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Vince Gill Has Done It All (Part 2)

Posted on March 10, 2026June 23, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Poaching from Elvis, well over 50,000,000 Vince Gill fans can’t be wrong.

The longevity Gill discussed in Part 1 of this interview has taken him from bluegrass beginnings to a genre-inclusive 50 years as one of country’s most beloved and sought-after artists.

It’s not always been easy, however. No one, regardless of talent or fan loyalty, is immune from freedom of the keyboard and Gill is no stranger to the highs and lows of public opinion. Mostly it’s outpourings of gratitude from the millions whose lives his music touches. Sometimes it’s claptrap about his now decade-long tenure in the Eagles, or venomous spewing over songs like “March On, March On,” from Secondhand Smoke, the second in his series of retrospective EPs being released monthly.

In Part 2 of his conversation with Good Country, Gill discusses, among other things, the aforementioned decade-long tenure with the Eagles, bullying – with a few choice words for those who inflict it – his scrolling habits, and he indulges us in a rapid-fire round of closing questions.

In the arc of this 50-year project, it is not unnoticed that Hotel California turns 50 this year. Do you have memories of listening to that album as a young man, as you now find yourself onstage playing those songs?

Vince Gill: I had all the Eagles records. We did a lot of their songs in my bluegrass days, and it’s completely surreal. I’m starting my tenth year of being in that band and continuing that legacy of songs. What I value most about getting to play with these guys, what I’ve learned most, is how important songs are – all the notes, all the licks, all the riffs, all that stuff. Getting to relearn that at this stage of life has been pretty profound in the way that I’m trying to write songs. I’m patient in the way I write. I’m patient to wait for it to come – the right words, to not settle on anything, and really edit and work and edit and work and continue to try to be mindful of how important the song is.

What I’m mindful of with the Eagles is the tragedy. More important than the fact that I get to do it is that if Glenn had not passed away, I would not have gotten to do this and I’m grateful I’m the one they called. I met all those guys in, I think, 1980, when I was living [in California]. In a million years, would I have ever thought this would have happened? No. But I am careful of how I couch everything, because it came from something tragic and I am respectful of that.

Glenn was a really good friend of mine, actually, and his son Deacon is doing a great job up there of carrying on his dad’s tradition. I think I’m a great fit for them in the way I play guitar and sing, and sing harmony, and play all the instruments I do. I’m not saying I’m better than anybody else they could have gotten. I’m just saying what I do suits them really well.

Jedd Hughes described you as “one of the greatest band leaders I’ve ever worked with. He’s listening to everything and everyone, always, so you can read his cues pretty easily.” First part of the question: Where did you learn to lead?

Because I’m a musician, I think I come at it different and I operate under the mindset that every note is equal. You’re not more important because you’re the lead singer. You’re not more important because you play the lead solo in the song. I value every note the same. Spending my life in the studio like I have, knowing what you play and do has to sit well and play well with others, you have to listen to everybody else.

It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you don’t care who gets the credit. Sometimes people play only to be noticed and that doesn’t necessarily constitute the right thing for the song. They say in Nashville all the time, “Just serve the song.” That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. If someone’s playing something and doing something, don’t do something to distract it. Do something to enhance it, to support it.

Second part: How does that translate to arrangements and contributions from the musicians you work with?

Great players all listen to each other and you’re dealing with a caliber of musicians that already know what not to do, so you don’t have to waste time going, “Hey, don’t play that, that’s too much, that’s not necessary.” Every time I’m in there playing, I take every note, examine it, and make it move me, make it sit just right.

Once again, if you’re playing with that caliber of people, which I fortunately am – my band is usually made up of a lot of studio musicians and amazing players – they like playing with me because I’m a player, too. I’m not just someone up there singing the songs. So I think I have their respect, and that points you once again towards, “What’s the best thing for the song? What’s the best arrangement idea? What’s the best part to play? What’s the best part not to play?” That’s it in a nutshell.

I’m surrounded by musicians that can all play me under the table, straight up. That’s the truth. I’m grateful to have them, grateful to get to play with them, and it makes for a very democratic spirit. Even in the way we record, I’m not heavy-handed. I’m not telling people what to play. Oftentimes we’ll be in there and they’ll say, “Do you like this?” I go, “I don’t have any idea. I’ve never even heard this song before. I know I wrote it, but we’re in here trying to figure it out, so we’re just going to figure it out all together.”

It creates a great spirit in there if everybody feels like they’re all walking on equal ground, everybody has a right to an opinion, everybody has a right to try something, nobody gets shut down, nobody gets put off. It’s an amazing experience. I don’t ever do demos with my songs. I just write them and then I show them to the guys on the floor. I go, “This is how it goes. Let’s figure it out.” They naturally gravitate towards something great and you just follow them off the cliff! It’s wonderful to watch other people’s gifts.

Earlier you described yourself as “the happiest son of a bitch in the world” who just loves sad songs. In that happiness, however, you have experienced much grief. Your faith is strong. Have you ever lost or questioned it during times of loss?

When I think about faith, I don’t think of it so much [from] the religious point of view. I think faith in humanity – more than Baptist or Methodist, or heaven or hell, or any of that stuff. None of these questions have ever been answered, so to pretend you know the answers seems a little, I don’t know, pretentious almost. That might not be a good word. But, no. It all comes from loving deep. The people I love, I love them deeply. They matter to me.

Music is where I go to grieve. It’s where I go to get through loss. It’s where all those things are. I tell everybody it’s cheaper than therapy. I just write about it.

I never feel the need to fix everything in my life. My relationship with my dad, if it was funky or whatever, I said, “It’s not my place to change him. It’s my job to accept him.” Once I could do that, we had a great relationship. You don’t have to be like me for me to like you. You don’t have to think like I do for me to like you.

I’ve been told more often than not, “Why I like your songs is you are able to say what I wish I could say. You are able to express feelings I have that I don’t know how to.” Maya Angelou sought me out and asked me to come and meet her when she was in Nashville years ago. She told me, “‘Go Rest High’ was a lifesaver to me. It helped me get through the loss of my brother.” Those kinds of things make you go, “I’m going to try to find a way to be emotional about things and not only help myself, but help other people too.” I think if you can portray in a story what someone’s going through, you have a chance to make people feel better.

You can’t name-drop Maya Angelou and just go on to the next question! We need to back up a little bit.

She was speaking at Vanderbilt and wanted to meet. [My wife] Amy [Grant] and I went and afterward we got to go back and say hi. She said, “You mean a lot to me, because your song helped me get through one of the hardest times of my life.” It was a great visit.

You’ve released the fourth EP in your series. Which chapter is this and do you know what’s to follow?

It’s uptempo-y and groove-y, kind of like “Liza Jane” and “One More Last Chance” and some of those fun songs. Each record is, on purpose, similar-driven. The record after this fourth one will be a lot of real country-country stuff, real traditional stuff. The one after that is going to be more like “I Still Believe In You” and “Don’t Let Our Love Start Slippin’ Away,” from a more rocking side. I don’t want to say the word “pop,” but it is. It feels like an Eagles record or a Fleetwood Mac record at times. The inspirations are all in there.

