Tag: Rodney Crowell

Mixtape: Wyatt McCubbin’s Songs to Fill a Songwriter’s Cup

Posted on by Editor

These are a few of the songs I run to when I need to go back to the well. They inspire me to be more creative, honest and authentic because that’s exactly what they are. These songs also belong to some of the most important songwriters who have ever lived.

“I’m Leavin’ Now” – Johnny Cash & Merle Haggard

This song kicks off with my ol’ pal, Marty Stuart, playin’ the flattop guitar. I love songs that still have energy without needing huge productions. Don’t get no cooler than Cash & The Hag.

“Satellite Radio” – Steve Earle

Steve Earle is such a North Star for me and my music. He has always pushed the envelope and made such creative records throughout his career. This album (Washington Square Serenade) and this song are proof of that.

“Pontiac” – Travis Meadows

Travis Meadows is such a hero of mine. I have turned to his records a lot throughout my career. This song makes me feel 16.

“Best of All Possible Worlds” – Kris Kristofferson

“If booze was just a dime a bottle, boy, you couldn’t even buy the smell.” KRISTOFFERSON. Enough said.

“That’s Life” – Paul Thorn

I’ve heard Paul Thorn say in interviews that this song was inspired by a list of things he heard his mom say. There is so much simple wisdom in this one. Makes me want to call home and just let Mom talk.

“Leaving Souvenirs” – Chris Knight

I found Chris Knight’s music in the darkest time of my life. His albums The Trailer Tapes and Trailer II changed my life and made me want to lean into writing songs about what I was going through. This one is still hard for me to listen to, but I love it so much.

“I Need You” – Tony Lane

You’ve heard this song before, but maybe not this version… This is the incredible Tony Lane. The writer behind so many of country music’s coolest hits. He has been one of my biggest inspirations for years now.

“East Houston Blues” – Rodney Crowell

Rodney Crowell is the king of uptempo grooves in my opinion. “East Houston Blues” is just pure grit and swagger.

“Stuff That Works” – Guy Clark

I heard this song at a bonfire jam when I was 14 years old. I’ve been hooked on Guy Clark ever since. I am a fan of simple songs and this one hits that nail right on the head.

“Who’ll Buy My Memories” – Willie Nelson

It would be impossible for me to build a playlist around songwriters and not include Willie Nelson. This is easily one of my favorites from the Red Headed Stranger.

Photo Credit: Evan Harney

The Other 22 Hours: Rodney Crowell (Reissue)

Posted on by Editor

With two Grammy Awards, 15 number one singles, and a songwriting catalog recorded by legends like Emmylou Harris, Bob Seger, and Waylon Jennings, Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame member Rodney Crowell stands as one of Americana’s most enduring icons. Yet, after 50 years in Nashville, Rodney’s relationship to his craft is grounded not in recognition, but in the quiet, daily act of showing up.

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In this conversation from 2023, Rodney reflects on the early years of roaming Nashville alongside Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt to evolving past the need for applause, the spiritual discipline of 7-day vision quests, and why a song can take 40 years to finally tell you what it wants to be.

In This Episode:

– Rodney Crowell
– Jedd Hughes
– Marty Stuart
– JD Miller’s Recording Studio
– The Wilburn Brothers
– Emmylou Harris
– Guy Clark
– Mickey Newbury
– Bob Seger

Go Deeper:

Watch: View this entire conversation above or on YouTube.
Explore: Find similar conversations in these themed playlists.
Connect: Join the conversation on Instagram.

The Other 22 Hours is hosted by Aaron Shafer-Haiss (producer, mixer, musician) and Michaela Anne (songwriter, artist, creative coach). More about Aaron’s work. More about Michaela Anne’s work.

Produced by Aaron Shafer-Haiss. Original music written, performed and produced by Aaron Shafer-Haiss.

Photo Credit: Neilson Hubbard

20 Years Old, Then Again by Rodney Crowell Is Remarkably Current

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Some records arrive exactly when they’re meant to. Others wait patiently in the dark, gathering meaning with every passing year. For Rodney Crowell, Then Again belongs to the latter category.

Recorded in 2006 but quietly shelved for nearly two decades, the album was never abandoned because Crowell doubted the songs. Instead, time itself became part of the recording’s story. When he eventually rediscovered the tapes, he wasn’t simply listening with older ears. He was listening with a different heart.

“I heard a record I wasn’t tired or bored of,” Crowell said with characteristic candor. “I was no longer tired and bored with myself. That’s what 20 years will do for you.”

