is big news, and it’s going to blow up life as I know it.” It was definitely a bombshell, and then I had to tell people I had cancer.

I was diagnosed in 2021, and when I came into Tennessee Lightning, I knew that I had to step back and reflect. I had to look back at the whole picture. I had someone ask me in an interview recently why I didn’t sing about cancer on the album. It’s like, I don’t want to think about cancer. Music to me is my holy, sacred place. Even though I sing about painful things and I can keep those emotions with me, I didn’t want to think about it enough to write a song about it. Maybe it’s that cancer has already robbed so much from me. I mean, it killed my dad. It’s already affected me, my family. Maybe I haven’t fully processed it yet. In a way I’m pretending it didn’t happen.

The only place on the record where I did feel the cancer feeling or acknowledgement of my emotions around it was “Jesus, Hold My Hand.” I used to sing that song when I was really young and feeling scared. I really felt it because when I was really sick, with chemo and everything, I felt as close as I ever have to that feeling of handing it over or surrender. It was like I was leaning on the spirit more than ever before.

The hymn is such a stunning moment, in a way that feels different from what you’ve done before. There are a lot of religious references in your songs, but there’s also this thread of religious guilt, particularly on the Pistol Annies songs “Beige” and “Leavers Lullaby.” There’s a lyric in the latter, “It’s as deep as the water that stains me” that comes to mind. Would you say your relationship to your faith has changed?

I can’t speak for the other Annies, but for me the “bite” in those songs is directed toward the people rather than about the pureness of it. The judgment and sending people to hell thing. I grew up with the Bible Belt and I think Jesus has a sense of humor and a lot of church people don’t. With “Risen Road,” it’s like, “You can read the Bible, quote it verse for verse/ You can steal a pain pill out of Mama’s purse.” And when I say “you,” I mean me, because I would do that. I think there’s something to being humble enough to say, “I can believe in God and still be exactly who I am.”

I wanted to ask about that line on “Risen Road,” which of course caught my attention. Between this song, “Best Years of My Life” and of course “Takin’ Pills,” pain pills have become something of a motif in your work. Why is that?

Well, because I was on pain pills for a long, long, long time. My dad died when I was 13, and at the time I was very straitlaced. All my family lived on the same road, we went to church, nobody cussed, nobody drank, nobody smoked. After my dad died, my mom kind of disappeared with a guy. She had a nervous breakdown, really, looking back. He died in February 2000, and she was gone by June.

Looking back, I was flailing. I was devastated, and my mom wasn’t around, and then my brother started having wild, wild parties and I was like, “Hell, I might as well. Give me a Zigma.” Everyone around me had pills and I’d say, “Give me a pill.” I was probably 14 or 15 and my cousin and I would keep a mirror under the front seat and snort oxycontin. Not oxycodone. Oxycontin. It’s a miracle I’m still alive, because I didn’t even know what that was. I just knew that it numbed me out. And, in all fairness, I needed numbing out. I’m not saying it’s the right thing to do, but sometimes, if you can just stay alive – and thank God I did – these things will get you through.

Honestly, though, I don’t think I was ever hooked on them. I’ve never had trouble giving up something when I know I need to. I was on them in my 20s a lot and I was drinking a lot at the time. And then, you know, I OD’d at Saddle Ranch in LA. Like, they thought I was dead. I was like, “Are you crazy? You survive all of that and then let a pill take you out?” So, after that, I quit taking them. But, you know, I took them after my C-section. I took all of them. I just think different people are wired differently and I do think it’s kind of funny now.

“She’s on the highest dose of Prozac a woman can take.” I was.

“She likes to pop her pain pills with every little ache.” I did.

It’s interesting, what you said about wanting to feel numb, because the songs that you wrote during that time had so much pain in them. They really cut.

Well, music’s always been where I let my pain seep out. When my dad died, I remember holding my guitar and sitting at the edge of my waterbed, and it was like the guitar was saving my life. It was keeping me together. And I still use music like that – I pour out pain that I don’t even know is in there sometimes. The pain pills don’t get you all the way numb. They get you numb for about 25 minutes, and I needed those 25 minutes back then.


Photo Credit: Erika Rock

Sunny Sweeney’s Musical Full-Circle Moment

Self-producing an album wasn’t something that Sunny Sweeney spent much time pondering – until it happened.

Rhinestone Requiem is the pinnacle of her taking charge, hoeing her own bean row, and flexing her self-determining vigor. It’s just the latest from an artist committed to exploring her imaginative energies on her terms.

“I’m happy with what we ended up with on this project,” said Sweeney. “We could just pay ourselves. Plus we only had to have two opinions [hers and co-producer Harley Husbands’] versus more opinions.”

“Our mentality going in was, ‘We know how to do this and we are going to try it and see what happens.’”

Rhinestone Requiem, released August 1, is pure Sweeney, sharing tales of figures who win hearts readily and whose outlaw lifestyles embody freedom from responsibility. There are songs devoted to romantic quests, the forever keeping on and the forever searching, like such richly rendered titles as “Traveling On” and “Diamonds and Divorce Decrees.”

Most of the album’s tracks are the result of Sweeney’s collaborations with several musicians she has been working with for a number of years. There are also two covers, “Find It Where I Can,” popularized by Jerry Lee Lewis, and “Last Hard Bible” by Sweeney’s friend and mentor Kasey Chambers.

Though she once saw the sharing of songwriting duties from a tentative and even negative point of view, Sweeney wholly embraced the notion of teamwork on Rhinestone Requiem.

“Songs were written with the rest of the people that I have known for a long, long time … I know what I’m going to get when I write with those people. They know their strengths and I know my strengths, and that’s why we continue to write together.

“I used to never collaborate,” she continued. “But now I’m co-writing and thinking this is awesome. I was petrified at first. Songwriting with others forces you to put down all of your worries. A lot of people worry about co-writing. But I see it as a double bonus thing. You hang out with friends and you get to work.”

Rhinestone Requiem is a throwback to Sweeney’s upbringing and all of the earliest things that have had a colossal effect on her: Her father’s records, which she had open access to; listening to Jerry Reed; watching The Dukes of Hazzard; processing the initial songs that jiggled her plaster loose.

Sweeney vividly recalls at age 8 hearing Jessi Colter’s “I’m Not Lisa,” a great example of one of her songwriting paradigms of setting mood and meaning.

“I sat and watched the record play,” said Sweeney, “I remember thinking she sounded really sad, but now I know what she’s talking about. I also remember hearing Jerry Reed’s ‘Amos Moses.’ I thought, man, what type of noise is this? I knew I needed to hear more of it in my life. Waylon Jennings’ ‘Good Ol’ Boys’ theme and I loved The Dukes of Hazzard. I told my mom that I wanted a son and was going to name him Bo and Luke Duke. I loved them both, those Duke boys, and I loved that Telecaster sound.”

The whole fictional gang of rural Hazzard County folks, Bo and Luke and Daisy Duke, mechanic Cooter Davenport, accident-prone though incorruptible deputy sheriff Enos Strate, and others, resembled the classmates, pals, and neighbors who Sweeney was raised with in the Texas countryside.

“Those were the kinds of people that existed in my life,” said Sweeney. “Country boys were dressed like that and they’d drive too fast down the street. I saw Daisy Duke and I wanted heels like that. Daisy Duke. Dolly Parton. Grease. Heels and lipstick. I had seen my future!”

Sweeney was born in Houston, but after her father decided that he no longer wanted to work in the family insurance business, he quit the agency and packed everyone and everything up and drove more than 200 miles north to Longview, where he’d grown up.

“I’m grateful for that small town,” said Sweeney. “I don’t know if I would have ended up in the music business if I wasn’t raised there. There were opportunities for small-town people and small-town interactions, which have shaped the way I feel musically.”

Indeed, the move to Longview would play a decisive role in Sweeney’s relationship with music. There was a low-watt country music station in the town of about 60,000 people featuring a succession of howling DJs who routinely tried to break the songs of lesser-known artists, allowed for call-ins, and welcomed conversations. Sweeney started listening in the third grade and calling in to request Conway Twitty.

After her parents’ divorce, Longview was also where her mother met Paul, the person who would become her stepfather – and, in hindsight, her biggest career influence. Paul and one of his brothers liked to twang the guitar. Nurturing and never hardhearted, Paul slowly and caringly taught Sweeney how to play the instrument. The first guitar that he gave to her was a black composite Martin, “a cheap, old, sentimental thing,” she said. She learned that her grandfather was a member of a big band orchestra. He played the trumpet, drank scotch, and chain-smoked cigarettes. She thought that he was the apex of cool. But the notion of becoming a musician as an occupation seemed, in her words, “far-fetched.” She asked Paul what he thought – and he merely grinned.

Years later, Sweeney, thinking about her stepdad’s tenderness, her grandfather’s stark sense of flair, and some of the songs and musical moments that touched her as a child, she re-examined her intentions.

“I had a college degree and I didn’t want to use it. I wanted to work for myself and wear jeans everyday and be my own boss. That was 20 years ago.”