The one after that is real bluesy R&B-ish. Are you hip to Lamont Landers? He’s a soul singer from Alabama. You look at him and go, “There’s no way this voice is coming out of that dude.” He does all these really cool things. I found him and I got him to come and sing on one of my songs that’s coming out later in the year. He’s just such a cool dude. I’ve been trying to turn people on to him.

How did you find him?

Scrolling.

You’re a scroller!

Oh, heavily guilty. I tell Amy it’s my TV now instead of channel surfing. Once in a while you’ll come upon a great young musician, or a great young singer, or a great comedian. There’s so many options, and if you stop on something, it’ll start giving you hundreds of things just like that.

The algorithm gets you.

Yeah, exactly. But it’s entertaining, and I found a couple of people to track down and
have them sing on my record because I like what they do.

What do you scroll?

YouTube, Facebook, Instagram. Most of the stuff is pointless, but there’s a nugget once in a while.

How do you handle the cruelty of social media? It can get to anyone, especially when it’s directed toward you.

It can, if you let it. That’s the life we live in now. You can’t go perform and not have everybody have a camera out and put it up and showing it and seeing it. You have a bad night and everybody’s going to rip you for it. It’s like, “How much negativity can you continue putting out there, saying negative things?” It’s never going to stop, you know that, but it’s still entertaining to read.

I read it to be informed and I don’t mind taking it. I’ve lived with critics being critical of everything I’ve ever done. It comes with the territory. If you’re brave enough to stand up there and speak through a microphone, you know you’re going to get judged to some degree. Once in a while, somebody will say something and I say, “That’s fair. That’s truthful.” Other people will say things and I go, “You don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about, but you have an opinion that’s inflammatory towards me, and you couldn’t be more wrong.” I know that, so it doesn’t have an impact.

Sadly, people have to get on there, the keyboard warriors. They think they finally have a voice. Being able to post and have an opinion, they think that gives them a voice. But in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t. I know that, so I just take it with a grain of salt and move on.

Perhaps being 68 years old with experience and success makes that easier than for a young person just starting out.

People are still critical of me being in the Eagles. They say, “Now it’s a cover band and you shouldn’t be there,” blah, blah, blah. You know it’s coming, so press on. Say whatever you want. Say it to my face and see what happens to you!

I can’t control any of it. I can control me. I can control my heart, what my heart thinks, what my heart feels. If you hate what I do, that’s okay. A lot of people don’t like what I do. I’m used to that. You’re not going to stop me.

Earlier we talked about hope. I just hope people respond. I don’t mind if they respond negatively. You don’t want that, you’d rather not, but it’s funny how you can get a hundred good reviews on a record and one bad and you only remember the bad one. That’s human nature. It’s not a weakness. It just goes to show how being cruel and negative towards someone has an impact.

I think about the times I was in school and was talked to in a negative way, and how it lasted. I remembered it forever. There was a girl I was in a band with for a little bit. She sang in this choir at the school that was really well thought of, and the choir director told her, “You are wasting your time with that guy and his banjo and bluegrass. He’s a fool.” And I just want to go, “Na-na-na-na-na!” But you remember it. And an English teacher that kicked me out of the class for saying something she didn’t like and painted me a certain way. You remember it.

My own kids, one teacher said to my youngest daughter, “My dog has more manners than you.” Things like that … my hundred-year-old mother is still pissed off about that! She’s still, “I’d like to get my hands on that teacher!” We’ve got a good bit of redneck in us!

I watch my sweet wife take slings and arrows all the time and the way she handles it is so beautiful to watch and so inspiring. It’s helped me do the same thing.

Can you play everything you hear in your head?

Probably. I hope so! It’s funny you brought that up, because being a musician and a singer, people say, “How do you get inspired to sing?” or “How do you get inspired to play?” Well, before I play something, in my head, I’m saying, “How would you sing this?” And when I’m getting ready to sing something, I ask myself, “How would you play this? What kind of rhythm? What kind of phrasing?” All those things.

I think the real difference [between] a good singer and a great singer is the way they phrase. Ray Charles could phrase like nobody’s business. Jerry Lee Lewis, when he sang country songs, could phrase like nobody else. George Jones could phrase like nobody else. You go on and on and look at all the greatest singers, and they’re unique because more so the way they phrased than how many notes they sang.

What is the difference between playing guitar and being a guitarist?

Oh, man. I don’t know if there is. I think it’s the same thing. It all comes from the same heart. It all comes from the same ears. I just play what I think fits. I think that’s what being a great guitarist is – playing what fits.

I saw something the other day that said, “I refuse to name who I think the greatest guitar player is,” and it makes sense to me because there’s no such thing. Everybody goes at it in a different way and has a different spirit about it, has a different way they want to play and statement they want to make. Then it becomes a matter of your preference, of what you like best, that defines what the best guitar player is.

I just like people that are gifted, and people that are musical, and they play what’s in their hearts and what they feel. If you feel it like they do, game over. If you don’t, you move on. Not every great guitar player moves me. It might move you. I think we’re lucky that we can be subjective and not have to all feel the same way about the same things.

Let’s close with a lightning round. Anything goes, whatever comes to mind. An album you wish you had played on.

Hotel California.

A song you wish you had written.

“’Till I Gain Control Again” by Rodney Crowell.

A session in which you wish you could have been a fly on the wall.

“Together Again” by Buck Owens.

A concert you attended that made your head spin.

Paul McCartney.

A guitar solo you wish you could claim as your own.

Oh, gosh. I might have to go with a Chet Atkins solo, because he’s the first person I ever saw play live when I was a little boy.

Editor’s Note: Check out part one of our Good Country conversation with Vince Gill here.

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Photo Credit: David McClister

Artist of the Month: Lucinda Williams

Posted on March 2, 2026March 31, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Among the 78 bands performing for thousands of fans at San Francisco’s 25th annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, our nation’s foremost Americana festival, in October of 2025, one of the largest audiences had gathered for Lucinda Williams. She took the main stage in the afternoon clad in a leather suit, studs on the hem of her pants. The groove from the band and her lyrics landed with resonant pounding, like the drop of a heavy set of books on a table. After more than 50 years of performing, her sound still hits.

Lucinda Williams grasped brilliance in 1998 with Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, but this was not some isolated incident. She has pursued the craft of album-making expertly for her entire career, and fans flock to her because there is always something more to scratch up. The singularity of her writing rings at a higher frequency today in our shallow digitized world. I see her current position in our culture to be similar to that of poet-songwriter Leonard Cohen in his final chapter. When she sings, we listeners get to grasp at something real, and we crave what Lucinda offers; intimate corporeal love, the palette of Southern backroads alongside broken-down juke joints, honest bewilderment at the state of the world while still loving it.

When I was 26, I set out on a road trip to trace Lucinda’s origins. Being a songwriter, I wanted to determine what I could do to strive and bloom, like she did. So I left California driving my 1995 Ford F-250. From Texas to Tennessee, I dug up characters from Lucinda’s early days. I was most interested in finding people who had worked with her in the beginning of her career.