It is a remark that says as much about life as it does music.

At 75, Crowell has little interest in nostalgia. He speaks instead about perspective – about learning to regard the younger man he once was with affection instead of criticism. The years have softened neither his standards nor his curiosity, but they have granted him something perhaps more valuable: compassion for himself. Then Again sounds less like an archival release than a conversation between two Rodneys separated by 20 years yet bound by the same restless artistic spirit.

That spirit was forged long before Nashville embraced him as one of America’s premier songwriters.

Crowell’s education began in southeast Texas, where songs traveled not through record collections but from one human voice to another. His father, who grew up on a sharecropper farm in western Kentucky, possessed an extraordinary gift for remembering music.

“He had a butterfly net to catch songs,” Crowell recalled. “Once he had them, he knew them.”

As a boy, Rodney sprawled across the floor while his father sang old Appalachian ballads, heartbreaking country laments, and weathered tales passed along through generations. There were no carefully cataloged albums lining the walls, no elaborate stereo system. The music lived in memory, carried from person to person through an oral tradition stretching back decades. Those songs became Crowell’s first inheritance. When he left home at fifteen to join a band, his father’s advice proved surprisingly prophetic.

“Tell them you write your own songs.”

Rodney didn’t write songs yet. He promptly claimed an Otis Redding classic as his own before the rest of the band recognized the bluff. The deception didn’t last, but the challenge did. His father had planted an idea that would eventually shape American songwriting.

Those early years unfolded across Legion halls, rodeo dances, Gulf Coast clubs, and small-town gathering places east of Houston. The humid Texas evenings smelled of beer, cigarette smoke, and dusty dance floors. Bands moved effortlessly between Beatles tunes, country standards, and surf instrumentals, playing whatever kept couples moving beneath strings of lights hung over community halls. The venues have mostly disappeared.

“I went looking,” Crowell said of one former dance hall. “The location was there, but the building wasn’t.”

Like so much of America, those landmarks surrendered to suburban expansion, leaving only memory behind. Memory also carried Crowell to Nashville, where another education awaited. He arrived knowing few original songs but possessing something the city’s finest writers admired: an encyclopedic knowledge of old country music learned from his father. Around late-night gatherings with Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt and Mickey Newbury, Crowell discovered that his familiarity with forgotten ballads earned him a place among extraordinary company.

Guy Clark became a mentor as much as a friend. Crowell remembers first hearing Clark’s name from an unlikely source before unexpectedly finding the legendary songwriter asleep on the bed he had been renting. Their friendship blossomed into an apprenticeship unlike any classroom could offer.

“Guy was a curator of early Nashville songwriting,” Crowell said.

Clark introduced him not merely to songs but to standards. He played Bob Dylan recordings. He encouraged deeper language. He challenged Crowell to pursue authenticity rather than cleverness.

“Your language has got to be that real.”

Townes Van Zandt provided another kind of lesson. Late one night, around one in the morning, Van Zandt quietly announced he had written something new. Then he played “Pancho and Lefty.” Crowell sat stunned. Inside, he remembers thinking, “This is what you’ve got to do.”

Van Zandt possessed a competitive streak, unveiling masterpieces that simultaneously inspired and humbled everyone fortunate enough to hear them first. Clark, by contrast, nurtured younger writers with generosity. Mickey Newbury demonstrated that lyrical sophistication could coexist with a soaring tenor voice, freeing Crowell from believing every great songwriter needed the baritone gravity of Cash, Kristofferson, or Billy Joe Shaver.

Together they became an informal graduate school of American songwriting. Years later, Crowell would write songs that entered the same conversation. Yet success brought its own hazards.

When a remarkable run of No. 1 country hits made him one of Nashville’s hottest writers in the late 1980s, Crowell sensed something unsettling happening. Walking into rooms, he realized people no longer saw Rodney Crowell, the songwriter. They saw Rodney Crowell, the hitmaker. He began constructing, almost unconsciously, a version of himself shaped by other people’s expectations.

His ego, he says now, became a dangerous collaborator. “If you let your ego get involved, you can get hurt,” he reflected. “It would rather sabotage the art.”

Rather than feeding celebrity, Crowell deliberately resisted it, sometimes awkwardly. During promotional radio appearances, while enthusiastic hosts tried to sell records to morning commuters, he answered questions with monosyllables, refusing to play the role expected of him. Looking back, he laughs at his own stubbornness while recognizing the lesson beneath it: fame is fleeting, but authenticity demands constant vigilance.