Sweeney, now 48, lived in Austin for approximately 25 years, going through some precariously bony times, financially. She juggled other jobs while making barely enough to cover bills. At one point, strapped for cash, she pawned the original Martin that her stepdad had given to her. The Chaparral Lounge in South Austin was the very first place that Sweeney performed and several months elapsed before she would muster the courage to return to the stage a second time. That second performance took place in August 2004 at the Carousel Lounge on East 51st Street.

“There was a halfway house across the street and I was not that good,” she said. “My mom said that there were two or three minutes in between each song and lots of discussing how we were going to play it.”

Swiftly, however, Sweeney improved. “I threw myself into it 150 percent.”

She began hustling seven nights a week, performing wherever there was the potential of a free meal or the likelihood of even a single pair of listening ears. At grocery stores, perched on hay bales, in the rutted corners of falling apart parking lots. If the spot had electricity, she would play there. And if it didn’t, she would still sing, at any rate.

“Many nights I played outdoors without lights,” said Sweeney. “We had lights on a stick, two canister lights, before LED lights. At Poodle Dog Lounge, which was a staple in Austin – now Aristocrat Lounge – there was no stage. No credit card machine. No dance floor. There were some chairs, and you were three feet in front of that, standing there. I missed one or two Sundays in three years.”

At Poodle Dog Lounge, Sweeney played her set between 8 and 11 p.m., plenty of shuffles and polkas to satisfy the dancers. Her act was mostly covers, with the occasional original thrown in, hoping that the audience was too sauced or too ebullient to even notice.

Her rewards and incentives, she said, were comparatively picayune. “Eating for free was pretty cool. Not having to get up early. Maybe play at a couple of other nearby towns.”

Things were moving along satisfactorily, if not spectacularly, when she received a message on MySpace from a record producer who told her that he liked what he had heard out of her in a club in Austin one night. He was based in Nashville, and once he learned that Sweeney would be performing there, he showed up. Without delay he offered her a recording contract.

Since then, she has won over a sizable group of listeners with a repertoire of songs that are frank, discerning, and occasionally grief-stricken, teasing, provocative, and ultimately convincing.

@sunnysweeney New song from the new record! You ever tried to get away from a relationship that keeps sucking you back in? #sunnysweeney #countrymusic #foryourpage ♬ original sound – Sunny Sweeney

Co-producer Harley Husbands has worked with Sweeney for about 10 years, his guitar licks always craftily and reliably adding richness to their musical portraits. The pair are so joined at the hip that his contributions to Rhinestone Requiem are virtually indistinguishable from Sweeney’s, their palettes bleeding into a single piece of artistry.

“We live together and work and travel and play together,” said Sweeney. “That forces you to work well together in the studio. We’ve got no time to not work well together. Having a bad day? Too bad.”

Sweeney said that the vocals on the record are about as close to the authentic article as she could deliver, done without any polishing or cleansing or much enhancing. She credits Harley with being the ultimate arbiter, the most prized of assayers. He knows her voice better than anyone. If she didn’t sound right at a particular moment, he made sure to tell her so.

“I’d be in the vocal booth running through songs and he would be in the control room, knowing what I do like hearing out of myself… He knows what I like to hear. If he was not hearing me sing that way, he would know it perfectly. It’s as close to me knowing it on my own as possible.”

Her vocals on Rhinestone Requiem are firm, authoritative, and insightful enough to be considered some of her best work.

“It is not smushed down and compressed,” said Sweeney. “It is as close to sounding as they’ve sounded at the show. I don’t like it when you buy a record and put it on the turntable and it doesn’t sound like what you’ve just heard at a show. I like reaching the high end. It can be shrill. Either people love it or hate it. Harley’s job was mixing me and pulling out my significant sound and frequency, but without squishing what people are already used to hearing.”

By the way, a requiem, by definition, is an action or token of remembrance. It is a word that has generated a bit of droll reaction, Sweeney said. “Some guy just wrote on my page that we need to pick a word that we can pronounce. I laughed my ass off out loud. My sister said that we need to get those boys a dictionary!”

Nevertheless, it is a pleasing and easily engaging listen, whether to devotees or casual fans of clear-cut country. Out of the new songs, “Traveling On” and “Diamonds and Divorce Decrees” are receiving the largest number of spins.

“I hate having to pick songs to release as singles,” said Sweeney. “I think we should release all of the songs and let people pick themselves. There are a couple of deeper ones, like ‘Half Lit in 3/4 Time’ that I’m really liking. ‘As Long as There’s a Honky Tonk’ is going over well at gigs and live is getting a really good response.”

Indeed, the formula of Rhinestone Requiem is the same modus operandi of loving labor, mischievous candor, bittersweet humor, and resolute truthfulness. And it seems to be paying Sweeney impressive dividends.

“Years of wearing myself out and gigs and travel,” said Sweeney. “I’ve started to see people now at every single gig. It’s all starting to feel real now. We’ve been living with these songs for a year, and now other people are now hearing them. The excitement is building.”


Photo Credit: Nash Nouveau

Solitary Refinement

Ever since she was a child in Arizona, Kassi Valazza has battled crippling stage fright. While that fear has lingered in the years that have followed, on her journeys touring, and living in Portland, then New Orleans, and (soon) Nashville, she’s been able to conquer it with intention, introspection, and consistency.

“I need to be alone for at least 10 minutes before I go out [on stage] so I can relax and do my breathing exercises,” Valazza tells Good Country. “More than anything, just getting into the groove of playing shows helps, because eventually your brain does turn it off a little bit. The nerves never fully go away, but at a certain point things just start to become muscle memory and you’re able to tune the other noise or inner thoughts out.”

Those three pillars also make up the foundation of her third album, From Newman Street, released May 2. On it Valazza spins her most personal web of songs yet, her vintage and Emmylou-esque warble taking listeners on a cosmic Americana journey that pulls back the curtain on vulnerability and universal struggle, forging a soundtrack of triumphant growth.

Songs like “Roll On” and “Your Heart’s A Tin Box” are ripe with melancholy, wisdom, and a bit of hindsight – plus bed-ridden humor – all of which is also reflected in the album’s artwork. It depicts a pensive Valazza in a staring contest with a breakfast-in-bed platter captured by friend and longtime photographer, Kait De Angelis.

“I wanted to capture exactly what I was going through when I was writing this album – I was really depressed, I was in bed, and I wasn’t getting up or going out a lot,” explains Valazza. “There’s also a funny and comedic side to that too where depression and anxiety are very real feelings that a lot of people have that I wanted to present in a playful, but still real way.”

Ahead of the release of From Newman Street, Good Country spoke with Valazza about the solitary environment the songs within it were born from, nature’s influence on her work, how she’s poised for a move to Nashville, and more.

Like the previous installments in your catalog, From Newman Street was self-produced. What’s your motivation behind that?

Kassi Valazza: It started out more from necessity, because then – and even now – I don’t have a ton of money, I’ve just been working with friends. I’m also a little bit of a control freak, too, though. Ultimately, I really trust the people I work with and think we’ve been able to make some great stuff without having to bring in an extra person. It’s made just as much sense to do things that way financially as it has from a creative sense.

Maybe not as much a financial decision, but certainly one that benefited on a creative level, was the move to record in Portland despite leaving there for New Orleans a couple years ago. What was it that took you down to the bayou?

I’d just been to New Orleans a lot and had a solid community of people I knew out there. I spent a lot of the summer on tour before I moved and was seeing a lot of those people, which gave me the idea of giving life in New Orleans a go before trying out Nashville. I’ve really enjoyed my time here, but funny enough I’m actually moving to Nashville in November. I had my little moment here and loved every minute of it, but Nashville is where I see myself ending up.

Why is that?

The thing I like about Nashville is that it’s so open genre-wise. There’s not just country, there’s also a ton of indie artists doing everything from psychedelia to jazz. I also have my booking agent and a lot of good friends there. New Orleans has been really fun but I’m just gone all the time, so I needed a home base that’s a bit more calm and easier to wind down in.

There’s also a bunch of nature [around Nashville]. I really love to hike and be outside, but in New Orleans you’re kind of just stuck there – there’s not a lot of space to leave. There’s a lot more diversity in both landscape and music in Nashville. It makes New Orleans feel like an island by comparison.

Speaking of nature, how does it inform your music and creative process?

On [2023’s Kassi Valazza Knows Nothing] nature was a major influence, because when I was living in Portland I was always outside. I even lived out in the country for a while in a yurt house and wrote a lot of songs there. But on this new album a lot of it was written from my bedroom – or at least somewhere inside – and I think it shows in the lyrics. There’s just not a lot of imagery of the outdoors, which is what makes this project stand out against my others. That being said, I miss having nature as a reference, so it’ll be nice to get back to hiking and camping again soon.

You just mentioned From Newman Street being mostly written in isolation, from your bedroom. Does that mean this is a pandemic record or were these songs born more recently than that?

It’s actually not related to that at all. It’s all pretty recent from the past two years. I went through a weird phase where I was a little bit depressed and shut in and wasn’t going out as much, because my mental health had hit a low. These songs are a reflection of where I was physically and mentally during that time.

With that in mind, tell me about the song “Your Heart’s A Tin Box,” which seems to be a rumination on the sacrifices of being a working musician. Was there a specific moment that inspired the song, or rather an accumulation of many?