In Jackson, Mississippi, I spent a day at Malaco Studios where Lucinda made her first record Ramblin’ On My Mind. While listening to outtakes, I happened upon the first-ever originals she recorded but never released. In those reel-to-reel tapes that had been sitting untouched in a concrete vault, I heard a voice from four decades ago that was clear and bold. Wolf Stephenson was the engineer from that session and he told me that in 1978 Lucinda was a resolute and present woman: “[In] day-to-day life, she was just as footloose and like she was on stage. And really there wasn’t much difference in sitting here talking [with her] or being on stage, very natural.”

In Austin, Texas, I was shocked to learn that well-known guitarist Charlie Sexton had played with Lucinda when he was just 11 and she was 26. At the Hole in the Wall where a booker once cancelled Lucinda’s gig because there were “too many girl singers that month,” Charlie and I discussed how he has learned from Lucinda as a writer. He reflected on his early impressions of her and told me, “…There’s no doubt that Lucinda was always going to be unique… I mean, she’s like a regional writer in a way… she’s the Flannery O’Connor of that era of singer-songwriter.”

Lucinda’s parents raised her in an extraordinary community. Her father Miller Williams was a professor, a translator, and a poet. He and his wife were descendants of humble traveling Methodist ministers with meager finances, but by the time their first daughter Lucinda was a teen, the family sat in the company of Nobel Prize-winning authors. Miller’s genuine passion for literature gave him the conviction to invite figures like Charles Bukowski and indeed Flannery O’Connor into his circle of friends and acquaintances. He hosted literary parties in the family’s Arkansas home. After drinks were served, Miller read some of his new poems out loud, and a young Lucinda sat and strummed her latest songs. Writers of the highest caliber listened at attention. Some of these writers gave Lucinda feedback. Perhaps just as important was that these writers also imparted genuine encouragement to Lucinda and told her that in spite of all of the suffering and uncertainties involved in being an artist, it was still a worthwhile pursuit in life.

Along my road trip I also discovered how committed Lucinda has been to her art over the decades. I spoke at length with some of the musicians and engineers that worked on Car Wheels On A Gravel Road. I learned from Lucinda’s recollections that when you have that itching worry that a sound just isn’t right on an album, you have to wrestle with the process to find the right timbre, the right soundscape that will thrill you. I found that a songwriter has to embrace change, even if they’re unsure of the career consequences. I found that artists can’t just make the same album over and over again. Well… they can, but they probably shouldn’t. A songwriter has to keep seeking out that sound, that story that pulls at their soul’s musical corners, like Lucinda did.

Lucinda’s latest release, World’s Gone Wrong, is a continuation of the directness I’ve known her for. She conveys her truth with her language of simplicity. So often in our era, bathed in a slurry of news and trends, opinions from artists can feel glued-on. But that’s not the case with Lucinda. She conveys her frustrations with the state of the world from a genuine and honest place and, when she sings, I believe her. As with so much of her writing, in her latest album I feel like I’m reading a book, inhabiting the imagined place of the viewer and the subject.

The characters in Lucinda’s songs are alive, bleeding, imperfect, and desirously wanting. We benefit from the chance to continue paying attention to the words she writes.

If you’d like to learn all about how I retraced the roots of Lucinda Williams, check out Finding Lucinda, my podcast released in partnership with the BGS Podcast Network. You can also watch the documentary film Finding Lucinda on AppleTV, Youtube and more.

Stay tuned as BGS and Good Country celebrate Lucinda Williams as Artist of the Month throughout March. Enjoy our Essential Lucinda Williams playlist below and check out an exclusive interview with Williams here. Plus, we’ll be diving into the BGS archives for all things Lu and exploring our favorite covers of her songs by other artists, too. Follow along right here on BGS and on social media for more.

Photo Credit: Mark Seliger

Steve Poltz Loves a Tangent

Posted on February 19, 2026February 20, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What came together perfectly on this record?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo Credit: Jay Blakesburg

Ole 60 Bring Their Smokestack Town to the World

Posted on February 16, 2026March 23, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Pairing the slouchy charm of indie grunge with roots-rocking, small-town punk energy, Ole 60 spent 2025 becoming one of the most intriguing new acts in Americana.

With their debut album Smokestack Town – plus some fun-loving video content, huge opening-act performances with Zach Bryan, and first-time trips to Lollapalooza, the Ryman, the Grand Ole Opry, and more – the six-piece band came a long way from their blue-collar hometown of Hawesville, Kentucky. They even finished off the year with their biggest show yet, selling out their first-ever arena gig with an Owensboro homecoming. But there’s still more to do.

Inspired by a world of shift work and shitty luck, and powered by a rusty Toyota rolling on four bald tires, frontman and primary songwriter Jacob Ty Young fills his songs with vividly conflicted characters. Soaring garage-pop singalongs stand alongside sucker-punch ballads of screwing up and flaming out, each one struggling with the urge to get the hell out while still loving where you’re from. It’s a feeling anyone nursing big dreams in a small town will recognize, and Ole 60 shares it with a fresh voice.

In late January, Young told Good Country about the band’s quick rise and biggest year yet, while looking ahead to what comes next. There’s already a level-up tour underway and new music in the works. But Young pledges not to forget where they got their start – a pizza shop game room in a Smokestack Town.

In 2025, Ole 60 was out on tour, did big shows with Zach Bryan, made an Opry debut and released your first album. What’s it been like processing all that in the last month or so?

Jacob Ty Young: You try to take it in as it’s happening, but it’s a lot easier once you have some time to think. … I think it was definitely the best year we’ve had and now that we’ve had some time off, I’m eager to get back out and start touring again.

And I’ve been writing a lot. After putting out that first record, it was something that we’d never really done before. It was our first time making an album and we learned a lot of things and I think that everybody’s in the headspace that this next one’s going to be even better, so we’re working hard.

What was the common bond that brought you all together musically? You blend influences all the way from Smashing Pumpkins and Metallica to John Prine, right?

Five of the six of us are all from the same little small town in Kentucky, or bordering towns within about 30 minutes of each other. I kind of knew everybody before we started the band. We just got together and started jamming. I’m a huge Smashing Pumpkins fan. Most of the guys are big metalheads. They love Metallica, Black Sabbath, Primus, all that stuff. I think everybody bonded over just our love for rock music. There is obviously some country influence, but I never really considered it that. We were just a garage band, and it’s hard to not bond when you’re sitting there in a garage playing cover songs. The Pumpkins, Stone Temple Pilots, Black Crowes. It was that kind of grunge stuff that really glued us all together.

You can hear that still, and then there’s a rootsy folk side to it, too. When did you start writing songs?