That understanding would prove invaluable during another extraordinary chapter of his life – one lived within the orbit of perhaps the most recognizable voice in American music. As Johnny Cash’s son-in-law, Crowell could easily have embraced proximity to legend. Instead, he did everything possible to establish himself as his own man.

“I ain’t coming around here because you’re Johnny Cash,” he remembered thinking. “I’m around here because I love your daughter.” Cash understood. More remarkably, he respected it.

Years later, after his marriage to Rosanne Cash had ended, Crowell discovered just how deeply those family bonds still ran. When Johnny and June learned that Crowell had begun dating Claudia, the woman who would become his wife of more than three decades, they invited the couple to dinner. Driving home, Claudia couldn’t understand why Johnny and June had worked so hard to make her feel welcome.

“I said, ‘Because they love me.'”

It remains one of Crowell’s favorite memories – not because it involved two American icons, but because it revealed the generosity beneath their fame.

Cash also delighted in gently puncturing Crowell’s youthful swagger. Looking back now, Crowell smiles at the younger version of himself who insisted on proving his independence every chance he got. Rather than embarrassment, he feels something closer to tenderness.

“I’ve developed a compassion…for that me,” he said. “Good go, young Rodney. You were just trying to establish who you were.”

It is difficult to imagine a better description of Then Again itself. The album captures an artist still determined to prove himself, while the older Crowell who finally released it understands that proving oneself eventually gives way to understanding oneself. Time didn’t erase the younger man’s ambitions; it simply placed them within a larger frame.

That perspective echoes throughout one of the album’s most affecting songs, “If I Could Speak to Leonard.”

Written years before Leonard Cohen died in 2016, the song has become something more profound with time. What began as an expression of admiration now sounds almost like a farewell whispered across generations of songwriters. Crowell insists it was never intended as an imagined conversation.

“It was a love song,” he said simply. “It’s expressing my love for his work.”

For Crowell, Cohen represented far more than literary songwriting. He offered a blueprint for aging with artistic purpose. While many performers spend their later years revisiting past triumphs, Crowell watched Cohen continue reaching toward new creative heights. Albums like Old Ideas and You Want It Darker became, in his words, breadcrumbs showing how an artist could continue growing even as the body inevitably slowed.

“I want to continue to create art at a high level as I wane,” Crowell said. “I don’t want the art to wane with my physicality.”

That aspiration permeates Then Again. Although recorded years ago, the album feels uncannily current because Crowell himself has finally caught up with it. Songs once left behind now carry fresh emotional resonance, illuminated by experience rather than youthful urgency. The years have also sharpened his awareness of time itself.

“I’m 75,” he reflected. “Time is more precious. I don’t have much time to waste.”

There is no trace of resignation in those words. Instead, they carry the quiet urgency of a man determined to spend his remaining years loving his family well, encouraging younger writers, and pursuing songs that continue asking difficult questions.

He speaks often of longing – not for youth, but for continued artistic growth. That philosophy shapes the songwriting workshops he still conducts, where he finds himself most energized by young writers willing to rethink a lyric or reshape a narrative. Their openness reminds him that songwriting remains an act of discovery rather than certainty.

For Crowell, certainty is often the enemy. The same conviction explains his skepticism toward artificial intelligence creating music. Songs, he believes, are more than carefully arranged words and melodies. They carry the fingerprints of the people who lived them.

As a child listening to worn Hank Williams records spinning across the living room floor, Crowell wasn’t merely hearing music. He was beginning a relationship with another human being. That relationship later extended to Buck Owens, Chuck Berry, Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Merle Haggard, and eventually Leonard Cohen. Great songs invited listeners into another person’s emotional world, something Crowell doubts machines can genuinely replicate.

“I want to wrap my arms around the artist,” he explained.

It is an observation that also reveals why Then Again feels so personal. These are songs created by a younger Rodney Crowell but embraced by an older one, each version reaching across time toward the other. Crowell often compares an album to an art gallery.

“When you walk into the room that is this record,” he said, “there are ten or eleven paintings hanging on the wall in the form of music.”

It is a beautiful metaphor because it captures the experience of listening to a complete album. Each song occupies its own space while contributing to something larger. Rather than rushing past individual tracks, listeners wander from one canvas to another, discovering unexpected connections along the way.