It’s a mix of both and definitely a wrap up of my last year. The opening line (“Walking through the airport/ With no money I can spend…”) was written in the airport when I was walking around after just getting back from my European tour. There’s this thing that happens when you play overseas where they don’t pay you right away, because they have to go through all the venues and booking agents first. I had been there for almost two months and had no money, not even enough to buy water in the airport after I landed.

It’s one of those things where I don’t know whose fault it is, but it’s not set up to benefit the musicians at all, which has been really hard to cope with. A lot of friends have been dealing with it, too, because in general there’s not many people or organizations out there protecting musicians these days – it’s kind of like the Wild West.

Nobody should have to beg for money they earned. Due to the touring associated with my work I have all kinds of expenses – from plane tickets for my band and I to hotels, gas money, rental cars, and more – that quickly pile up. You end up having to put it all on a credit card hoping you can pay it off when you’re all done and the timing of it just never quite adds up.

 

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The repetitive cycles and costs associated with touring that you touched on there remind me of another song, “Roll On,” which I understand is about repeating patterns, but in the context of a relationship rather than the music business?

Yes! I had been in a relationship that wasn’t working for me, but kept trying and trying to fix it. It felt like I tried 13 times to put a Band-Aid on it, which led to the song coming along very easily almost as soon as I sat down to write it. It was a scenario where I loved the person so much and wanted to make it work before realizing that I just had to let it go.

Listening to it and “Time Is Round” – which directly precedes “Roll On” on the album – I couldn’t help but think of the two as sister songs where you’re trying to chase time only to realize what’s meant for you will come back around eventually?

I’ve never thought about it like that, although they are both about different relationships with people and myself. “Roll On” was about a relationship that wasn’t working and “Time Is Round” is one I wrote at the start of a new relationship and trying to gauge the situation to assess whether I was repeating the same mistakes. Now that you mention it, maybe there is some kind of correlation there.

Glad I could be of service!

One last song I wanted to ask you about was “Birds Fly.” I love everything from the trance-like arrangements on it to the lyrics, which seem to be about sitting around and marinating in your own thoughts as the world moves around you. Is that what you were trying to convey there?

A lot of that song is just me disassociating from my feelings, which is captured in the vibe of the music. It just reflects me laying in bed and avoiding conflict and the various issues in my life.

Erik [Clampitt], who played pedal steel on the album, really leaned into that with the bird sounds he created with the pedal steel. Then you’ve got Sydney Nash playing vibraphone, which is such a calming, comfortable instrument to listen to. Then Tobias [Berblinger] is doing all the synths behind her. I wanted to create a little pad for somebody to lay down on and listen.

Well, mission accomplished! What’s your songwriting process look like – from what I understand you almost exclusively write on your own?

I do, but the process definitely gets changed up a lot. Oftentimes I’ll find something that works and keep doing it until it eventually runs its course before finding something else. Lately it started a lot with the melody first and struggling to find lyrics to put with it. A lot of Knows Nothing – and this record too – came from poems I’d written down in my journal and added a melody on top of. When I hiked a lot they’d sometimes come up at the same time, and other times they’d pop into my head unexpectedly. It’s always different – I’m not capable of relying on one specific process.

Whether it’s sitting with your thoughts in bed, journaling them, or putting them to song, what’s something that music has taught you about yourself?

I have a lot of big feelings and go through waves of depression and anxiety, which can make it hard to know what’s real and focus on the present. The beautiful thing about art and songwriting is that you get to capture a moment that you can look back on later.
Sometimes things aren’t very clear, whether it’s confusing relationships or not being your best self.

I try to write as honestly as I can, even if it makes me look bad. The ability to do that, look back on it, and learn something about yourself so that you can grow is such a huge privilege and something that’s been wildly beneficial to my mental and physical health. If I wasn’t making art I’d be a much unhappier person, that’s for sure.


Photo Credit: Kait De Angelis

Sad Songs & Storytelling

As an artist who believes the sad songs of the world could be a little sadder, of course there’s a haunting beauty to the work of Ken Pomeroy.

With her debut album, Cruel Joke, the 22-year-old Oklahoma-born Cherokee Nation member gives fans a gorgeous tribute to inner unease rooted in the wisdom of her own hard times. Pairing a feathery, lilting vocal with an earthy folk sound – plus metaphoric themes filled with animals and the lessons of nature – she looks back on a difficult upbringing, turning tears into sonic transcendence.

Pomeroy’s “Wall of Death” was featured in the 2024 film Twisters, and she’s been on the road with everyone from Lukas Nelson and Iron & Wine to American Aquarium and John Moreland. Good Country even featured the track “Cicadas” back in 2024. But with Cruel Joke, the world finally gets a full look at a “deep feeling” talent on the rise.

Speaking from her home in Tulsa, Pomeroy fills us in on the making of her debut album and an origin story with no punch line.

For folks who don’t know, tell us a little bit about where you’re coming from. You grew up in Oklahoma and you’re part of the Cherokee Nation, right? Does that show up in the tunes?

Ken Pomeroy: Oh, yeah. I never really tried to put it in anywhere. I think it just fits in naturally with how I write music in general. There are a lot of themes of nature and traditional storytelling elements that I include – animals and things of that sort – that I think carry through just naturally. And storytelling is such a huge part of pretty much every tribe, and specifically the Cherokees are huge storytellers. So I don’t think it’s a coincidence I’m writing songs and telling stories.

No, I bet not. I love the way you’re able to use animals. It seems like a great way to talk about yourself or other people, but through metaphor. Does [the use of animals] make that a little bit easier?

Absolutely, yes. I think kind of assigning someone something, it makes it 10 times easier, not so direct.

Like an artful way of saying something that’s hard to say?

Yes, absolutely.

Tell me a little about where your sound comes from. So many moments on Cruel Joke are hushed and haunting. What did you grow up listening to? Where did you pick up music?

Well, honestly, I’ve been playing music and writing for longer than I haven’t been. I really got started from hearing John Denver when I was 6 or 7 years old. That was the start. I wanted to do that and I wanted to make people feel like he made me feel at that moment. It was like a third eye opening about maybe I could do this. And the album, when I sit down and write a song, I am not thinking about production really. I just kind of write the song, me and my guitar, and then that’s the song. My partner, Dakota McDaniel, produced most of the record. It’s such a natural working. … It’s been so easy getting to the right final form of the song with Dakota and I’m really thankful that that worked out. For the record, we were listening to Big Thief and Buck Meek and Jake Xerxes Fussell. Jake was a huge inspiration with the instrumentation we used. It was a very steel-heavy approach.

I can hear that for sure.

It’s called Cruel Joke. What do people need to know about this album from your perspective?

I think from the beginning, with any of my music in general, I just don’t want people to feel alone in anything. I am a real deep feeler, so sometimes I feel like it’s just the tip of the iceberg with sad songs in the mainstream. I feel like they’re not as sad as they could be. I try to make people not feel so alone in those really deep feelings, just because I’ve kind of had to feel that.

Your songs definitely cut pretty deep, emotionally. Have you always been the type of person to root around inside yourself and stir things up?

Oh, yeah. Yes. I grew up very quickly and I had a lot of adult-sized feelings as a kid that I didn’t really know how to deal with. And dealing with these unresolved childhood feelings later on is not for the weak. I feel like everyone goes through it, and I’ve really always tried to stay in touch with just how I’m feeling, or what goes on in my head. Songwriting is how I feel like I do that.

You’ve had some big things happening, like with Twisters and being on the road with John Moreland. How do you feel about today’s appetite for the music you make? Are we ready for another folk revival?

That’s a great question. I really think we are in for a new wave of music, just because I feel like going country is as popular as anything right now. Everybody is going country, which can be a little disheartening. It’s not super genuine on some fronts, but I’m really excited for people to explore the genre and I hope people who explore the genre take a deep dive on where it comes from and who were the pioneers, because it has so much history. I feel like country and bluegrass and folk music have so much history.

I read that you wrote one of these songs at 13, right? Does it still speak to you or still feel true?

Yeah, totally. It’s “Grey Skies.” I remember that being the first song I was ever proud of and I think that’s really special to have still around. Even though I might get tired of it, I have to remember my 13-year-old self was proud of it. But yeah, that was also the first time I feel like I really found “my thing” with writing. I included a lot of imagery with nature and animals and that was the first time I was like, “Maybe this is kind of my vein.”

Tell me about “Wolf in Sheep’s Clothes.” This one is a love song, but which person is the hidden wolf?

Oh, gosh. … Everyone laughs, because I say it’s a love song and then it’s called “Wolf in Sheep’s Clothes.” So it’s kind of like, “Well, is it?” But it definitely is. The person I’m writing to is a protector of some sorts, can see through all of the bullshit in the world that maybe I can’t see sometimes, and has my best interest. Whenever this wolf, whoever or whatever it may be, when the dark parts of life come around, this person can kind of clear through it and say, “You’re just a dog. Just get out of here, shoo.”

That’s interesting. How about “Coyote” with John Moreland? You guys toured together and I love the idea of looking at yourself like a coyote, sort of scared of the world. Why do you feel that?