I’ve been writing songs my whole life, but nothing ever really serious. I would write funny songs when I was in high school and I wrote a song about our basketball team one time, just as a parody thing. And I always really enjoyed playing guitar and being creative. I was into visual art and graphic design for a while. Then I kind of went through some stuff in my personal life and decided I wanted to sit down and write some songs about it. That ended up being the first EP [three twenty four]. That would’ve been 2023, I think. I always loved guys like John Prine and Bob Dylan and even Billy Corgan of the Pumpkins, just the uniqueness of the songwriting. I think for lyrics, I look to those guys, and then for the music we kind of look all over the place.

I hear there’s a pizza shop in there somewhere, right? We keep seeing pizza references in the socials and songs. Is the shop like an easter egg for you?

Yeah, I think so. I worked at a pizza restaurant in Hawesville, Kentucky, for about four years when I would come home from school. And then there’s another guy in the band, Ryan, his brother owned the pizza restaurant, so he worked there as well for years. When we first started practicing, rehearsing, and getting ready to go around playing bar gigs, we would rehearse in the back of Galaxy Pizza after close. We’d set up all our equipment back in the arcade section and jam until one in the morning. And then we got our bass player, Colby, and he had a garage, so we moved to his garage. But yeah, I grew up right next to Galaxy and it’s kind of a staple in our hometown, so we just try to let that side of us show through our content and all the visual side of stuff.

Tell me about putting the album together. Smokestack Town was one of my favorites of the year, so congratulations on how it came out. What did you want? I mean, creating a debut album is a pretty big moment. It might seem like an overwhelming task, so what were you going for?

We didn’t have a hardcore plan. I was just writing songs and I got six of ’em that I was really proud of. We went recorded and I was like, “Okay, I think this could be an album.” So I was writing as we were recording the album, and then the last song that I wrote was “Smokestack Town.” I was like, “That seems like a good name.”

I just wanted to push ourselves and try to do something different sonically than we had before. We got together with Jacquire King who produced it, and he’s one of the best of the best. He took my vision and ran with it and we’re very happy. We just wanted to put ourselves out there and let people in, see what kind of music we listen to.

That’s interesting, because it’s been presented as a concept album. But it sounds like you were building the concept as you went.

If it’s a concept album, it’s more so on the visual content side of things, because we’ve been putting out these little short videos of character acting. Taking the lead from the Foo Fighters.

Totally!

But there were just a lot of overarching themes in the record about home. Missing home, being homesick, being young. Plus that idea of small town, kind of dystopian … but not really.

Right, you wrote all these characters who are definitely small town people, with small town stories. But the thing I appreciate was they’re not stereotypical tailgate anthems or “I’m so country.” Nothing like that. Where were you coming from?

After I left Galaxy, I worked in an aluminum mill for a year and a half, and my dad works at the paper mill. Hawesville is a very industry-driven town. I think it’s different from your typical country town because it’s so labor-driven and everybody’s proud to be union and blue-collar. It’s less sitting on tailgates and drinking beer and more going to work a 16-hour shift and coming home and sleeping.

I wanted that to come through, because in country music it is a lot of sitting out in the boonies, drinking beer, and sitting on a tailgate. But I wanted to write my experience growing up in my little country town. There’s nothing to do, so we just ran around all the time and went to all these different places and got into trouble there. I wanted to write about that side of stuff, and less about the country stuff.

Being a new band coming into the indie and roots music scene, did it feel like there’s a lot of opportunity and energy out there?

Everything’s been so great. We kind of blew up on social media and I don’t know if any of us were ready for that to happen, but it did. I think that the reception’s been great. We went out and started headlining shows fairly early and we were selling them out. That’s a great feeling, because when you do blow up like that on social media, it’s hard to really put a gauge on what that means – until you go out and play a headline show and you see the crowd and they’re singing, and you go play a festival with all these big names and it’s your first time out there, and the crowd’s into it. And that’s kind of how it was.

True, and you finished last year with a huge statement in Owensboro, right? Hometown show, New Year’s Eve. Your first arena show and you sold it out. What was the feeling like on stage?

It was weird because it was both the most nervous I’ve ever been and the most comfortable I’ve ever been. You look out in the crowd, you see people you know, and you don’t get that a whole lot when you’re touring. It was just super cool. I got to sleep at the house I grew up in. The whole day just felt good. It was nice to be home and have family coming in and out and friends. Just the perfect way to end the year.

Y’all cleaned up nicely in the tuxedos. Did you put some extra polish on the performance, too?

Yeah, I thought it was New Year’s, we might as well get some tuxedos. I thought everybody looked nice. I want to do it more often. I dunno how the other guys feel about it. We’ll see.

@ole60music🗣️ said it don’t hurt and I called your bluff♬ original sound – Ole 60

You’re getting back on the road for the Smokestack Town Tour this winter. What’s everybody looking forward to? What’s the vibe?

The new year feels like a fresh start to change the show and really put a lot of thought into what we want to do with it. We’ve got some new production stuff, new lighting, and I’m really excited for everybody to see it. I think everybody just wants to go out there and every night needs to be the best show we’ve ever played. We’re playing bigger shows this year and we’re super excited, super grateful.

Earlier you said you’ve been writing, can you give us a hint about what’s been inspiring lately?

Yeah, I’ve been listening to a lot to indie rock, and what I listen to comes through in what I write. So definitely it sounds like Ole 60, but it’s new, and I’m still kind of figuring it out. But I’m really excited that the direction everything’s headed. I don’t have any idea about timelines for new music, but I have been writing a lot and I’m really excited about all of it.

Jacob, thank you for the time. I’ll leave you with the big picture – I always ask people what they hope listeners take away from their work. So what’s that look like to you?

I just hope that our story can be inspiring to others through the fact that we came from a town where after you graduate, you either go to college, you go to the military, or work in a factory, and that’s your options. And there’s always other options out there. You just got to put your head down, work hard and good things will come.

Photo Credit: Wales Toney

Jason Sinay’s Peace & Love Playlist

Posted on January 26, 2026January 27, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

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

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

“Imagine” – John Lennon

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

“Blowin’ in the Wind” – Bob Dylan

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

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

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

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

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

“Ripple” – Grateful Dead

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

“Heart Of Gold” – Neil Young

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

“She’s a Rainbow” – The Rolling Stones

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

“Ophelia” – The Band

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

“Feels Like Home” – Randy Newman

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

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

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

Photo courtesy of the artist.

Basic Folk: Great Lake Swimmers

Posted on January 22, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Accidental bandleader and beloved Canadian Tony Dekker joins us to talk about Great Lake Swimmers‘ new album, Caught Light. Tony is up to old tricks again, like recording in a remote and weird place (in a century-old farmhouse in the middle of the woods) and working with his merry band of rotating musician friends, including producer Darcy Yates (Bahamas). The album was recorded in three days, the shortest amount of time he’s ever spent on a record. In that very fast process, he had to learn to let go of control. In our Basic Folk conversation, he shares what he’s learned about the beauty of letting go. We also get into how Tony feels most capable of confronting environmental and political themes in his songwriting and daily practice.