That idea feels increasingly radical in an era dominated by playlists, algorithms and abbreviated attention spans. Crowell remains committed to albums as immersive experiences, invitations to linger rather than scroll. Perhaps that explains why Then Again never sounds like an artifact rescued from storage. Instead, it resembles a gallery whose doors have finally opened. The paintings were always there.

Only, the artist needed twenty years before he could walk through the room without judging every brushstroke. For Rodney Crowell, that may be the greatest gift age has offered. Not perfection. Not certainty. Simply enough grace to recognize the younger man who created these songs and enough wisdom to appreciate what he had accomplished before he knew it himself.

Some records capture a particular moment. Then Again captures two. In an industry that often celebrates novelty over endurance, Crowell has offered something rarer: proof that good songs, like honest friendships and enduring love, are not diminished by time.

If anything, they become more fully themselves. And perhaps so do we.

Photo Credit: Claudia Church

The Gentle Genius of Don Williams Sees Daylight Again

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

It’s the age-old dream of the music fan: To unearth old recordings from a favorite artist, laid down in their prime and never heard. And with Epilogue: The Cellar Tapes from the late Don Williams, the dream is 100 percent real.

Capturing the famed Gentle Giant of country music at his creative zenith, 12 new tracks revive one of the format’s most soothing voices, nearly a decade after his passing. Inducted into both the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Grand Ole Opry, Williams’ soft-spoken manner underpinned 17 Number Ones between 1972 and 1992, with enduring hits like “Tulsa Time,” “I Believe in You,” and “Lord, I Hope This Day Is Good” showcasing his simple style. It’s been said that country music is three chords and the truth – but Don Williams could do it with two.

After his 2017 passing, Williams’ son Tim went down to the family’s cellar and came back with a treasure trove of tapes, recorded during his dad’s creative peak. Languishing in the dark for 40+ years, they were surprisingly complete. The younger Williams was stunned.

“I was like 12 or so when these things were cut,” he says.

He then turned to the work’s original producer, Garth Fundis, and together they’ve added a remarkable new chapter to a legendary story, which fully lives up to the Williams legacy. Like a window back to a different era, the icon’s tender vocal is in fine form, while a long-gone, patient production style recalls a time in country music when quiet wisdom was a selling point, and men could share feelings directly – no clever turn of phrase necessary.

Williams and Fundis spoke with Good Country about taking the project on, the memories it brought back, and how the Don Williams legacy stacks up in 2026.

I think this story is amazing. This is some really great music that I’m glad people will get to hear. But tell me off the top, why were these songs never released?

Garth Fundis: No particular reason other than when you’re making a record, sometimes you cut more songs than you need. … You might have a song or two songs that sound kind of similar and it might get pushed aside for something else. I think that was the case in most of these. They weren’t things we didn’t like, because there’s strings on some of the [original] stuff and percussion, and those were usually the last things we put on a record.

The intention was there to probably use them, but for one reason or another, something outshined a song we were considering. I remembered all these once I heard them again and remembered working on them, and it’s not like they were bad songs. They just got set aside and then we went on to the next project.

Tim, could you tell us how you became aware of the recordings? Were they stashed somewhere hard to find?

Tim Williams: No, not at all. We have a root cellar at our house that I live in now – the same house that I grew up in – and I knew [Don] had put some stuff down there. They were the big two-inch tapes, like 16-track tapes down there, and I just basically hadn’t thought anything else about them. And I didn’t think anything about them, until recently when my dad’s manager, Robert Pratt, wanted to see what was there. He wondered what was left – what we could transfer digitally, and just see if there was anything usable and viable to release.

Your dad passed away in 2017. What did it feel like to play the tapes that first time? Songs are an intimate thing and an artist has to be vulnerable to capture them.

TW: Well, when Robert was talking to me about doing this, I was pretty lukewarm about it, to be honest. Then we got the actual multi-track rendering and opened them up in Pro Tools, when I heard the vocal tracks, I just thought “That’s just so good.” It’s just right during his primo sweet spot of where his voice was during his career [high]. At that point I was pretty determined that we should carry it to fruition.

So you were a little bit skeptical. Is that because you didn’t want to put anything out that wasn’t up to your dad’s standards?

TW: Yeah, for sure.

GF: That’s where I came from, too. I was hesitant. But Tim said, “Come on out here and hear this stuff.” I remember the songs, I remember recording them with Don. But hearing that voice again, crystal clear and in his prime, it got me hooked. I said, “Yeah, I’m in.”

That’s what’s interesting here. I think when most people hear about a project like this, they might assume these were songs that didn’t quite make the grade. But that’s not the case at all.