I actually asked John to be a part of this before we started touring together and it was a huge deal for me, because I’ve been a fan of him for so long. I went out on a limb and texted him like, “Hey, I have this song and totally chill if you don’t want to do it, but I figured I would just stick my arm out and ask if you wanted to be a part of it?” And I think that he just said, “Yeah.” And I was like, “Okay, cool.” So that was a really cool thing.

That song was– so, my mamaw gave me the name [ᎤᏍᏗ ᏀᏯ ᏓᎶᏂᎨ ᎤᏍᏗᎦ], which means Little Wolf, but she called me Coyote. That was a big thing, because coyotes are not the greatest omen at all. They’re kind of like the trickster. So I grew up a little bit and remembered that that was my nickname and I was not happy with myself at that point. I think it was two or three years ago. I was just like, “Man, I need to do something different, because this is not who I want to start being or get on this path. I just don’t feel comfortable in my skin.” So I wrote a song. I wrote the song “Coyote” kind of being all right that I can be the coyote and also be the person I wanted to be.

Did it help?

Yeah, absolutely. I think so.

That’s good. How about “Cicadas.” This is one of the most energetic songs, in my opinion, and it’s got this line in there about the cicadas crying out to you. Why were they crying to you?

“Cicadas” was actually the first song that we recorded when we started the record. We weren’t even sure if we were going to do a record, but after that song, [we knew]. It was such an experience, because the ending of the song, when it kind of goes back and forth, that was a total accident. I did not mean to do that, but beautiful things kept happening in this song just completely by accident, so it was a really great sign of reassurance that we were doing something in the right direction. I was so, so worried. I had been working on my music for a bit, and I was like, “Man, I really hope this is the one.” … I wrote that song as I was about to turn 20 years old, and cicadas were always a constant in my childhood. That was one of the only constants that I just knew 100 percent they were going to be there every summer. And I wanted a reminder of that a little bit, just to maybe prove to myself, that there was something stable.

Innocent Eyes” is such a beautiful track about, I guess, looking back on life with clarity. When you look back, what does the story look like?

Yeah, so “Innocent Eyes” is totally about taking off the rose-colored glasses. Looking back at some of the things you had gone through growing up, or even looking at your parents in a different way. Growing up, it’s really difficult to just see parents as people. “Innocent Eyes” is when you’re a kid, you think your parents can do no wrong and they’re there for you and that they want everything the best for you. And then you grow up and you realize they’re just people. They’re just people that had a kid. And in my case, I was a complete accident and kind of a product of something very quick, and so I was not necessarily meant to be here. And the two people that brought me here did not love each other whatsoever. And so I looked back at that wondering how that shaped me a little bit. And I think that’s where the song started.


Photo Credit: Kali Spitzer

Zach Top’s TV Debut

If it seems like Zach Top has been everywhere lately, it’s because he has. Not only because he and his band are staring down a packed summer full of tour dates all across the country, but he’s also coming off of his first Academy of Country Music Award win – snagging the New Male Artist of the Year trophy while also being nominated for Album of the Year – and then immediately turning around to perform on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. The appearance was his late night television debut, after his stunner of a traditional country album, Cold Beer & Country Music, was released to widespread acclaim – from critics and audiences alike – just over a year ago in spring 2024. The project continues to build momentum and gain thousands and thousands of new listeners for the picker-songwriter-upstart.

Top and band performed “I Never Lie” on Fallon, certainly the viral hit sensation of Cold Beer & Country Music. Shortly after his television appearance, the track, which is already RIAA certified Platinum, topped the country charts, becoming the number one country single in the country (and Canada) according to Mediabase. It’s Top’s very first number one.

“I Never Lie” is a classic yet modern take on a well-known country songwriter trope, the “of course I’m not lying” or “opposite day” type of rhetorical device that’s been employed by country artists and songsmiths since the genre began. Top’s spin on this iconic sort of country song setup is almost divine in its execution, as evidenced by his audiences – from humble honky-tonks to packed rodeo arenas – shouting along with the song at the tops of their lungs each and every time it’s performed.

This will surely not be the last television appearance or country award for Top, who leverages his bluegrass family band upbringing and longtime idolization of heroes like Tony Rice and Keith Whitley to craft a style of Good Country that’s forward-looking and timeless at the same time. With a wink, a smile, a first-rate mustache-mullet combo, and a “Zach Top Hop,” this still-fresh country superstar is sure to continue making an impact all across roots music well into the future. From country to bluegrass and back again.

We hope you enjoy Zach Top’s performance of “I Never Lie” on The Tonight Show. Don’t forget to make your plans now to catch Top and his incredible band on their mighty summer tour, too.


Read our 2024 exclusive Good Country interview from with Zach Top here.

BGS 5+5: Olivia Wolf

(Welcome to another 5+5! Hit play, scroll, and get to know artists, creators, and roots musicians of all sorts with five questions and five songs.)

Artist: Olivia Wolf
Hometown: Leipers Fork, Tennessee
Latest Album: Silver Rounds

Which artist has influenced you the most – and how?

Gillian Welch. She has shown me that lyrics can be both beautiful and dark, honest and true. Her instrumentation is brilliantly simple and to see her play live is to transcend to a different plane.

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

We played “The Wild” in Seattle, and I asked if anybody had gone fishing that day. A fella had been out that morning and caught three coho salmon. When the song started he closed his eyes and I knew he was back on the ocean in the breeze and the water. I love to see other people getting to escape through my music.

What other art forms – literature, film, dance, painting, etc. – inform your music?

Photography, antiquing and home décor design, cooking, and hosting friends.

What is a genre, album, artist, musician, or song that you adore that would surprise people?

I love Daft Punk. Especially their song “Something About Us.” They influenced a lot of the cosmic aspect of my album and I greatly admire their lyrics and musicality.

If you didn’t work in music, what would you do instead?

There is nothing I could do instead, I am married to the music.


Photo Credit: Alysse Gafkjen

Julie Williams’ Star Rises

“I like to say my music is mixed, like me,” laughs Julie Williams, a queer, biracial Nashville-based songwriter who happens to be one of the strongest new voices to emerge in country music this decade. “I grew up loving ‘90s country, but before I moved to Nashville I didn’t necessarily think I could make that music. I didn’t think I had a place in the genre. I had so many other influences too – like the Indigo Girls, James Taylor, and other folk music – so I thought that would be more my world. But the song that changed everything for me was ‘Southern Curls.’ I was like, whoa, this is undeniably a country song, and it feels more like me than anything else I’ve ever written.”

Released back in 2021, “Southern Curls” was a breakout single for Williams and continues to inform her subsequent work in a lot of ways. Like many of the best country songs, the track flirts with an existing trope while flipping it entirely on its head, invoking the texture of her own Black hair as a foil to disrupt the traditional image of coiffed ringlets favored by white southern belles. Williams uses her hair as a gateway to discuss the still prevalent differences between how Black and white women are treated in this country, particularly in the South, and opens the conversation with a matter-of-fact account of her personal experience.

It’s a simple, riveting song, intimate and singular, but also broad enough to provide desperately needed representation for a whole diaspora of Black female artists who, like Williams, have had a hard time making space for themselves in the predominantly whitewashed genre of mainstream country. Almost immediately, the track earned the attention of fellow Black country artist and Apple Music host Rissi Palmer, who named Williams to her 2021 Color Me Country cohort, and also caught the ear of the Black Opry, who invited the young artist to join the collective on stage and on tour in 2022.

Following this up with a self-titled EP in 2023, an appearance on a PBS special about Black women in country, and a performance at Newport Folk Festival, Williams joined the CMT Next Women of Country Class of 2023. Now, she’s touring behind another new EP, Tennessee Moon, which includes a new version of the impactful song. Williams is excited about the prospect of expanding her sound – and her writing voice – even further.

“‘Southern Curls’ gave me the bravery to write songs that feel authentic to me,” Williams says. “From there, I’ve been really lucky to work with some incredible people, like my partner Jonathan Smalt, who produced my new EP, Tennessee Moon. This is a big release for me in that it feels like an arrival.”

Another part of that feeling? Williams and “Southern Curls” were featured prominently as part of a new documentary on Hulu, It’s All Country, which features legends like Luke Combs, Wynonna Judd, and Sheryl Crow, plus a never-before-seen performances from Williams herself.

While out on tour behind Tennessee Moon, which released in October, Williams called in to speak with Good Country from the road. She talked about her experience shifting from the world of public policy to the music industry, all things ’90s country, navigating the bounds of folk and other genres in her sound, and those deeply felt, close friendships that might have always been more than… just friends.

What was your relationship to country music like when you were growing up?

Julie Williams: My mom used to play a lot of ‘90s country in the car, artists like The Chicks, Shania Twain, Trisha Yearwood, and Sara Evans – but especially The Chicks. I’ve been thinking a lot about them recently, especially in the last few weeks [since the presidential election]. A huge part of my musical introduction was around the time when The Chicks were kicked off country radio. Their song, “Not Ready To Make Nice,” I remember my mom explaining the lyrics to me. That was really where my love for storytelling and lyrics came from.

