Tag: tiktok

Suzanne Cox & Brandon Ratcliff Follow Their Inspiration

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

When mother and son Suzanne Cox and Brandon Ratcliff first began posting vertical videos to social media singing harmonies and cover songs together, they were just doing it for fun. Virality hadn’t entered their minds at all. In fact, Ratcliff had almost sworn off the internet, or using social media to advance his artist or songwriting endeavors anymore. Meanwhile Cox had been asking herself, “Am I retired? Does anyone want to hear me sing?”

From their very first videos, the answer was an obvious and resounding yes. The denizens of the internet were apparently starved for Cox’s voice – but of course they were, haven’t we all been? – and were ravenous in their discovery of Ratcliff’s own talents in musicianship and songwriting. Song after song, clip after clip racked up thousands of likes and views, dozens and dozens of new followers (including quite a few celebrities), and built an organic momentum neither artist had ever seen in their music-making careers so far.

Cox, in her late 50s, and Ratcliff, in his early 30s, have both enjoyed numerous successes and accomplishments in roots music. The Cox Family won GRAMMY Awards and IBMA Awards and appeared on the iconic O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack, and are routinely named as one of Alison Krauss’s major influences in bluegrass and harmony singing. They are legends. Ratcliff has had record deals, prominent co-writes, his own solo releases, and been on the Nashville singer-songwriter hustle for more than a decade. But the energy behind their mother-son partnership has been unlike anything either have experienced before.

It’s no surprise, though, viewing their many popular videos or listening to their debut EP, Mother/Son Volume 1, released back in April. There’s something special here that can’t just be attributed to blood harmonies or genetic predisposition or God-given talent or “right time, right place.” There are aspects of each of these inputs throughout their current sky-bound trajectory, but the end result is certainly greater than the simple sum of its parts. And it’s landed them on the Grand Ole Opry, while continuing to garner even more views/followers Looking toward the future with excitement, they still let their inspirations and their audience guide them.

BGS sat down with Cox and Ratcliff at a coffee shop in Bellevue, Tennessee, on an afternoon dotted with sprinkling rain to talk about letting go of expectations, where they’re at now, where they’re headed next, and how badly the roots music world had been missing the inimitable voice of Suzanne Cox.

@therealbrandonratcliff I am weary, let me rest #obrotherwhereartthou #gospelmusic #acousticcovers #family #harmony @Suzanne Cox ♬ original sound – brandonratcliff

I wanted to start by going back to the beginning. Making music has been a lifelong thing for y’all. Your exposure to the music of your family, it being a part of the household. It’s a little bit like “chicken or the egg.” Obviously, y’all singing and being together and making music together would be a part of your family since forever. But I imagine there was a transition point when it went from being like, “We’re mother and son and we sing together,” to being, “Oh, there’s something here that maybe we should pursue.”

Suzanne Cox: I’ll have to let you tell that, ’cause you tell it very well, what happened.

Brandon Ratcliff: Thank you. When we started this really, none of [the business side of things] was on our minds. I keep telling people, “This whole thing has been a happy accident.” This has been a rare thing for me, and I don’t know if this is the same thing for Mom and them [the Cox Family], ’cause it was a different time. But for me, everything I’ve done in Nashville – for the most part, in the business – has felt a little bit like my dad always says, “Pushing a rope up a hill.” [Laughs] It’s like I’m putting so much effort into making something happen. And this [duo] thing kinda felt, for the first time ever, like we were constantly playing catch-up to what was reacting just naturally. Which has been very fun and has made us move very fast.

SC: Oh, it’s like we cannot keep up.

BR: We put something out and all of a sudden it starts working incredibly well and the next thing you know we’re like, “We gotta go record this. What are we doing? We’re late already.” That has been very exciting, fun, refreshing. The other thing is, too, having this kinda direct-to-consumer thing, where you post a video online and it resonates with people – which by the way, just even that was a surprise to us. Mom and I have talked for years about doing a project together or something. But it was mostly just for us. It was just for fun.

SC: “Someday.”

BR: “Someday we’ll do this thing. One day…” [It started when] I was back home for the holidays and we were together anyway, and singing and hanging out like we always do. I was like, “Hey, if we’re gonna sing anyway, we should just post some of these online.” Like, why not? And again, totally not thinking about the outcome. Never once considering–

SC: He was kinda done with TikTok for a little while.