GF: I hope you feel that way. That’s the way we feel about it. We think other people will think that, too.

Tim, you were so young when your dad was in his prime. Did this make you see him in a different light?

TW: Well, really it just reinforced what I thought. When you’re listening to the absolute raw audio and there’s nothing between the voice and the microphone and the board, and it’s just as raw as you can get, it proves how technically good a singer he was. It might’ve bolstered that thought.

Garth, you’ve mentioned a couple times now that you remembered cutting these original tracks back in the day. What was it like to start working on them again? Do you remember that first day?

GF: It was just like hearing an old friend again. And like Tim said, just to be able to pull that vocal up and listen to it all by itself without the band and the track and everything around it. … It was really fun to hear that familiar voice and hear just how good it was. To have worked with him and to hear the quality of his voice, the simplicity of how he sang – he didn’t shout, he just kind of framed the song. He always wanted the song to be the focus and not to get above it.

How much did you actually have to change from the original recordings?

TW: The stuff that survived, we used as they were. Garth doesn’t know this. I don’t guess I might’ve shared this with you, Garth. The only thing I had to move at all to get it to lock in, was “Leaving Louisiana [in the Broad Daylight].”

Really?

TW: Yeah, we had to replace so much on that track that I did wind up quantizing that one. The only thing that survived the transfer was Daddy’s vocal and Danny Flowers’ harmonica.

GF: When I first heard what Timmy had done to the track and how the guys had worked to replace a lot of those instruments, I wasn’t involved with that part yet. But I remember thinking, “Well, this isn’t anything like the original track we got. This is so much better.”

TW: But everything else, if the bass part, piano, or whatever survived the transfer and hadn’t deteriorated from sitting in a root cellar for 40 years, we used it.

Garth, you mentioned the simplicity of the way Don sang. It’s so nice to hear that today. Plus, heartfelt country songwriting that’s not trying to be too clever or edgy. Do you think it’s good for the genre to remember that?

GF: I think so. I applaud anyone’s success and good for them. But Don was not a person who needed to shout or sing so hard that he was trying to convince you of a performance, or convince you in any way that would help the song. He came from a folk music background. So he was accustomed to just being easy. Let the song shine through. And, that you cut good enough songs you don’t have to shout. Not only did he have a gentle manner, he had a gentle manner with the microphone and I was able to put the microphone right up next to his mouth. That’s why you get this intimate feeling when you’re hearing him sing – because he’s not shouting, he’s singing.

Which one of these is the most impactful song in your point of view?

TW: Well, there are two or three. I remembered when Daddy originally cut “I’m the One.” I loved it then and I was hoping that was going to be one of the songs that was on these tapes we found. I was thrilled about that. As far as what I like, just consistently enjoy going back and listening to? Because of Daddy’s vocal, it’s “How Can I Miss What I Never Had?” I just think of everything, if you wanted to play for an alien what Don Williams sounded like, I would play that one.

GF: I’d go along with Tim on “I’m the One.” Don’s feel, what he thinks about, how he feels about music, everything about it, is in that song. And fortunately, somehow Tim didn’t really hear the original version of “I’m the One” until I showed up one day with a tape copy of how it was originally recorded. I said, “Hey, have a listen to this.” And we liked both versions so much we just had to keep both of them on the album.

How did he feel about music? What do you mean by that?

GF: I would say he always felt so strongly about trusting the song. If you’ve got to go to the trouble finding something that you can sing, and feels like it belongs in your repertoire, that was the first thing he looked for when he was searching for songs that would feel like him. It had to feel like it’s something he could say and it had to have a good melody to it, and just don’t get above your raisin’. So just take it easy and frame the song.

I did want to ask you about “Leaving Louisiana in the Broad Daylight.” That song became a Number One for The Oak Ridge Boys just after Don recorded it. It was in that same era. So Garth, do you remember why he cut that?

GF: Well, we listened to that song a bunch before we cut it and when we finally started in on it. … We had redone the vocal, I know, because there’s rapid-fire lyrics. It took him a little while to get comfortable with it. It wasn’t necessarily his style, but we put a lot into that, working on that song and then not knowing that The Oak Ridge Boys were coming out with it as a single.

Is that right?