I noticed the lyrics in your songs right away, they’re not filler or frivolous, they’re stories.

I always thought people would only want to listen to me if I was playing the songs they already knew and loved. Once I started writing, I realized my stories have value. Growing up in Florida, I’d sing covers of Jimmy Buffett and Tom Petty, whatever songs I thought would get me the tips from the snowbirds. I didn’t go to school for music, I went to Duke University and studied public policy. I wanted to work for a non-profit and become a lawyer. But we had a student record label I was a part of, Small Town Records, and that was the first time I got the chance to start writing my own songs. I started to see the power in my own story.

How did you make the jump from studying public policy back into music?

I wanted the work I did to make somebody’s life just a little bit better, but I didn’t realize I could do that with music too. Some of the things I cared a lot about, too – issues of race, queer issues, and women’s issues – how do you get people to care about them? Part of it is through telling stories that move people. I soon realized I didn’t have to sit behind a desk all day and be a policy analyst. Music can also get me in spaces and in front of people that I wouldn’t be around.

Is there an artist who has a career path that you’d like to follow in the industry?

I’ve always been such a fan of Kacey Musgraves and the way that she’s always stood up for what she believes in. She’s never backed down in that, and she’s always put herself in her songs. Part of it is about love and heartbreak, but it’s also about following your arrow, and being yourself. Even the ways in which she’s created a whole new sound in country and in folk with Golden Hour. I fell in love with that album when it came out. I’ve always looked up to the way she can capture the simplest feelings of being a human in her songs.

How do you feel about your music as country or as folk? There are so many other elements to it, and you have a very layered, textured sound.

I have so many influences that aren’t from country, but pairing all of those things creates that mixed sound that really feels like me. As an artist, I’m constantly thinking about “How am I going to market this?” or “What genre is this going to be in?” and that can sometimes feel limiting. I don’t think my music would fit into a traditional pop-country radio sound, but I don’t think it fully fits into other genres either. I’m just trying to make what feels good for me.

How does Tennessee Moon fit into your current discography? It feels like another level.

It’s definitely a big release for me. That’s a testament to being here in Nashville for a few years and trying things out. Every time I put out music or write a song, I hope there’s going to be better ones that keep coming. “Tennessee Moon” was a really special one for me. It started with a film photo that I took of an ex while we were kayaking at Percy Priest lake at sunset. That relationship didn’t work out, but I took the photo to a co-write with a friend of mine, Melody Walker. I said, “I want to write a song that feels like this picture,” and I knew everything else was going to be around that song.

“Just Friends” is another one of my favorite songs on Tennessee Moon, and it seems like so many people relate to the experience of the blurred line between best friends and something more. How did it feel to address that?

I wrote this one with Melody Walker as well and it’s also one of my favorites. I love women, and I realized that I can love anyone regardless of their gender identity. I came to that realization in my twenties, but now that I know who I am – and who I love – I was looking back at a specific friendship of mine. Retrospectively, I realized I had a crush on this person. I was in love with this person. But getting the chance to create a pretty sapphic music video felt like ripping the band-aid off as far as talking about my queer identity in my songs. I hadn’t done that before. I’m really excited to write and put out music freely now.


Photo Credit: Chase Denton

BGS Wraps: It’s the Rootsiest Time of the Year

Each year, the BGS Team likes to “wrap up” the year in music by featuring holiday, seasonal, and festive tunes and songs throughout the month of December. It’s a perfect way to generate holiday cheer while shining a light on some of the high quality new – and timeless! – seasonal music we’ve got playing on repeat each winter. And, it gives us the chance to infuse our veteran/stalwart holiday playlists with some new life, too.

This year, we’ll be sharing songs, albums, shows, and events each day for the first three weeks of December, a musical bridge to bring us to the peak holiday season, the end of one year, and the beginning of another. Check back each day as we add more selections to these weekly posts, highlighting roots music that will soundtrack our solstice, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and New Year.

What are you listening to this time of year? Let us know on social media! You can scroll to find our complete BGS Wraps playlist for 2024 below. Check out Week 1 of BGS Wraps here and Week 3 of BGS Wraps here.


Megan Moroney, “All I Want For Christmas Is a Cowboy”

Artist: Megan Moroney
Song: “All I Want for Christmas is a Cowboy”
Album: Blue Christmas …duh (EP)
Release Date: November 1, 2024

In Their Words: “Well since it comes out tonight, I guess now would be a good time to let y’all know I recorded a lil 3 song holiday EP that features 2 original songs & a cover of a classic. It’s called Blue Christmas …duh.

sleigh, I guess.” – Megan Moroney, via social media

From The Editor: “Megan Moroney was everywhere in 2024 – and we certainly didn’t mind! Three CMA Awards nominations, her sophomore album, Am I Okay?, reached No. 9 on Billboard‘s Hot 200 chart, she’s MusicRow‘s Breakout Artist of the Year, and so much more. Plus, she released this excellent holiday EP, Blue Christmas …duh, in November featuring two new originals and her rendition of the classic made popular by Elvis. We adore Moroney’s brand of high-end, sequin-studded, mainstream country. Catch her and her music on the Am I Okay? Tour in 2025!”


Spencer Hatcher & Aubrie Sellers, “Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus”

Artist: Spencer Hatcher & Aubrie Sellers
Song: “Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus”
Release Date: November 1, 2024

In Their Words: “‘Oh, yeah, you bet. Uh… ho ho ho and stuff’ 🎄 ‘Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus’ is out now!!” – Spencer Hatcher & Aubrie Sellers, via social media

From The Editor: “Decked out in their holiday best and performing in front of a classic Airstream trailer, bluegrass influencer Spencer Hatcher and garage country artist Aubrie Sellers play the mother and father of Christmas for their new single, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Claus.’ Throwing it back to the ’70s in more ways than one, their rendition pays tribute to George and Tammy’s cut of the song released in 1973. It combines so many things we love about bluegrass, country, and roots music – from the steel guitar and tasty harmonies to the retro trimmings and honky-tonkin’ tempo. We’re even here for the iconic knotty pine wood paneling! Perfect for BGS Wraps.”


Sierra Hull, “The First Snowfall”

Artist: Sierra Hull
Song: “The First Snowfall”
Release Date: November 8, 2024

In Their Words: “‘The First Snowfall’ is the B side from my upcoming limited edition 7” vinyl release, Holiday Favorites V1  … Can anyone guess which classic artist I discovered this song from?” – Sierra Hull, via social media

From The Editor: “Every seasonal playlist deserves a selection of songs about the season, as well as the festive holidays we celebrate during it. So we were especially excited to hear impeccable mandolinist Sierra Hull’s rendition of this Bing Crosby classic, ‘The First Snowfall,’ when it dropped last month. With a newgrass groove that skips and hops along, Hull and her crack band bring a modern glitz to the number. Don’t miss the A side of her special holiday single release, too – it’s ‘Country Christmas’ pulled from the catalog of one of Hull’s heroes, Loretta Lynn. Bluegrass winter leads to bluegrass Christmas, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.”


Blind Boys of Alabama & Jay Buchanan, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”

Artist: Blind Boys of Alabama & Jay Buchanan
Song: “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”
Release Date: November 29, 2024

In Their Words: “Get in the holiday & shopping spirit with ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.’ Produced and arranged by Hall & Oates Music Director Shane Theriot, we sing it alongside rocker Jay Buchanan of Rival Sons.” – Blind Boys of Alabama, via social media

From The Editor: “Every holiday needs soul. Who better to provide a bit of a Christmas slow burn – besides a yule log – than the Blind Boys of Alabama with Rival Sons’ Jay Buchanan? ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day’ has limitless pocket and a funky, slow dance groove. A brand new addition to our Non-Crappy Christmas Songs playlist? Most certainly! This rockin’, soulful, Americana-steeped rendition of a holiday classic is just too good.”


William Prince, “The Sound of Christmas”

Artist: William Prince
Album: The Sound of Christmas (EP)
Release Date: October 18, 2024

In Their Words: “Produced by the wonderful Boy Golden, featuring the talents of Alyshia Grace, FONTINE, Cody Iwasiuk, John Baron, Stephen Arundell, Keiran Placatka, Matt Kelly, Kris Ulrich, Austin Parachoniak, Kaitlyn Raitz, Ben Plotnick, and with beautiful artwork from Roberta Landreth, these songs were a treat to put together for you and I hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoyed making them. … Happy early holidays, folks.” – William Prince, via social media

From The Editor: “Christmas arrived right on time – in mid-October – via this delicious three-song EP from First Nations country singer-songwriter William Prince. We’ve covered Prince quite a bit over the years, relishing the plains patina and down-to-earth quality of his albums and songs. The Sound of Christmas is a bit more polished, shiny, and draped in tinsel (especially the primed-for-Times-Square title track), but the other tracks on the project, ‘Silver Bells’ and ‘Don’t Go Leaving Me (It’s Christmas Eve),’ still display plenty of that signature grit and duality. Here’s a sound direct from (what we now call) rural Canada that’s also very much ready for the mainstream.

“Something else we love about The Sound of Christmas: Prince is selling 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles of the festive, holiday village cover artwork for the EP. Adding it to our holiday gift list now!”