BR: I was holding on loosely with the internet in general at this point. I told Mom right before, “Look, I’m not giving up on the internet, but I’d kinda let the idea that the internet would be my path to success [go].” I was like, I’ll still post, but I’m gonna try not to think about if this is gonna make my career. This was the first time I was kinda letting go of that outcome situation, and then we posted – the first thing, it was a song I was singing on the way over to her house. And it was [sings Roger Miller’s “King of the Road”], “Trailers for sale…”

SC: We were probably in Louisiana.

BR: “King of the Road.” I was singing it while I was riding the roads back there. And it did pretty well [online]. Better than most videos I had posted at that point. I was like, “Oh, this is cool,” but nothing gangbusters. But then the next one we did was a song that Mom sang on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? movie, “I Am Weary (Let Me Rest).” Yeah. We just got out there, started singing it.

SC: In front of an old vintage truck.

BR: Sang it five times in front of this old drilling rig truck. I posted it, forgot about it. My daughter’s third birthday party was later that afternoon, so I had to rush back over, get set up. All of a sudden family starts showing up and I’m getting texts from my cousins and people at the house are going like, “Dude, your video’s going viral.” I got no service out there in Louisiana.
It’s like I’m off the internet. Once I post, I’m done. So I get back on there and, sure enough, I’ve never gotten flooded with so many [notifications]. I open my phone up and it’s about to crash. It’s 400,000 views, 500,000 views. And I’m like, “What the…? This is crazy!” So then I tell Mom shortly after that, I gotta go back to Nashville.

And this, to your point, is where it starts going, “Oh wow, this is something.” This is resonating. There was one week where Rosie O’Donnell and Joe Jonas followed me and started reposting my videos. And it just keeps coming, all these people – Emily Ann Roberts, Ashley McBryde. It just kinda kept growing. Then it was immediately obvious to us and then everybody we were working with – like my producers and songwriter friends – something’s happening. The whole thing’s been like this, just accident after accident–

SC: [Smiling] Which I don’t believe is an accident.

BR: No, it’s divinely orchestrated, for sure. Very divine. The hand of God is all over this stuff.

SC: Brandon’s been at this [a long time], I [have been] for 52 years. And not really doing as much [lately], really at a point in my life where I’m trying to figure out what I’m doing in this new season. And even in prayer: “God, I’ve had a great career.” And I just thought, “Is it a time where I’m just a wife, a mother, and a grandmother?” Which is the best job. I love it. No regrets on that. No regrets. I was at a point before this all happened of just trying to figure out what my new season is. “Does anybody want to hear me sing anymore?” Still love to sing, but just had a lot going on. I had a real hard time. My husband got really sick in 2021. … And it put a lot of age on us both.

BR: Honestly, I think for us both, this season really came [while] we were both in a season of surrender. This openness – “What could happen? What God may do…”

SC: We answered quickly.

BR: It made the soil fertile for this real, raw passion – a just-living-life kinda thing. And I think it came from that season of surrender.

SC: And I was totally fine with that. I felt a calmness in that.

I hear you both communicating not a sense of giving up, but of letting go. Of realizing, “Maybe this isn’t something I need to clutch so tightly anymore.” And there is a freedom in that letting go.

SC: Yep. I agree. And also for it to be such a connection with other people. And that it resonates with people. And I love – I wasn’t reading any of the comments or anything and finally they called me and said, “Mom, you need to read these. You need to see some of this.” It’s just been such a wonderful thing to read what people say. Even if it’s, “My mamaw’s favorite song.” Or, “I bet you she can cook some good meals.” “Can I be adopted?” I just love that.

I think what stood out to me immediately is there’s something here that feels totally distinct from the Cox Family. Fresh and bright and sparkly in so many ways. But also, I was there on TikTok, y’all were on my FYP when that first video blew up. And I, like so many people who grew up with your voice, Suzanne, realized in that moment how starved I was for it. And then to see the world, all of us who did grow up with your singing have that same reaction – and then so many people who didn’t, too, have that moment of, “Who the hell is this?!” That was special to watch happen, even from the outside. Would you have ever believed people were waiting around for you to “come back”?