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In recent years, Dekker has moved his family from Toronto, the big city, back to the Niagara area in Ontario where he grew up, to establish a small town community and life. We revisit his early years in Wainfleet, Ontario, discussing the ins and outs of his family’s farm, his love of country radio, and talent for picking any instrument. He learned the joy of playing music at a young age. The reward of music was enough, and that notion has translated into how Great Lake Swimmers operates and what kind of bandleader he is. As stated before, the fact that he is the group’s bandleader is an accident, since he only wanted to organize the band and act as a background member. Finding himself more and more on the frontline, he did some serious work learning how to be a good leader and how to operate a band that’s made up of good friends. It’s clear that Tony’s figured out how to be a humble leader and friend as his collaborators return to his orbit time and time again.

Photo Credit: Robert Georgeff

Sammy Brue Offers His Heartfelt Take on Justin Townes Earle

Posted on January 21, 2026January 22, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

By the time Sammy Brue finished recording The Journals, he already knew something unsettling: this might be the most meaningful work he ever makes. Not because it would be his last, but because it arrived fully formed, heavy with inheritance, responsibility, and grief.

“If I never made another album again,” Brue said, almost laughing at the impossibility of topping it, “this was it.”

The Journals (out January 23 on Bloodshot Records) is a spare, intimate record built from the handwritten notebooks of Justin Townes Earle – Brue’s mentor, hero, and one of the most restless, brilliant American songwriters of his generation. Earle died of an accidental drug overdose in 2020 at age 38. What he left behind, scattered across hotel rooms, trains, taxis, storage units, and decades of living, was a vast, unfinished body of work. Hundreds of pages of lyrics, fragments, revisions, false starts, and songs carved and recarved like stone.

Entrusted with those journals by Earle’s widow, Jenn Marie Earle, Brue didn’t approach them as artifacts. He approached them as living documents. “I never got to write a song with Justin,” he said. “And then I thought – maybe I could.”

The result is neither a covers album nor an act of ventriloquism. Some songs on The Journals emerge directly from lyric sheets Earle left behind. Others are co-writes in spirit, with Brue completing ideas Earle had shaped over years. A few are Brue’s own songs, written from compilations of Earle’s images and themes. One track, “For Justin,” is entirely Brue’s – a quiet, aching letter written two years after Earle’s death, “by a Justin fan for Justin’s fans.”

The record was made quickly, almost violently so. With GoFundMe money raised to finish the project, Brue booked two days in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, a nod to the sparse manner that Earle once cut Yuma, his breakthrough 2007 debut. Brue wanted to honor that lineage directly: no band, no overdubs, no safety net. Just voice, guitar, microphones.

“I wanted it all live,” he said. “No tracking. No instrumentals. Just me.”

Brue practiced obsessively for months, then walked into the studio and recorded ten songs in a single day. When nerves crept in, he leaned on a conversation with Joshua Black Wilkins, Earle’s longtime collaborator, asking how Yuma had been made so quickly, so ferociously. “He said Justin was desperate,” Brue said. “He had to make it happen or he was going to sink.” That urgency – career, life, survival – became Brue’s template. The next day, they listened back, drank, and let the record sit where it landed.

Brue has been playing these songs live since the moment they were finished. Unlike most of his own catalog, they haven’t worn thin. “I’ll never get sick of playing these,” he said. “I’ll play them until my demise.”

To understand why requires also understanding what Earle represented to Brue long before the journals ever entered the picture. Brue grew up in a household steeped in American roots music – Justin Townes Earle, the Avett Brothers, Old Crow Medicine Show, Dave Rawlings. As a child, he assumed Woody Guthrie and Lead Belly were simply what came on the radio. At 10, he asked his father to take him to see Earle play in Salt Lake City, only to discover the show was 21-and-over. Fate intervened: Earle was outside the venue, smoking, when they pulled over. He signed Brue’s guitar. Years later, Earle invited him to open shows, tour, and appear on the cover of Single Mothers as a kind of “mini-Justin.”

They stayed connected. Brue watched Earle fall in love with Jenn, watched his life oscillate between discipline and chaos, sobriety and relapse. “He always treated me the same,” Brue said. “He put on a strong front for me.”

When Earle died, Brue felt the loss in stages – shock, numbness, then collapse. He later read Earle’s rehab journals but couldn’t bring himself to take them home. The pain on those pages was too raw. “Some of the most heartbreaking stuff I’ve ever read,” he said. “You want it released. You don’t want it released.”

What struck Brue most, beyond the suffering, was the work ethic. Earle wrote obsessively, filling 150-page notebooks song by song, revising endlessly. Saint of Lost Causes alone contains nearly 80 pages of drafts. “He carved songs like marble,” Brue says. “No wonder they’re undeniable.”

That rigor reshaped Brue’s own sense of craft. Archiving Earle’s journals – more than 800 pages total, still only a fraction of what exists – forced him to confront the fragility of legacy. “I’m looking at my own songs now like, why was I writing in the Notes app?” he said. “I need a box.”

The emotional core of The Journals came together when Brue met with Jenn and Etta, Earle’s daughter, flipping through the notebooks together. Etta clung to Brue’s arm as they turned the pages. “It felt like she was closer to her dad,” Brue said. “Jenn, closer to her husband. Me, closer to my idol.” From that moment on, failure wasn’t an option.

The album arrives alongside renewed attention to Earle’s life and work, including Jonathan Bernstein’s authorized biography, What Do You Do When You’re Lonesome. Together, they suggest something rare: a continuation rather than a conclusion.

“I feel like I’m a link in the chain,” Brue said, naming the lineage he feels bound to – Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt, Steve Earle, Justin Townes Earle. “It’s rough and tumble right now. Which is perfect.”

For all its weight, The Journals isn’t morbid. It’s alive. It moves forward. Brue knows he doesn’t have to top it. He only has to honor it. And for now, that’s enough to keep the fire lit.

Photo Credit: Joshua Black Wilkins

The Mighty Résumés of
Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham

Posted on January 15, 2026January 20, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

The duo of Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham have amassed an astonishing set of credentials, not only as exceptional soul, pop, rock, and country songwriters, but also as vocalists, producer (Penn), and session musician/sideman (Oldham). Both Alabama natives, they’ve maintained a successful professional relationship and close personal friendship since meeting in the late ’50s as teens. They’ve always characterized themselves as “country boys who love Black music.”

Penn initially viewed himself primarily as a singer. He was the lead vocalist for two local Alabama bands, the R&B group the Mark V Combo and a later one, Dan Penn and the Pallbearers. But he began to shift his focus in 1960, after his tune “Is A Bluebird Blue?” became an early hit for Conway Twitty. That song also reflected the joint musical influences that have always permeated the tunes co-written by Penn and Oldham. It’s country’s powerful storytelling edge combined with soul’s passionate energy and quest for personal salvation. Once the Twitty tune made it big, things changed in Penn’s mind. “That’s when I first decided that maybe this songwriting thing might work out,” he added. “After I saw some of the checks that were coming in, I decided to just keep going with it.”