GF: We were working on it about the same time they were finishing it. Don was on the same record company and the same booking agent that worked with The Oak Ridge Boys, and somehow we missed knowing about that. So we kind of stepped aside and just put that one away for safekeeping. Now 30, 40 years later, I’m not thinking about The Oak Ridge Boys record. Congrats to them for the Number One record, but it kind of foiled our plans at one point. Tim and the musicians built a great new track for that song. [Co-writer] Rodney [Crowell] was really tickled when I played it for him. He said, “It was even better than my version.”

Do you think there are any more songs to unearth down in that cellar?

TW: Nope, that’s it.

When this project was announced you said Don would’ve been proud of it. What would he want listeners to take away?

GF: Don always was asked that question, “What do you want people to think about your music?” I often heard him say, “I want people to feel something.” So in the way he communicated a song to the listener’s ear, I think that was first priority for him.

Tim, how about you?

TW: Well, along those same lines, everything started and was sustained throughout the whole process by the song. If it was a good song, regardless of genre, the way it was approached or whatever, a good song delivered authentically was going to be appealing to people. These are just more examples of that, and I think he would expect people to be moved by a song delivered authentically.

Photo Credit: Jim McGuire

The Other 22 Hours: Judy Collins

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

“We write to find out who we are.” For over six decades, Judy Collins has been a pillar of American music: from a GRAMMY award for “Both Sides Now,” two platinum records, and an Oscar nomination to writing more than eight books and landing her first No. 1 album at 80 years old.

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But behind the staggering accolades is an artist who still treats her craft as a sacred, daily blue-collar job. In this episode of The Other 22 Hours, we explore the quiet discipline of her daily routines, the sanctuary of her 48 years of sobriety, and what she calls the “secret channels of songs.” Judy shares her philosophy on processing grief through poetry, the necessity of maintaining community in a solitary profession, and turning off the noise to protect the soul.

In This Episode:

Judy Collins
Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger
Antonia Brico
Mark Ruffalo
Spotlight
Hemangioma
“The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll” – Bob Dylan
Ep 100 – Rosanne Cash
Ep 16 – Rodney Crowell
Telluride Bluegrass Festival
Jo Stafford
Barbara Allen
Al Kooper
Al Grossman

Go Deeper: 

Watch: View this entire conversation above or on YouTube.
Explore: Find similar conversations in these themed playlists.
Connect: Join the conversation on Instagram.

The Other 22 Hours is hosted by Aaron Shafer-Haiss (producer, mixer, musician) and Michaela Anne (songwriter, artist, creative coach). More about Aaron’s work. More about Michaela Anne’s work.

Produced by Aaron Shafer-Haiss. Original music written, performed and produced by Aaron Shafer-Haiss.

Photo Credit: Patrick Donovan

The Working Songwriter: Joe Pernice

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Our guest on the Working Songwriter this week originally hails from Boston, Massachusetts, and now makes his home in Toronto. Joe Pernice got his musical start, though, in Northampton, Mass. At the time, it was a hot bed of indie music creativity. His band the Scud Mountain Boys built a loyal following in the 1990s with a string of critically acclaimed releases. He’s recorded for Sub Pop, One Little Indian, Team Love, and New West Records.

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Over the years Pernice has collaborated with a variety of blue-chip songwriters such as Aimee Mann, Neko Case, Norman Blake (of Teenage Fanclub), Jimmy Webb, Rodney Crowell, and Jim White. He’s also a man of many talents; his novel It Feels So Good When I Stop was published by Penguin Books in 2009. NPR calls him “a workhorse of a songwriter who delivers hard truths with the softest of whispers.” Brooklyn Vegan declared, “Few songwriters today imbue frustration and anguish into the sweetest of melodies as Joe Pernice.”

I got a chance to catch up with him a few months ago to hear about his musical journey so far.

Photo Credit: Colleen Nicholson

Alt-Country, the Blues, and Oklahoma

Posted on by Shelby Williamson

Editor’s Note: Each issue of Good Country, our co-founder Ed Helms shares a handful of good country artists, albums, and songs direct from his own earphones in Ed’s Picks.

Rodney Crowell

Great news from a roots-country legend, Rodney Crowell returns with a “new/old” album on June 26, Then Again. Largely recorded over two decades ago in the early 2000s with Steuart Smith co-producing and completed with Dan Knobler stepping in, its lead single, “Are You One of Us?,” is the final recording by Crowell and his friend and compatriot Guy Clark. It’s a track perfectly suited for these divided times we’re living in, bringing wisdom and wit like only Crowell and Clark could. We can’t wait to hear more from Then Again!