SC: No, I would not. And like I was telling you, a lot has gone down the pipe since then. It was a lot of heartache that I’ve gone through. We lost our dad in 2019 – so a lot of different issues. So yeah, at some point I was just thinking, “Does anybody ever even want to hear me singing?” I did. I went there. “Do I wanna hear myself sing anymore?” It wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t like I’m bawling in the bathroom or anything.

But we all have those thoughts.

SC: But we do! And it can get to your confidence, because you think that’s something in the past. For me, it was a good run [back then], and it’s been quite a gift for me to hear [the response now].

@therealbrandonratcliff I feel like I’m in a creaky old pew right now #sunday #hymns #hymnfortheweekend #motherson #familyharmony @thesuzannecox ♬ original sound – brandonratcliff

There’s something encouraging in how you’re speaking about yourself, because, to me, to somebody on the outside – you’re one of Alison Krauss’s favorite vocalists of all time! Suzanne Cox has the same sort of existential doubt that anyone might have. “Does my voice matter? Does the music I make matter?” And if we could all remind ourselves that’s just being human, we all have that ebb and flow.

SC: That’s right.

I think for so many of the hundreds and thousands of us, we never would have imagined that you would have that sort of doubt.

SC: It’s a little different these days. A lot of people have said, “Is she in retirement now?” I don’t know! Am I? I didn’t say it, but just life happens. As women, too, we wear just as many hats as a man does–

Even more.

SC: You’re a mother, and you’re a grandmother, and you’re fixing problems. I wasn’t heartbroken. I had a life that was good and felt good, I felt a peace about it. But I am delighted to be able to have a new song in my heart.

BR: And for me it wasn’t a shock, of course, because like you’re saying–

SC: Yeah, he’s always been so encouraging– him and his brothers.

BR: I grew up hearing mom sing and always knew she had a world-class voice. I used to hear mom all the time growing up, and me and dad would talk about it. I’d talk about it with my brother. It was like, “If anybody could hear this…”

SC: This might be when you were clueless. [Laughs]

BR: If anybody could just hear Mom singing around the house! And this kind of points to what we’re talking about again, this free space. If you could hear her sing just around the house, when she’s just messing around, you’d be like, “This woman is insanely good at singing.” It’s amazing, and almost even better than anything you hear on a recording.

SC: I feel so uncomfortable with y’all saying that. [All laugh]

BR: But to your point, though, this is a universal thing. I think this is true of a lot of us. That “dance like no one’s watching” mindset. When you don’t care, and you loosen up–

First take magic.

BR: Yes!

SC: If you’re like my sister, there was a lot of them that she did was her scratch vocal. One take!

BR: I tell Mom this all the time, and you learn this over and over with the internet, because posting online, there are diminishing returns the more you polish it. … We do have a tendency as creative people, as performers, to be perfectionists. Nothing’s ever good enough. We’re our worst critics. We all have a little bit of deep insecurities or impostor syndrome.

One of the things I love most about roots music – whether bluegrass or country or Americana or folk – is it’s always asking us to let the imperfections be. That’s why this music is so good. Because you can’t ever get a banjo in tune. Because the music has pocket. Because when you’re singing harmonies with somebody, maybe sometimes you are singing a dissonant note, or you’re singing a flat seven instead of something that’s diatonic, because “that’s how it goes.” Even though it’s got a little ugliness in it. The internet wants everyone to be perfect, but roots music is never perfect.

SC: Yep. Never perfect. Like you said, that’s what makes it really special.

@therealbrandonratcliff Can’t wait for @unclebsdamnedoleopry with @heyuncleb and the gang! April 28th we are honoring #continuum with some insanely talented artists and musicians by singing through some classics from the goat @johnmayer #motherson #cover #harmony #johnmayer @thesuzannecox ♬ original sound – brandonratcliff

I love how you guys are making cross-generational music in so many ways. But one of the ways that evidences itself is that I think this is some of the more “outside” or progressive music I’ve ever heard you sing, Suzanne. You’re really playing with genre in a really interesting way. Whether you’re singing a John Mayer cover or it’s “Far Side Banks of Jordan,” I love seeing how these sort of modern, more pop sensibilities are coming into the music. Then you also how the Cox Family vocal stylings have always had a modern crispness, modern licks, runs, and turns of phrase. How are you thinking about genre and playing with that?