Penn had already been working at SPAR Music studio, a place co-founded by Rick Hall and Billy Sherrill above a drugstore in Florence, Alabama. When Hall decided to open his own studio titled FAME (Florence Alabama Music Enterprises), Penn became their first resident songwriter. He and Oldham began writing together at FAME, and both say they had a chemistry from the very beginning.

“Back in those days, co-writing wasn’t quite what it is today,” Penn continued. “But just from hanging out with Spooner and getting to know him, we had real good rapport from the beginning. I got to know and like him, and then things just kind of took off from there.”

“What Dan says is pretty much how it happened,” Oldham added. “We got a rhythm going and it’s never been one of those things where we’ve had any problems or issues.”

Interestingly, Oldham views himself as a musician first, then a songwriter. A prolific organist and keyboardist, he got his start playing in a traditional jazz band while in high school. The extensive list of top musicians he’s played with over the years includes Arlo Guthrie, Jim Croce, Gram Parsons, The Everly Brothers, Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt, Gene Clark, Ry Cooder, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett, Bob Seger, Maria Muldaur, Rita Coolidge, Bobby Womack, Albert King, Helen Reddy, Harry Nilsson, Stephen Stills, J.J. Cale, and Neil Young. But in his earlier days, he also made his way to the FAME studios and had the first of many collaborations with Penn. Among their notable FAME triumphs were Percy Sledge’s “It Tears Me Up,” James and Bobby Purify’s “I’m Your Puppet,” and Joe Simon’s “Let’s Do It Over.”

But Penn wanted to produce as well as write and he left FAME for Memphis in the late ’60s, moving to Chips Moman’s American Studios. Oldham would later follow him there. Penn and Moman would craft their own set of soul classics, notably “Dark End of the Street” for James Carr, and “Do Right Woman, Do Right Man” for Aretha Franklin. Penn got his first major production opportunity in 1967, with the Box Tops and then 16-year-old lead vocalist Alex Chilton. Penn produced their number one hit “The Letter,” then joined forces with Oldham to co-write the group’s second smash “Cry Like A Baby,” and the Sweet Inspirations’ “Sweet Inspiration.”

Oldham would eventually depart for Los Angeles and a prolific career as a session musician and sideman. He played keyboards on Young’s 1978 album Comes a Time, and continued to work with him on such other albums as Old Ways, Harvest Moon, Silver & Gold, and Prairie Wind. Oldham joined Bob Dylan during his Christian era, contributing to Dylan’s Saved album, the Saved Tour and the Shot of Love Tour. With Dylan, he played 79 shows, appeared on Saturday Night Live, and on the GRAMMY Awards telecast. Oldham also partnered with John Prine for the 1984 album Aimless Love and appeared on the 1994 release, A John Prine Christmas.

When Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young reunited for their Freedom of Speech Tour, Oldham played keyboards. He also worked as a sideman and collaborated with Steve Wariner through the ’80s. They teamed on the song “Lonely Women Make Good Lovers.” During the ’90s, Oldham was featured on Jewel’s album Pieces of You, which produced the hit “Who Will Save Your Soul.” In the 2000s, he appeared on a pair of Frank Black albums, joined the Drive-By Truckers for their 2007 The Dirt Underneath tour, and played with Amos Lee, Aaron Neville, Bettye LaVette and Cat Power in 2008. He contributed to Keith Richards’ 2015 album Crosseyed Heart and Sheryl Crow’s Threads in 2019, as well as the Mountain Goats Dark In Here in 2021.

Penn established his own Memphis studio, then subsequently relocated to Nashville in the ’70s. He would have some country success with songs written for Ronnie Milsap and Johnny Rodriguez, and he’d also produce a pair of Milsap LPs – his debut album Ronnie Milsap, and co-producing A Rose By Any Other Name with Moman. He contributed the song “A Woman Left Lonely” to Janis Joplin’s album Pearl (later covered by Charlie Rich) and he’d cut an acclaimed solo album, Nobody’s Fool.

Penn and Oldham had another reunion in 1991 at New York’s Bottom Line, appearing in the songwriter series “In Their Own Words.” They also contributed to Arthur Alexander’s 1993 album Lonely Just Like Me. Later the duo made an acoustic tour throughout parts of the U.S., Europe, Australia, and Japan. It yielded the live album, Moments From This Theater, that was released in 1999. Penn also made another critically praised solo LP, Do Right Man, in 1994. Both Penn and Oldham are members of the Alabama Music Hall of Fame. Oldham is also in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as a sideman, as well as the Musicians Hall of Fame in Nashville and the Birmingham Record Collectors Hall of Fame.

Both men currently remain busy. Penn’s Christmas tune “One Blue Light” was released last November and it was a message of “remembrance and hope” to highlight the holiday season. It’s the first single from Penn’s upcoming album, Smoke Filled Room, which is scheduled for release later this year. “There’s a song on there that I worked on for 20 years and I finally got it right this time,” he said in discussing the upcoming album. “Billy Lawson mixed it and we finally got it sounding the way that we wanted.”

Smoke Filled Room was recorded at Penn’s home studio and will be available on various streaming sites. “When I started out as a singer in the studios I’d always pay attention to what they were doing on the boards, the engineering, mixing, all of it,” Penn added. “So it wasn’t that much of a shift for me to go to production.”

Besides playing dates last year with Neil Young, Oldham also played with the Scottish band Texas on the 2024 release The Muscle Shoals Sessions, a collection of soul covers that the group recorded at FAME studios. He will be playing on an upcoming Robert Cray LP, with the sessions set to begin the week after our interview. Together, Penn and Oldham are doing some select dates this year in both the United States and United Kingdom.

Unfortunately, Oldham suffered an injury early in his recent appearances with Young. “The first week out I fell playing basketball and just tore myself up,” Oldham said. “But I’ve moved from a wheelchair to a walker to a cane, so I’m doing alright.”

Neither man will commit to claiming any one of their classics as their favorite, nor will they cite any one artist as the greatest that has covered their songs. But Penn mentions some names he was particularly happy he worked with as either a producer or songwriter. “Alex Chilton, Aretha Franklin, Joe Simon – so many I can’t really name them all.”

“I’ll just say I’m grateful to all the wonderful singers that did our songs,” Oldham added. “I really saw myself starting out – and still do – as a musician first, and I approached songwriting from that perspective. Dan would work on getting the words right, if there was a problem, and I’d work on fixing the music if anything went wrong on that end.”

Penn added the name of one singer who’s not recorded one of his songs that he’d enjoy having cut one: “Tom Jones,” Penn said. “I doubt if that’s ever going to happen, but I’d love for him to do one of them. He’s got a hell of a voice.”

Their opinions on the phenomenon of streaming aren’t as tinged with anger as some of their contemporaries, though they acknowledge that the compensation end has its problems. “Well, this generation has really gotten accustomed to getting its music that way, and you’ve got to be willing to adjust to that reality,” Penn said. “I don’t really have anything against it, but really, as a songwriter, [you] aren’t going to make a lot of money off it.”

“They definitely need to address the payment side of it,” Oldham said. “It’s definitely a way to get the music out to the public, but the musicians themselves aren’t really getting the benefits from it. That’s the area that they need to address.”