Shakey Graves

We’ve known, covered, and collaborated with our friend Alejandro for years and years, so we’re especially excited to have him as our current BGS Artist of the Month, celebrating his brand new album Fondness, Etc. For an artist who’s adept at sonic and aesthetic reinvention, his music still always sounds exactly like himself – even as he bends and breaks the barriers of alt-country, neo-folk, Americana, and western to his liking. This is one of our favorite Shakey eras yet.

Taj Mahal

Another legend of American roots music, Taj Mahal is woefully underappreciated and undersung, even while being rightfully worshipped by so many as a keystone of blues, Americana, string band, and country musics. His new album, Time, released with his Phantom Blues Band on Resonatin’ Records/Thirty Tigers, shows that he remains as dynamic and innovative as ever. The title track is a deep-pocketed and smooth never-before-heard Bill Withers number that Taj makes his own. If you’re used to his gritty, playful, and down home blues, the sound here may surprise you – but damn, that’s Good Country, isn’t it?

Reba McEntire

Our queen of country, Oklahoma, and corn dogs is celebrating her 50-year groundbreaking, iconic career with new music – lucky for all of us! A brand new track, “One Night In Tulsa,” leads off an EP that encapsulates a few of her musical tributes to her home state from over the years: “Tulsa Time,” “Oklahoma Swing” featuring Vince Gill, “Does the Wind Still Blow in Oklahoma” with Ronnie Dunn, and the excellent Buddy Cannon-produced “No U in Oklahoma.” “One Night In Tulsa” is a soaring, dramatic, and longing love song to Tulsa and beyond, uttered like only Reba could. This version is the just-released live performance video of the song shot live at Reba’s Place, her restaurant, gift shop, and music venue in Atoka, OK.

Jobi Riccio

Jobi Riccio charmed the country universe with her 2023 debut, Whiplash, but hold onto your necks, ‘cause her brand new album, Face the Feeling, finds the Coloradoan singer-songwriter evolving her production styles and genre descriptors in a big way. She’s infused grunge, alt-folk, and country-rock into these new songs; the results vary from straight-down-the-middle Southern rock to expansive, electronic indie-twang. We especially find Good Country touches in songs like “Pilar, NM” and “Wildfire Season,” but they can be found throughout the rockin’ project.

Listen to this issue of Ed’s Picks in one YouTube playlist here.

Listen to the full Ed’s Picks archive playlist here.

Want more Good Country? Sign up to receive our monthly email newsletter – and much more music! – direct to your inbox.

Photo Credits: Rodney Crowell by Claudia Church; Shakey Graves by Jonathan Terrell; Taj Mahal by Mike Coeyman; Reba McEntire, One Night in Tulsa album cover; Jobi Riccio by Rett Rogers.

Another Glorious Voyage Aboard
Cayamo: A Journey Through Song

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Last month, the BGS team once again embarked on Cayamo: A Journey Through Song, the 18th edition of the beloved week-long floating roots music festival that crisscrossed the Caribbean aboard the Norwegian Pearl. With performances by Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit, Dawes, Watchhouse, Patty Griffin, and many, many more, plus port visits in San Juan, Puerto Rico and Cayo Levantado, Dominican Republic, our team was more than ready to yet again partner with Cayamo and Sixthman to bring you special Basic Folk podcast live tapings on board and our fan favorite BGS Nightcap jam set, our fourth edition of the event.

There’s no festival or live music event quite like Cayamo, where ardent roots music fans and the best and most buzzed-about artists and bands come together on a floating sanctuary to enjoy music, art, community, and togetherness – and a break from the wintry weather, too. Below, enjoy a couple of clips captured on board and a series of photos from Cayamo 2026 that clearly demonstrate the joy and fun of this one-of-a-kind event.

Great news, too! The 2027 lineup for Cayamo: A Journey Through Song has already been announced (see above). Tickets go on sale on April 16th at 2pm EDT, but you still have time to join the final presale. More info here.

Days 1 & 2

Sierra Hull and the Milk Carton Kids perform “Everybody’s Talking” at the Stardust Theater during Cayamo 2026, captured by BGS on board.

Days 3 & 4

During our favorite event of the voyage – ahem, the BGS Nightcap of course – Kathleen Edwards joined Della Mae to perform “Six O’Clock News.” Thanks to Della Mae for recording and sharing this clip.

Days 5 & 6

BGS Nightcap

The BGS highlight of the week! A Nightcap jam session is our favorite pastime, especially aboard Cayamo. What a lineup of artists and bands and special collaborations. And this year it happened to fall on St. Patrick’s Day itself – perfect for a roots music party.