2024 Good Country

An entire year of Good Country has blown by! Our new email newsletter and brand has gone so much further and has reached so many more country fans than we ever imagined when we launched in January. The concept is simple: there’s plenty of Good Country out there, and we want to highlight all of it.

As we look back at 2024 and the first twelve months of GC, we asked our pantheon of contributors to collect their favorite country releases from the calendar year. We did not determine for our writers what qualifies as country – or what does not. It’s important for GC to facilitate a country space that attempts to revert this music back to its earliest days, before genres and formats split up the many subgenres and downstream styles of country into various, distinct buckets and boxes.

One of the things most clear to us after a year of GC is that our central premise is certainly true. There’s endless Good Country out there – especially when you’re open to as many styles and aesthetics, influences and entry points as possible. From mainstream, radio country to red dirt, from bluegrass to Southern rock, from old-time to down home blues. Good Country is more than a genre, it’s more than a simplistic pitch to “save” this music we love. Good Country is a place, it’s an idea, a way of viewing the world – musical and otherwise. And we’re so grateful to all of you for joining us in Good Country.

Scroll for the playlist of our favorite 2024 Good Country below!

Kassi Ashton, Made From the Dirt

Kassi Ashton spent the better part of a decade honing her craft and trying out various promotional singles to gain traction. It wasn’t until “Called Crazy,” her third official single, that she hit the Top 40 on country radio. The minor success primed listeners for her long-awaited debut record, Made From the Dirt, a beautifully produced and raucous set blending the best parts of mainstream country. Ashton runs on high-octane energy – with her thick twang packing a punch on each loose-lipped syllable. From the propulsive “Son of a Gun” to the slow rollin’ “‘Til the Lights Go Out,” her debut radiates from the inside out and carries with it cross-generational appeal. – Bee Delores

Kaitlin Butts, Roadrunner!

Set to the timeless musical Oklahoma!, Kaitlin Butts’ Roadrunner! is as much a modern retelling of the epic tale as it is a road map of her own exploits thus far. On the 17-track project she shines on soft, nurturing ballads like the Vince Gill-featured duet “Come Rest Your Head (On My Pillow),” “People Will Say We’re In Love” (starring partner and Flatland Cavalry lead Cleto Cordero — the only song pulled straight from the musical), and “Elsa,” a tune about a woman she met while playing nursing home gigs back in the day.

But, she also revels in its more chaotic moments as well, as is the case with “You Ain’t Gotta Die (To Be Dead to Me)” and a Kesha cover, “Hunt You Down.” Through these vignettes Butts not only shows that the near-century-old musical remains as impactful as ever, but that her music has the power to do the same. – Matt Wickstrom

Denitia, Sunset Drive

Okay, I am shook that Denitia has not been studying, writing, and recording country music for all her life. Formerly an R&B artist (just go on and check out her wicked 2018 album, Touch of the Sky), Denitia’s on her second country record and it sounds exactly how I’d want a country record to sound. Admittedly, I am not a huge country fan (except I know all the words to every song on ‘90s country radio stations), but Sunset Drive rings my bell from top to bottom. Her clear and cool ‘90s-inspired, indie voice and her flawless writing are on full display with songs like “Back to You” and “Gettin’ Over.” The flow of the writing and instrumentation are seamless. No notes, Denitia! Hope they wise up and get you on the radio. – Cindy Howes

Sierra Ferrell, Trail of Flowers

In this instant classic, Trail of Flowers firmly establishes Sierra Ferrell as the voice of a generation. Her indelible songwriting delivered by her uncommon vocals will be revered indefinitely. I’ve had the honor of seeing her perform twice (well, maybe more like once and a half) since the album’s release, each time surrounded by an audience brought to their knees by her sheer, unadulterated power. At DelFest, hundreds of us sheltered for nearly an hour in the grandstand after an untimely lightning storm struck following the opening chords of “Jeremiah.” We rushed back to the stage in troves as soon as the skies began to clear, only to be utterly heartbroken upon learning that her set would not continue. Sierra’s performances are unspeakably transformative – her authenticity and eminence evoke the divine. Trail of Flowers offers us a precious keepsake, a textured collection of harvested treasures both earthly and ethereal. – Oriana Mack

Sam Gleaves, Honest

Maybe country music could leave behind its ongoing debate around “authenticity” forever, because the best country doesn’t need to be “authentic,” it just needs to be honest.

Sam Gleaves is an Appalachian singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, educator, and community builder whose every note, sung or plucked, is as truthful and stalwart as the mountains he calls home. His new album, Honest, combines old-time, honky tonkin’ country, bluegrass, and mountain music in a charming, down-to-earth package that’s never ambitious or try-hard. At the same time, this is one of the best country albums of the year and then some, with impeccable, tear-jerker tracks like “Beautiful” and hilarious, sexy romps like “Queer Cowboy.” There’s no performance of traditional authenticity signifiers here; Gleaves’ most radical act is allowing us to perceive him wholly, through his music. That’s all too rare in mainstream country, but a longstanding legacy that’s alive and well on the genre’s fringes. – Justin Hiltner

Mickey Guyton, This Is Who I’ve Always Been

Although she’s long considered herself an “outlaw,” Mickey Guyton has steadily moved up the country music ladder. She’s ultimately emerged as a consistent example of individuality and creativity. She’s battled since signing her first deal in 2011, refusing to accept the notion that being Black and outspoken placed limits on either outreach or popularity. She’s steadily smashed barriers, most notably being the first Black woman to be nominated in the Best Country Song GRAMMY category, and the first to both perform at and later co-host the Academy of Country Music Awards.

But she’s now also realizing her greatest musical achievements. Guyton’s latest LP, This Is Who I’ve Always Been, is a marvelous declaration of her country roots and legacy, a recorded statement that says everything without being overtly political in lyrical tone and presentation. There are 12 joyous, rousing tracks that spotlight her writing skills alongside Tyler Hubbard and Corey Crowder. It’s only fitting that she’s joined by Kane Brown on the stirring “Nothing Compares to You.” It’s a powerhouse tune co-written by Hubbard, Bebe Rexha, and Jordan Schmidt that is arguably the LP’s definitive performance. Guyton is now a Nashville resident, and this album celebrates her triumph as a true example of country’s diversity and inclusion. – Ron Wynn

Stephanie Lambring, Hypocrite

We should all be talking about Stephanie Lambring more. Like, a lot more. On her sophomore album, Hypocrite, Lambring continues her all-killer-no-filler critiques of patriarchy and oppression. The album opens with the ominous pop of “Cover Girl” before delving into the shattering vulnerability of “Good Mother.” Lambring has had her share of bitter experience in the Nashville machine and sharing those stories of superficial “authenticity” has proved to be the best thing she could have done – liberating for her, yes, but also offering the rest of us a portal to examine our ingrained biases and, hopefully, to break free of them. Hypocrite is not an easy listen – if you are a human being, you will squirm at least once listening to these lyrics – but it’s essential. – Rachel Cholst

Cindy Lee, Diamond Jubilee

Cindy Lee is the non-binary alter-ego of Patrick Flegel, reclusive former leader of Canadian post-punk band Women – and you could say Flegel made some curious decisions about how to put this music out into the world. Instead of the usual streaming sites, Diamond Jubilee lives primarily on YouTube as a two-hour-plus video of all 32 songs as a single track, no breaks. But don’t let that scare you. Diamond Jubilee is spectral late-night soundtrack music to a movie that hasn’t been made yet. You sure can picture it, though. The sonics are proudly low-fidelity, yet the gauzy arrangements are precise (and Flegel is one hell of an evocative less-is-more guitarist). Imagine Brian Wilson conducting teenage symphonies to the afterlife, and you’re in the ballpark. An amazing collection of music, deep as it is broad. – David Menconi

Adrianne Lenker, Bright Future

Indie-country-folk enigma Adrianne Lenker didn’t use a single piece of digital equipment while recording her seventh full-length solo album, Bright Future. Instead, she and five friends hunkered down at a studio that’s only been described publicly as “in the woods” somewhere in New England. They recorded an intimate, intuitive album using a process known as AAA. (That’s analog recording, analog mixing, and analog mastering.)