SC: I don’t know. I’ve told Brandon this, I’ve never been one of those [tradition hardliners]. I know you say our sound [was traditional], but Daddy, from the get-go, we were doing [all kinds of styles]. He was very open. We started out old traditional country. We used to do old hayrides before we went into the bluegrass scene. But he introduced us to Don Reno & Red Smiley, plus Merle [Haggard] and Loretta Lynn. I’m getting a lot of people saying [I sound like] Loretta Lynn. She was a hero of mine, so I see that. Of course, Dolly [Parton] and Patsy Cline. But [Daddy] was really open to [different styles], so I was already at a point where I love what I love.

If I can make it sound like me, that’s what I wanna sing. So [the Cox Family] opened up for the Counting Crows. And did Eagles songs and “Blue Bayou.” We listened to classical and anything that we liked – Kenny Loggins, Loggins and Messina. … I’ve done Marvin Gaye, on that last album… It was good that he encouraged us to be able to be open.

BR: I feel like for me – and again, I wouldn’t have probably said this five years ago. I would’ve probably taken some real credit for this and been like, “I think it’s ’cause of me!” I’m young, whatever. But I think that, now, as I get older and I kinda look at the context of my life and what they did and everything, and how she raised me growing up, I kinda think it’s a natural downstream effect. Outside of just how she raised me on music, I grew up in the late ’90s, early 2000s, so I grew up listening to everything. She raised me listening to everything, like Songs in the Key of Life by Stevie Wonder, Hall & Oates, all the stuff she grew up on. But then Backstreet Boys and the rock groups of the ’90s, Sugar Ray – it was just all over the place.

SC: And Don Reno & Red Smiley. [Laughs]

BR: There’s still a box set of Merle Haggard in my truck right now. I’ve listened to all these kinds of things. I grew up with a very diverse listening, and then I was in the iPod generation, so there was the shuffling music. …

I think when we sing something, even as off the beaten path as it is, I think you just innately are you, and I am innately me. It’s fate, we’re mother-son. We kinda have similar tendencies, to notes and a choice of a run here or not there. I think that’s kinda what gives it that common thread. You can take a hard rock song or you can take an old country song, and as long as it’s me and you singing it…

SC: Sometimes it’s a challenge, too. In a good way! …

BR: But whenever I blend with Mom, it’s like I’m learning how to take the thing that I do that’s really distinct and interesting about myself, but also shed some of the other solo stuff to match with her. Because it’s me and Mom, it kinda changes the alchemy of the song a little bit in a really cool way.

One practical impact of you both being at this point in your careers – Brandon, you have already done two or three or four laps around Nashville, trying to get into the scene in the same way most folks do. Suzanne, you had this vibrant career and were asking yourself, “What now?” So, for both of you to then be able to be like, “Actually, we know we don’t have to do it the ‘Music Business’ way. We know we can just do it the way that we’re gonna do it.”

SC: Exactly. I told Brandon, “I’m 59 this year. And at this age you start relaxing a little bit more.” I could relax a little bit more, my son would say. [Laughs] But I’m learning so much, and I don’t think you can [avoid that]. I don’t think people give up. And I feel like I can still learn a lot. I’m learning from my child, I’m learning from this industry. But we always want to be unique.

BR: That’s one of the cool dynamics about being mother-son. We found a niche, I believe, too. … I’ve seen both sides. In the 12 years I’ve been here, it was the old world one minute and then everything was new. I’ve kinda gotten acclimated to this. And I’m always telling Mom, “It’s really funny we share these stories.” ‘Cause there’s stuff to learn from both eras. I’m always telling Mom, “That thing that you see as messy or weird or, ‘Oh, that was embarrassing,’ I go, ‘That’s when I and everyone else see you shine. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re incredibly talented.'”

That’s something about this new world, the internet world, that is so different from whenever they were coming up. Where everything was kind of media-trained and scrubbed and, “Let’s shave the edges off.” Whereas now I’m telling Mom, “No, that is the goal.” When you are just yourself and I happen to catch it, that’s the thing that people light up for.