The exploits of Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham are chronicled as part of the “Muscle Shoals: Low Rhythm Rising” exhibit at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum in Nashville. They will be appearing in concert at City Winery Nashville on January 18, 2026.

Photo Credit: Richard G. Mann

Langhorne Slim Takes Chances and Rocks Out

Posted on January 14, 2026January 15, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

For more than 20 years, Langhorne Slim’s folk-leaning songs and rebellious nature have captivated crowds across the world. That trend continues on his ninth studio album, The Dreamin’ Kind, which takes a page out of Dolly Parton’s book and pivots toward rock ‘n’ roll in what’s arguably his most eye-opening collection of songs to date.

Out January 16 on Dualtone, the album is something Slim had long desired to make, finally coming to fruition after he had the opportunity to open for Greta Van Fleet at a show in Connecticut in 2021. The moment came mere months after having dropped what would be his debut on the Billboard Hot 200, Strawberry Mansion. But according to Greta’s bassist Sam F. Kiszka – who produced The Dreamin’ Kind – that wasn’t the band’s introduction to Slim. They’d been fans of his long before.

“I remember hearing Lost at Last, Volume 1 for the first time and it absolutely resonated with me,” Kiszka said in a press release. “[Slim] has the conviction of a hundred singers. He puts his entire body and soul into it. I listen to ‘The Way We Move’ and I think, ‘That’s a rock ‘n’ roll song, right there.’ Rock ‘n’ roll isn’t a sound, necessarily. It’s an energy, and he’s got it.”

Although the production takes on a strong Greta Van Fleet flavor on songs like “Haunted Man” and “Loyalty,” The Dreamin’ Kind also mixes in Slim’s folk-fueled identity as well, painting a sonic canvas that shows both where he’s come from and where he’s headed. Others, like “Strange Companion” and “Rickety Ol’ Bridge,” bring stylings together, with fuzzed out guitar licks and backbeats that portray a more folk-oriented stomp and clap mentality.

Ahead of the holiday season and a weekend run of shows opening for comedian Jordan Klepper (more on that below), Slim spoke with BGS about what inspired his foray into rock ‘n’ roll, how a letter inspired one of its songs, and how working with Greta Van Fleet’s Sam Kiszka and Daniel Wagner pushed him creatively.

What was your motivation for making the pivot to rock ‘n’ roll this deep into your career?

Langhorne Slim: It’s been a dream of mine for a long time. Some of the songs are definitely more of a departure from what I’ve previously done than others, but I don’t think that’ll come as a surprise to people who’ve been following me for a while now. Our live performances have always taken a page out of punk rock and rock ‘n’ roll, in addition to soul and folk music – genres be damned. Regardless of what it sounds like, most people just want to be moved by music.

When I first got started, I was playing a certain way, then a record deal followed and before you know it you’re forming an identity. But I eventually reached a point where I still loved my folky songs, but if I met new people or a fresh opportunity came about that would push me creatively, then let’s go for it! As I’ve grown older and built a family I think more and more about the identity I’ve built and what else is there when I start peeling back those layers – what else do I want to express? How might I want to use my voice or the instrument I play differently?

Rock ‘n’ roll was the natural progression of that, so when I became friends with Sam and Daniel from Greta Van Fleet, I think they saw that in me. From then on there was no pressure, we were just in it to have fun.

So this is something you’ve been wanting for a while, you just needed to find the right people to work with for everything to fall into place?

I’d been talking to a couple friends and people I admire about how when I made [2005’s When The Sun’s Gone Down] I wanted something at the crossroads of bluegrass and punk rock, like the Violent Femmes. I didn’t necessarily want to copy their sound, I just felt a kindred thing with their influences. So with [The Dreamin’ Kind], in my mind I was going for a garage rock meets gospel thing. I wouldn’t say that’s what the record actually became, but how I collaborated with Sam and everyone else for this record was so different from how I’ve worked in the past.

I liken it to a pitcher in baseball. As artists we sometimes focus too much on our strengths or “strong arm,” but I’ve only got so much time to live and I’m hungry to create. Before music my first thought ever about creating something had to do with building robots. With that in mind, the possibilities are endless when you think about all the people you could potentially collaborate with and the different creative bursts that could come from each.

That reminds me of something Ketch Secor told me in an interview a few months ago – “I am a container of multitudes.” It sounds like you’re the same way?

Ketch has been doing Old Crow for even longer than I’ve done my thing. I’m not somebody that says I don’t care if it lands, because I do, but most importantly I want my longtime supporters who’ve been so good to me to connect with this record. I’m not the first songwriter or creative person to say you can’t do the same stuff over and over, and I won’t be the last. At the end of the day, the power of music comes from the wonder and awe it provides us, so if what I’m doing doesn’t give me that same feeling then I’m not doing my job for the people, the energy and whatever else provides groove, melody and beauty in the form of music.

Another way you’ve pushed yourself outside your comfort zone lately has been on your gigs opening up shows for comedian Jordan Klepper. How did that connection come about and what have you learned from playing to a comedy show crowd?

I first met Jordan because my best friend Joel is a cameraman for The Daily Show. Jordan went on to officiate his wedding and through that Joel turned him onto my music. From there, we hit it off at the wedding and about a year later I got an email from Jordan about coming out and opening a few shows for him, which I was thrilled to do because, like you said, it’s out of my comfort zone. I knew there’d be a lot of people in the crowd not familiar with who I was.

That mix of excitement and fear reminds me of early in my career living in New York City, when I became friends with Eugene Mirman, a well-known comedian best known right now for his work as Gene Belcher on Bob’s Burgers. He had a comedy show on the Lower East Side that he’d invite me to be a regular musical guest on, so I did have experience playing comedy shows where nobody knew me. [Laughs] At one point Eugene invited me to play on a comedy tour that included him and a few other comedians who went on to make it big, like David Cross. They’d do their sets then I’d come out with my little hat and funny outfit and the entire crowd would start laughing thinking they were in for some musical comedy, but I was just playing my regular songs.

It was a tough place to break through at, but it taught me a lot. Jordan’s crowd is a little different though, because there’s people in the audience who actually know who I am, which is nice. I also try to cater the songs I play to his show to make them more topically relevant. It seems to be resonating so far – the reception I’ve received at the shows has been wonderful and beyond expectation.

It’s such a treat being on tour with a comedian, because when I’m on the road with another band I’ve found that I can’t watch them without analyzing and thinking how I could pull off what they’re doing. It’s hard to not put oneself in it, whereas watching a comedian it’s a lot easier to sit back, because it’s the same monologue and jokes. It’s how they’ve mastered the art of timing to add emphasis and help the joke land. It’s really fun to observe because I’ll just be sitting there laughing rather than wondering how I’d tell that same joke since it’s not the art form I do.

Sounds like a dream come true, which is also the name of one of the album’s songs. Is that a tune about manifesting the vision you have for your future, or are you unpacking something entirely different there?