Despite its decidedly anachronistic engineering, Bright Future is one of the most unique and powerful American folk releases of 2024. It’s even been nominated for a GRAMMY for Best Folk Album, marking Lenker’s first GRAMMY nomination as a solo artist. Listening to the album feels like sitting in a small, warm room with Lenker and her collaborators, with every breath and every shifting movement still audible on the tape. For me, getting releases like this that feel so undeniably rooted in the real, tangible world, really does make the future seem a bit more bright – a small form of resistance against the forced digitization of our lives. – Dana Yewbank

Pete Mancini, “American Equator”

Pete Mancini has been carving a path for himself through the country music landscape since the release of his debut solo album in 2017. Coincidentally, the title of his newest single, “American Equator,” is inspired by the idea of a literal divide carved into the U.S. landscape. Mancini can be playful, imaginative, and solemn with his writing and “American Equator” showcases these qualities sewn together. Much like the faders mentioned in the song’s chorus, Mancini knows when and how to apply blunt honesty for several true-to-life references and when to present the ugliness of the song’s settings through a no less candid but much more palatable metaphor. Even if heavy narratives aren’t what you’re after, the steady groove, power-pop style guitar tone, and hopeful arc of the chord progression make “American Equator” a tune that’s easy to turn up and enjoy – especially on long highway road trips. – Kira Grunenberg

John Moreland, Visitor

For a slice of the country music-listening public, April 5, 2024 had December 13, 2013 energy. In fact, were Beyoncé not the Beyoncé of country music, I might say that John Moreland is the Beyoncé of country music. Both are undeniable stars and underrated producers. Visitor is a beautiful album that reveals brilliant new details with each listen. I sometimes feel fragile when the drums kick in on “Blue Dream Carolina,” but by the end of the track I always feel better. I am so happy that this songwriter’s songwriter keeps growing his audience. I am not entirely sure what country music is. I wish more of it sounded like a John Moreland record. – Lizzie No

Lizzie No, Halfsies

This was the year when Lizzie No seemed to fully embody their inner country crooner. No welcomed 2024 with the release of Halfsies in January on Thirty Tigers. Its songs tell a story of being female in an America that expects more of its women the more the melanin in their skin. When No sang in the title track about leaving her “sandals in a cab” and finding “a snakeskin in the grass,” she was talking about pain and loss and transformation. About the performative nature of identity. When Loretta Lynn sang “You’re lookin’ at country,” she was talking about what people are looking for as much as what they actually see. If Lynn has a legatee in today’s country circles, it just might be Lizzie No. – Kim Ruehl

The Red Clay Strays, Made by These Moments and Live at the Ryman

Bursting out of their native Mobile, Alabama, The Red Clay Strays emerged as the hottest live act of 2024. A snarling blend of Americana, rock, and alt-country tones, the group went from selling 40 tickets a gig to 4,000 in less than 18 months – an incredible feat by any measure, and one immediately justified by the “you had to be there” stage presence of lead singer Brandon Coleman and company.

Rolling into this summer, the Strays offered up their sophomore album, Made by These Moments, to wide acclaim from audiences and critics alike. But, it was the recently-released Live at the Ryman that truly showcases the intricate depth of sonic abilities and fire-and-brimstone vocal prowess at the heart of the outfit. The biggest takeaway? There’s no ceiling to the size and scope of where the Strays can take their music – in the studio or onto the stage. What remains is pure passion and guided purpose for their craft, this platform for compassion they hold with deep respect. – Garret K. Woodward

Zach Top, Cold Beer & Country Music

Rest easy, for country has been saved! But no, because Zach Top himself doesn’t even believe that the genre needs to be rescued. Even so, this young bluegrass-raised artist, who seemingly catapulted overnight into retro, nostalgic country stardom, is doing his utmost to keep the realest kinds of ‘90s and throwback country alive and contemporary. With the mustache and Wrangler jeans to prove it. Watching as his audience has ballooned over the last year demonstrates that Top is certainly not alone in his love for this kind of archetypical country. “I Never Lie” is probably the most impactful and far-reaching single from the genre of the year, as recognizable and requested on Lower Broadway as in the halls of SPBGMA (the Society for the Preservation of Bluegrass Music in America). Top brings so many circles of the country music Venn diagram together, organically, and we are all better for it. I hope I stay embedded on Zach TopTok forever. – Justin Hiltner

Twisters Soundtrack

Twisters is not a great movie, though it would have been better if they let Glen Powell fuck. Or if they let the weirdness that David Corenswet displayed in Pearl show up here. It would have been a more politically relevant movie if the director didn’t refuse to talk about climate change – which is why all of the chaotic weather is happening in Oklahoma.

Its soundtrack, though, is genuinely great. Part of the reason why is how carefully it was marketed – to work through the ongoing genre battles in country, to acknowledge the nostalgia of the original 1990s film, and to think about what country might mean more broadly. Ignoring climate change might be part of the film’s faltering, foisting the bland hegemony of Powell is also part of it, but the album is more disruptive. And more beautiful than it has any right to be. It almost reaches gender parity, it has half-a-dozen Black performers, there are legacy acts and up-and-comers. Listening to the Twisters soundtrack this year made me yearn for a counterfactual country radio. – Steacy Easton

Rhonda Vincent, Destinations and Fun Places

I’m a firm believer that bluegrass sits pretty under the umbrella of “country music.” If you’re a country music lover and are looking to expand your horizons, let my 2024 Good Country selection nudge you towards some ‘grass. You’ll thank me later.

This year, Rhonda Vincent released her highly-anticipated album, Destinations and Fun Places, and it’s soooo Bluegrass Barbie-coded. From her stunning hot pink dress on the cover to her top-notch covers like “9 to 5” and “Please Mr Please,” Rhonda proves she’s still the queen. With featured artists like Dolly Parton, Trisha Yearwood, Cody Johnson, and Alison Krauss, any country music fan would have plenty of familiar voices to enjoy. This record also showcases Rhonda’s musical range, with sweet songs like “I Miss Missouri” to bluegrass ragers like “Rocky Top.” From “Margaritaville” to “The City of New Orleans,” Rhonda Vincent is truly an American treasure. All hail the queen! – Bluegrass Barbie


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Photo Credit: Sierra Ferrell by Bobbi Rich; Zach Top courtesy of the artist; Denitia by Chase Denton.

‘Welcome to the Plains’ and to the Red Dirt Universe of Wyatt Flores

Each year, the country music machine and its many fans and acolytes turn over, again and again and again, the quintessential question of “What is authenticity?” We’ve asked that very question quite a few times on Good Country over the last year ourselves, and we know as long as roots music and folk music are made, listeners will continue to ponder what is or isn’t “real,” “raw,” or… “authentic.”

Wyatt Flores has been chosen as authentic. Country Music has spoken, and this quickly skyrocketing young artist has been riding a wave lately surfed by folks like Sierra Ferrell, Tyler Childers, Colter Wall, and Zach Top. Like these real country “poster children,” Flores’ music is realistic and grounded. It isn’t idealized revisionism in outlaw trappings. His songs never attempt to sugarcoat or mythologize, paving over the complications of rural life, red dirt realness, or the gritty patina of a rural places – like his homeland of Oklahoma.

Flores’ new album, Welcome to the Plains, is decidedly and delightfully trad country with nearly universal critical and listener acclaim. He currently racks up 3.5 million streams a month on Spotify alone, bolstered by a series of incredibly popular and consistently viral singles and EPs leading up to this, his full-length debut. For so many writers, diehard fans, and critics, Flores has long been “one to watch,” but that visibility stretches further and wider, to listeners across the country and around the world from so many different backgrounds and starting points.

Part of the reason why such a young artist with a relatively nascent career could have already amassed such a coalition of followers is that realistic, unguarded, “I know who I am, even though I’m still figuring out where I’m going” approach. It’s evident in his artistry, his performing prowess, and his skill for songwriting – all of which are evidenced prominently across this album.

Welcome to the Plains is one of the most remarkable records of 2024; it continues a tone long set in Flores’ career and music, even before this current inflection point and its substantial momentum. Wyatt Flores is bound for longevity, for many more successes, for many more millions of plays, as long as he remains exactly who he is: Wyatt Flores.

Your music has such a strong sense of place, so I wanted to start by talking about Oklahoma and growing up there. You’re down to earth in the way that you talk about Oklahoma from the beginning of the album, from the first notes of the title track. You’re viewing it in a very realistic way, not just in an idealized way. Can you talk about how Oklahoma inspired the album and what “home” means to you?

Wyatt Flores: When you think about Oklahoma, you have to [barely] scratch the surface to know that the history behind it is pretty screwed up, how Oklahoma came about, and we’re not one of the best states, if that makes sense? We’re 49th in education. And we’ve got a lot of people from California moving there just because it’s cheaper and everything else, but to live in Oklahoma, you gotta bear through the weather.

Then also, every year is a coin toss if things are going to grow, right? This year’s been a struggle up until this past couple of weeks, [during] which we just got like a foot of rain. But yeah, it’s been one of the hardest places to really build. And the people are so damn nice in Oklahoma, but it’s a tough place to live. Most people don’t want it. But I love it. “Welcome to the Plains,” it’s trying to describe [Oklahoma] … in the verses I really wanted to try and find more of a nature side to it, and then by the chorus just really tell the truth about it.

It feels really authentic and grounded, but you can still hear that you love Oklahoma in it, too. I think that’s a really interesting combination. Country is really good at rural America propaganda – and I love rural America, so I’m for it, to a degree – but to me, your album doesn’t feel like it has to close an eye to the history of Oklahoma to love it.

Yeah, it was a fun journey to try. I was sitting there just trying not to write songs about the road, because that was the only thing that I was doing. I was like, “This is the only life I’m living.” And not many people know what it’s like to be on a bus or on tour – at that time we were still in the van. It was more so daydreaming about home, missing the place, and then just trying to find the memories to piece everything together.

And I had a lot of weird influences, like “Little Town,” I was really trying to find the same feeling as listening to “Pink Houses” by John Mellencamp. I don’t write too many happy songs, and I was not in a good headspace in that time period. For some reason, I guess I was just daydreaming of a better life, and I kept writing about home, but in a different format of not always missing it.