In a world where more and more, when you go on the DSPs and you hit shuffle, you might be hearing AI music, having those moments of real humanity are so important. Maybe it’s imperfect, but it’s real and it’s raw. You see so many videos online that are like three singers in a kitchen harmonizing together “impromptu.” You go to the comments and everyone’s saying, “We can hear the auto-tune.” Audiences know what’s real and what’s fake.

SC: Which is fascinating that you say that, because a lot of people have said, “Oh, there’s no way this is just in your backyard.” [Both laugh]

BR: TikTok has a great reverb, if you only knew.

SC: I think it’s funny.

I want people to think I’m tuned when I’m not!

BR: Exactly. [Laughs] I think people are jaded. I think they’re paranoid – to your point about they’re getting fed so much phony stuff. They don’t know what’s real anymore. That’s one of the encouraging things about the world we live in, I think it is increasing the demand for real human authenticity. That is a positive side of this pendulum swinging. People are fed up with this “sounds too perfect” trend. It’s indiscernible from a robot.

Even to the point that there was a girl who commented on this video we did, I posted a backstage video of us at the Opry. She said, “There’s no way this wasn’t studio-recorded before.” I’m sitting here going, “I’ll take it as a compliment.” ‘Cause I felt like I was all over the place in that video! But thank you for thinking that.

I think people are telling on themselves with a lot of the hand-wringing over what to do about AI. Of course I agree, we should be very careful with how we’re proliferating this technology and protect creators’ rights, but also AI is never gonna be able to do what Suzanne Cox’s voice does, right? And I’ve not yet heard a convincing AI bluegrass banjo player. I don’t think it’s coming for our jobs! I hope that what we’re all doing is real and human enough that AI will never come for these jobs.

SC: When they’re all in the coloring book, inside the lines, we’ll color outside … and the rest of us. We’re gonna color outside the lines. …

BR: I’ll say, I think the one thing I’ve learned from this whole experience is there are no rules.

SC: Yeah, exactly.

BR: This whole idea that you gotta post this many times, you gotta do this, you gotta do that… Blah, blah, blah. People will tell you, whether you’re talking about the internet or anything else, they’ll tell you there’s a certain math to it. I’m like, “Man, I don’t know anything about what I’m doing.” My guesses have gotten better, but I’m still clueless. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that you have to follow the pace of your inspiration. As soon as you start doing it because you feel obligated, you’ve already lost.

Photo Credit: Chase Hentges

Friends & Neighbors: The Seldom Scene, “Old Train”

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Industrial Strength Bluegrass, a Xenia and Wilmington, Ohio-based festival run by Joe Mullins and his family and staff at Real Roots Radio, won Event of the Year from IBMA in 2022 and 2024. Content on their festival social media has racked up millions of views on TikTok, YouTube, Instagram, and Facebook. And rightly so, their events and airwaves always boast the absolute best in bluegrass.

BGS has partnered with Industrial Strength Bluegrass many times over the years and this time we’re excited to bring you full-length videos of ISB’s most popular and veritably viral performances. We began the series sharing Ron Stewart and Michael Cleveland ripping through a version of “Roanoke” accompanied by Joe Mullins, Vickie Vaughn, and more. The second edition of the series featured Carson Peters & Iron Mountain performing a gospel number, “Lord Don’t Leave Me Here.”

Now, we’re continuing with another Friends & Neighbors post featuring bluegrass legends the Seldom Scene performing one of their hits, “Old Train,” at Industrial Strength Bluegrass in the fall of 2024. As it happens, it’s a bittersweet performance, the last time former frontman Dudley Connell would perform with the group before his retirement from the band. Connell joined the group in 1995 and after 30 years with the group planned his retirement from the road in early 2025. However, an injury prevented him from performing further shows with the Seldom Scene after his appearance with the group at ISB.

“Old Train” is an icon in the bluegrass canon and this 2024 rendition displays why the track – and the group itself – have such staying power. While so many were saddened, rightfully so, to see Connell leave the group (read our March 2025 interview with Dudley about the move here), the band is continuing to tour and perform with Lou Reid, Ronnie Simpkins, Ron Stewart, Fred Travers, and guitarist, singer, and IBMA Award winner Clay Hess stepping into Connell’s role.