You’re spot on. I wrote a letter to somebody, because my partner and I were thinking of moving out of the city and getting this country property, but it was way more than we could afford – I didn’t even know if they were gonna let our raggedy butts in there to take a look at it! So I wrote a letter to this woman and at the end I wrote, “It might be a long shot, but without a dream you can’t have a dream come true,” which also pulls a bit from Hammerstein’s “Happy Talk” (“If you don’t have a dream/ How you gonna have a dream come true?”).

On more general terms, it’s a song about casting aside your doubters and anything else in life that tells us to conform or dims the fire burning within us.

Like you said, you might not have gotten the house, but at least you got the song!

I look back now and there’s songs where I may not have gotten the girl (or in this case, house), but I did get the song, and that’s lasted longer than any relationship probably would. [Laughs]

Songs are like little miracles in that way.

While “Dream Come True” is all about looking ahead, you seem to be looking back on “Stealing Time” – which I’ve interpreted as a song about cherishing your moments with others and not taking them for granted. Is that the case?

There’s some reminiscing I’m doing on that one, too. Being a fairly new dad and sober man, I’ve noticed that being present and giving myself to and receiving somebody else’s time or energy is so rewarding. It’s so easy nowadays to run from our emotions and thoughts, which I used to do a lot with alcohol and drugs and all of us do now with our phones. There’s so many different ways that manifests and plays in my mind.

That song is also a phenomenon of love and infatuation and how one’s heart can be so on fire for somebody that closes theirs off to you. It’s like [Gotye’s] song “Somebody That I Used To Know” in that way.

Another song I wanted to ask about is “Haunted Man,” which to me comes off as the most Greta Van Fleet-sounding track on the album. What was the process for bringing it to life?

That song is the most collaborative that I did with those boys. It was also the tune that I fought Sam on the most, as far as not thinking it’d be a good fit [for the album]. Even after recording it, I didn’t think we’d include it as one of the dozen tracks, but Sam insisted I sit on it. Once all the songs were done I remember walking around my neighborhood pushing my son Silver in his stroller, listening to the songs, and making a mixtape of what stuff went well together. It was then when my perspective on the song changed and we decided to include it. Since then, the song has grown to become one of the most-liked tracks among our friends, which made me both happy and sad at first due to my ego. It’s easily the most different song on the record from what anybody’s heard me do before.

You just mentioned not thinking “Haunted Man” would make the cut onto the album. Does that mean you have extra material recorded we might hear more of sometime down the road?

For the basic tracks we spent nearly three weeks in the studio, with the first half with the Greta boys – me, Sam, Daniel, my dear friend Casey McAllister [who plays keys in my band], and multi-instrumentalist Cameron Neal [who mainly played electric guitar]. That portion was supposed to be the “rock” record, then for the second half I brought in my longtime band, The Law, to record a bunch of different stuff.

The plan was for them to be two separate records, but we wound up mix-matching a bit. Because of that, we have a bunch of leftover stuff we captured that I hope will be on my next record.

What has the experience of bringing this rock ‘n’ roll record to life taught you about yourself?

Do what scares you. See what else is there and burning inside you, don’t be afraid to take chances and rock out. I just want to keep making music that moves me and inspires other people. I never want to feel like I’m stagnant or compromising parts of myself.

I want to kiss the spirits in the way I feel they’ve kissed me so that I can give my all to the music.

Photo Credit: Kate LaMendola

WATCH: Bryan Sutton, “The Devil Went Down to Deep Gap” with Billy Strings

Posted on January 9, 2026January 9, 2026 by Justin Hiltner

Artist: Bryan Sutton with Billy Strings
Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “The Devil Went Down to Deep Gap”
Album: From Roots to Branches
Release Date: January 9, 2026 (single/video)
Label: Mountain Home Music Company

In Their Words: How do you see Doc’s playing influencing both yours and Billy’s?

“I think beyond the specific influence of Doc’s guitar playing that informs most every note Billy or I may play, I know that we both are students of Doc’s complete artistry. To say Doc is just the most influential flatpicker ever is limiting. He brought so much to the table in his honest and emotional singing, his song choices and writing, banjo and harmonica playing, and Travis-style fingerpicking. He was not comfortable being labeled or limited within a specific genre. His onstage persona was true to him. Without being a ‘showman,’ he was informational when the song needed it and willing to share whatever emotion he might be experiencing. It’s also important to note that Doc and Merle’s duo playing has been a huge part of the overall focus for things Billy and I have done together. I know for both Billy and I, Doc provides a lifetime of inspiration, influence, and learning.”

How do you pay tribute to that in this song and video?

“First and foremost, this is kind of a silly or fun thing, along with being a somewhat serious tribute to Doc Watson. I wanted to use the song to have fun with the guitar shredding and good versus evil battle, but also imagine an origin story of how Arthel Watson could have become the ‘Doc’ we all have loved. Maybe it’s a gospel song in the way that Doc, even and especially in his blindness, can ‘see’ through the Devil’s lies. Ultimately, Doc carries his triumphant message to the world, and influences us all with wonderful and heartfelt music.”

It sounds like you had this concept before talking with Billy about it. How did the concept and song come to be, from start to finish?

“It was listening to Charlie Daniels’ original ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ with my youngest daughter, Lily. She has very eclectic and broad musical tastes. I’ve loved sharing music with her and checking out what she has discovered. We found some other covers of the original and one that stuck with me was Jerry Reed’s interpretation, where he makes Johnny a guitarist instead of a fiddler. I have been working on a duets record for some time, collecting recordings here and there with my pals, and knew I wanted to do something different with Billy, as he and I have a whole record of duet playing.

“Billy and I also share a love for heavy metal. I was trying to think of a way he and I could do something connected to this duets project that would allow us to play acoustic and electric. It all kind of came together when I realized this song would allow for that. The Doc origin story came about thinking how to make this not just a cover, but more personal and fun. It’s also another subtle tribute to Doc, who would oftentimes change or add lyrics to a song in order to make it fit for him. I fashioned the story, made a little demo, and sent it to Billy. He was into it and we were off.

“I feel fortunate that Del was into playing the Devil. I also am so happy to have T. Michael Coleman and Sam Bush on the track, who played many years on the road and studio with Doc. My pal Jerry Roe, who is Jerry Reed’s grandson, plays the drums, connecting to the Reed version that inspired me. Once I had the concept and demo for the song, I knew it had to be an animated video and discovered Pat Bradley of Springshoe Animation. It was wonderful working with him to take what had been in my head and be able to visualize it. Ultimately, all this came about a little piece at a time, and I’m so happy to share it with the world.” – Bryan Sutton

Track Credits:
Bryan Sutton – Acoustic guitar, electric guitar, vocal
Billy Strings – Acoustic guitar, electric guitar, vocal
Del McCoury – Vocal
T. Michael Coleman – Electric bass, harmony vocal
Sam Bush – Mandolin
Jerry Roe – Drums

Video Credits: Animation by Pat Bradley, Springshoe Animation.

Lead image courtesy of the artist.