Another song that really captures this topic is “Stillwater.” I love that it has this sort of dark, contemplative tinge and it feels gritty. Could talk a little bit about writing “Stillwater” and about your relationship with “home” and the construction of “home”? That’s such a country tradition as well, not just talking about home and missing it, but understanding that home is a nebulous, intangible thing, even if it literally exists.

There’s a lot of bands that say they come from Stillwater, but they really just started in Stillwater and they came from a different area, since it is a college town. But I was born and raised there in Stillwater. All my life the college has been my backyard. When I wrote that song in the summer of ’22, I had my guitar player with me and my fiddle player’s husband and we sat down to write that. It was more so just trying to give people a different perspective on what it’s like to actually grow up in a college town, because it’s a vicious cycle of the same shit – like, no one else sees it, because they’re living inside of the four years of going [to college].

And me also being a college dropout, I never got to actually go to [Oklahoma State University]. I went to OSUIT in Okmulgee, Oklahoma. And that did not last long. [Laughs] But yeah, I was like, “No one’s ever actually talked shit on a hometown and actually put the name in it.” So I was just being ballsy with it. I had to change quite a few lyrics, because I kind of went a little too far. I probably would have pissed a lot of people off.

The song was intentional. I don’t know, [I wanted to] make people think differently. Because that is my home. A lot of times, you just see people take advantage of the town, and the town keeps growing. Every single time I come back home now, there’s another chicken place and another damn car wash. I was like, “How many do we need?” Good lord. I was really pissed off in the mindset of it. I’m glad that we captured it, because for a while, I was scared to release it just because I was like, “People are gonna think that I hate Stillwater.” But really, it’s still a love song towards it.

It feels like you’re loving Stillwater, you’re loving Oklahoma, but your love for it requires you to look at it through an accurate lens and not an idealized version of it.

And it’s a relationship. My relationship with that town has just been back and forth. You’ll have that resentment, and you’ll have that frustration with it, but you still love it. It’s crazy to think about it that way, through that lens, but that’s what it is.

You touched on your co-writing process and I was excited to see how forward your own writing and your own perspective is on this album. Can you describe your co-writing and collaboration process for these songs? I noticed, too, that Ketch Secor co-wrote the title track.

When I wrote with Ketch, that was super cool. ‘Cause I had just gotten done watching Killers of the Flower Moon. I was already so inspired by that and wanting to really speak some truth. But not just by absolutely laying into people on the bad shit that’s going on – you can’t force-feed people. When we sat down [to write, Ketch] said that he wanted to write shit about Oklahoma and I was like, “That works out great!” The song just came together and it was it’s one of the coolest things, because I didn’t know how to feel about it quite yet. I was like, “This has some good shit in there…” and then when we went to record it, I was like, “Here it is! This is the way it’s supposed to go.”

But with the writing of this entire album, I was scared shitless. I didn’t think I was good enough, and I didn’t think these songs were good enough for an album. I started overthinking the entire thing. People can get mad at me all they want for doing co-writes, but I’m still writing. It’s not like I just sit in there and wait for these people to write these songs for me. This is all me.

The other thing is, my music taste [has] so much variety that I think it’s only better if I sit down with other people that have other strengths, to get to where I want to go – into these different styles of songs. I don’t want to do the same song, different chords, you know what I’m saying? I wanted it to be so unique and to keep it the way that I’ve always done it, which is to have different styles of songs. For that, I feel like you have to have different songwriters come in and give you different pieces.

I also have to ask you about bluegrass. One of the first things that we shared on our site of yours was a Tyler Childers cover that you recorded with Sierra Hull at Red Rocks. Our audience loved it so much. I think part of why your music resonates across diehard country fans to indie fans to bluegrass fans is that you’re not just a performer and a songwriter, but you’re a picker, too. What is your relationship like with bluegrass music? Is it something that’s prominent in your listening and in your influence?

So, I will first and foremost say this: I am not that good of a picker. [Laughs]

That stuff, that is something that I love. That is a different art. That is so beautiful. But my love for it– everyone in Oklahoma started listening to Tyler Childers and that’s when he came around, I want to say in my high school days. That’s when everything took a shift. I was like, “I don’t know what this is…” because we all grew up listening to red dirt [country], which is what I am. But my influence has really changed. In the summer of ‘22, Laurel Cove Music Festival was the first time that I had seen Nicholas Jamerson, Charles Wesley Godwin, Sierra Ferrell, Cole Chaney. That changed everything for me. It changed the entire way that I looked at music, and from that point on I started listening to every single one of those artists. It just led to more.

I love bluegrass and I try to have a couple songs [in that style], but I can’t call myself bluegrass. As much as I love what they’re doing and I try, I have my influences, I’m still red dirt. The way that those artists do what they do, it’s because they are them. I have my influences, but I am still just me. So whatever comes out, it’s just me loving and respecting it. But I can’t fully call myself a bluegrass musician, because I’m not. I’m jealous of it though, I’ll tell you that much. I’m jealous, I wish!

The production style and the different aesthetics that you’re utilizing on the album feel like classic country and old country plus dashes of country & western. There are moments that are really rocking and there are moments that are really subdued. It’s also really modern and crisp. How much of that is coming from you or from the ensemble and how much is coming from your producer, Beau Bedford?

A lot of that was Beau. I learned so much from him. [Before,] I really didn’t ever get the experience of being in a studio with musicians that are just wizards. Beau really took care of me.

It was a challenge, because we recorded in three different places. We were in Nashville, in North Carolina, in LA, and then we finished in Nashville. We were scared that it wasn’t gonna flow together, being in these different studios and then also just having this [group] of songs. Luckily, it all came together and as different as they do sound, they still flow. That was all just luck. We’re all we’re all sitting there going, “Huh? Hope this goes right!” I had my doubts, too, and [Beau] goes, “Wyatt, everything’s gonna be all right, because you are the main character that runs through this entire thing.”

That’s the constant throughout the entire project. I’m just lucky that it worked. When you go from different styles of songs – red dirt, and then you got this beachy [thing], old-time. It’s just crazy how they all go along together. Then it goes into this weird psychedelic rock and “Falling Sideways.” It was a wild adventure, and I’m so grateful for it. I just can’t believe the way that it turned out.

I ask this last question often, especially with people like yourself who are so effortlessly traditional country. There are a lot of folks out there who are excited about you – and artists like Zach Top and Tyler Childers and Zach Bryan – because these listeners sense that there’s this “new movement” that’s going to save country music, that’s going to renew country. That country is going to be what it used to be before “murder on Music Row.”

I wondered what your thoughts and feelings are on that paradigm? Because I sense that you don’t care so much about what is or isn’t traditional or what is or isn’t “inside” country. Does country music need to be saved? Do you see yourself as part of that saviorship? Do you care?

There’s something to be said about it, because yeah– I have my opinions about commercial country. There’s some really good songs and then I also think there’s some songs that say absolutely nothing. I guess as a songwriter, my goal is to keep writing about real shit and keep expressing myself with vulnerability. And to still write good songs.

I have a very important person in my life who’s been a mentor to me; his name’s Shane Lamb. I used to talk about writing these super-poppy melodies. And he goes, “Yeah, it’s because it’s popular music. … Who are some of your favorite artists?” We started going through Tyler Childers, early on in the days of me being in Nashville. [Shane] was like, “Listen to the fucking melody, Wyatt. It’s a pop melody. It’s for popular music. That’s why it works. But his arrangement is country.”

And I was like, “Oh… when you think about it that way, yeah, I guess you’re right.” So, I do try to have poppy melodies as much as I can, but I still try and keep my verses very needy, if that makes sense. I like putting a whole bunch of detail and really trying to focus in on the verses and let the chorus speak for itself.

That’s so perfectly put; yes, country has always been popular music. It’s one of my favorite Tyler Mahan Coe quotes, the creator of Cocaine and Rhinestones, the podcast and the book. He talks regularly about how country music has always been popular music. That’s not to say that fact absolves Music Row and Music City from all the truck and beer songs, but it certainly helps remind us that hand-wringing over “Is country music going to be okay?!” is not something that’s ever going to go away, but it’s also not something we really need to worry about.

And I think for the first time ever with social media, people are able to find new music that’s always been there. They’re just now finding out about it for the first time, because the radio stations aren’t playing it. That’s its own deal. But now they’re able to find all this new music and I feel like country is still going to be country. Like you said, when it comes to beer and truck songs, I think the thing that’s missing is them not explaining what they love about it. They’re just talking about it, not being vulnerable with it.

I think about “Drive” by damn Alan Jackson, dude. That is just talking about driving. That’s really all it is, but the sentiment is there, because it has to do with the father and the son. And then, all of a sudden, there’s the father and the daughter – that is fucking awesome country music that I still absolutely love! I wish that I could do that, like that Zach Top thing. I told him that whenever I met him, I was like, “Dude, I wish I could do it.” I really do. ‘Cause he’s fucking killing it. There’s so many different styles of music and I’d rather just do what I want to do, which is all of them, rather than just settle for one sound.


Photo Credit: Natalie Rhea