Day 7

Photos courtesy of Sixthman, credits as listed in each watermark. Lead image: Will Byington.

Vince Gill Has Done It All (Part 2)

Posted on 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

The Other 22 Hours Joins BGS Podcast Network

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

BGS is ecstatic to announced The Other 22 Hours, a beloved podcast hosted by singer-songwriter Michaela Anne and music producer Aaron Shafer-Haiss, is joining the BGS Podcast Network. Beginning Wednesday, March 4, new episodes of The Other 22 Hours will be distributed by BGS and hosted right here on our website, as well. Founded in 2023, the show has produced more than 130 episodes – which drop weekly – featuring conversations with renowned musicians and artists who share tools for resilience, helping all kinds of creatives to feel more inspired, connected, and confident in their creative journey. If an artist, creative, or musician is “performing” only a couple of hours each day, what do they do with the other 22 hours? The brand new season of the pod will launch Wednesday with an interview with producer, musician, and singer-songwriter Butch Walker. Subscribe now.

“BGS is thrilled to welcome The Other 22 Hours to the BGS Podcast Network,” said Cindy Howes, who directs the network for the Bluegrass Situation and Good Country. “Michaela and Aaron have developed a beautiful space to hold conversations that offer a unique look behind the humans who make the art we love. There’s so much the public at large does not know about what it takes to live and maintain a creative life; Michaela and Aaron help us all be more responsible patrons of the arts as well as seeding inspiration for our own creative endeavors.”

SUBSCRIBE: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON

Michaela Anne is a celebrated singer-songwriter and folk/Americana artist who has been covered by BGS and featured on our stages many times over the years. Shafer-Haiss, her husband and collaborator, is an accomplished record producer, drummer, songwriter, and composer. Together, they’ve have had thoughtful and down-to-earth conversations over the past few years with incredible creatives like The Milk Carton Kids, Leyla McCalla, Rodney Crowell, Adia Victoria, Mary Gauthier, Lori McKenna, Watkins Family Hour, Miko Marks, Brandy Clark, Tift Merritt, Raye Zaragoza, and many more.

“We’ve been friends and occasional collaborators with the BGS family for years,” Michaela Anne and Shafer-Haiss share via email, “so bringing The Other 22 Hours to the network feels like a bit of a homecoming. Our show has always been about the reality behind the highlight reel, a community-built road map to sustaining a creative life. We’re thrilled to get to align our conversations with a network that values the craft just as much as the art.”

To celebrate the Other 22 Hours joining the BGS Podcast Network and in anticipation of the new season launching this week, we’re sharing five of ours, Michaela Anne’s, and Shafer-Haiss’s favorite archive episodes from the podcast’s three existing seasons. Dive in, catch up on what you missed, and stay tuned for more episodes of The Other 22 Hours coming weekly right here on BGS and wherever you get podcasts. More info on the show here.

Rosanne Cash (EP 100, April 2025)

“We talk with the legendary songwriter about navigating insecurity and imposter syndrome, measuring your own success by your talent and not your validation, and allowing yourself to be called an artist. We also get into prose vs. songwriting, respect for yourself and for the audience, and Cash’s rituals.”

Maggie Smith (EP 96, March 2025)

“We talk with New York Times best-selling author about keeping the purity of your creativity, being integrated as a human, and trusting yourself to do what’s needed to keep this career going. Plus, being your own safety net, being open to completely revamping work, and arm wrestling.”

Yancey Strickler (EP 126, October 2025)

“We talk with the co-found of Kickstarter (and the Creative Independent, Metalabel, and Artist Corporations) about revolutionizing the creator economy. We talk about his concept and creation of Artist Corporations – think incorporating independent artists – the systemic exploitation of artists, how DSPs trade convenience for meaning and depth, platform boycotts, and ‘winning’ in its purest sense.”

JOHNNYSWIM (EP 113, July 2025)

“We talk with the folk/soul/pop duo about staying curious in your pursuits and creating space for wonder and childlike-ness. They offer their thoughts on how to rejuvenate yourself and your creativity on the run, the blinders of fixation, family, and more.”

Joe Henry (EP 39, 2023)

“We talk with the acclaimed songwriter and producer about keeping yourself in the creative stream, knowing when to step away, acceptance, and the quote, ‘How you do anything is how you do everything.'”

Photo Credit: Sam Wiseman