Follow Industrial Strength Bluegrass on TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, and Facebook. Make plans to attend their Summer Fest held July 16-18, 2026 in Xenia, Ohio, and future indoor festivals, too. More information can be found here.

Photos courtesy of Industrial Strength Bluegrass.

Are the Brudi Brothers More Cowboy Than You?

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

With three-part sibling harmonies and acoustic arrangements that harken back to the music of the 1940s, the Brudi Brothers are still somehow right in step with the modern era.

Seattle-based brothers Johannes, Conrad, and George Brudi charmed millions on social media with “Me More Cowboy Than You,” a catchy and clever number written after a winter trip to San Francisco. In the midst of tech workers in puffy L.L. Bean jackets, the brothers couldn’t help but notice the occasional random guy in 1960s cowboy attire. The anachronism naturally lent itself to some gentle ribbing. Who among us hasn’t seen someone, camera in hand, doing a country fit check?

When “Me More Cowboy Than You” took off on TikTok in January 2025, the Brudi Brothers already knew how to sing loud and hold a crowd, giving them a runway to a touring career. They’ve signed business deals with Mom and Pop Records and CAA, but they’re still leaning toward the DIY aesthetic. (For example, their best friend from school is their tour manager; he even built out a trailer for them.)

@brudibrothers Wrote a mean song because we’re bad boys. Let us know if you want to hear more of it #folk #country #americana #blues #fyp #fypシ #guitar #seattle #LA #local #localmusic #harmony #bass #nationalguitar @Welles ♬ original sound – The Brudi Brothers

In the summer of 2025, the brothers broadened their audience on bills with fellow former busker, Sierra Ferrell. They’ll join her on dozens of dates this summer, too. Last November, the band made their Nashville debut at the Ryman Auditorium on a bill with 49 Winchester and Noeline Hofmann. While the brothers weren’t familiar with the history of the venue, being from the Pacific Northwest, they are well-versed in the golden era of country music.

“Being in the back of the Ryman, we saw all these photos of these legends of the national country scene from the ‘50s and ‘60s and ‘70s,” Conrad Brudi says. “In the photos, you can see that you’re standing in the same doorway as the photo was taken. That was pretty exciting.”

Already this year they’ve opened select concerts for The Head and The Heart, headlined a club tour, and confirmed a pair of hometown dates in Seattle warming up the crowd for Kacey Musgraves. They’ve also brought in one of their favorite folk musicians, Eleni Govetas (violin and percussion) to tour with them, adding not only musical dexterity, but also a hint of instrumental mystique.

Good Country tracked down the Brudi Brothers by phone somewhere in Ohio, as they spent a day off driving to their next gig to promote their new Dark and Stormy EP.

When you hear the phrase “dark and stormy,” you might think of that literary line, “It was a dark and stormy night.” Or you might think of a rum cocktail. Now it’s the title of your EP released in April. What was it about that phrase that kind of sparked your interest?

Conrad Brudi: Actually a dream that Eleni was having. She was talking in her sleep while we were camping, and she said, “Who’s your Mr. Handsome Darkened Prairie?” – a weird character in her dream that was like a sexy version of Mr. Clean. I woke her up, like, “What’s going on?” And she said, “It was like this sexy, bald guy on a burnt prairie.”

[The title] “Mr. Handsome Darkened Prairie” would be a little bit too avant-garde. So I just changed it and wrote a song about a guy we used to busk with who died, from the perspective of his dogs. This guy was a real piece of work. Basically, there were some girls that liked him, but mostly just his dogs liked him. And I figured his dogs must miss him. So I wrote that song sort of about these two dogs who stuck with him despite the fact that he was kind of a bad guy.

You’ve been performing since you were young, right? How old were you when you started?

CB: We have been doing this since we were teenagers. I was 16 or 17 when I started. George was 14. So we have over a decade of busking and learning traditionals and standards and all these folk songs of jazz and ragtime, and bluegrass standards. We busked a lot in Europe. We were, at times, one of very few American acts in a city at that time. For much of our busking career, we’ve been sort of a novelty in town. And so coming back to America, it was daunting, not knowing how we would be accepted in the actual American music community.

How did you get linked up with Sierra Ferrell?

CB: It was just being part of the same busker circuit. All of her friends are buskers or in that community, so we know so many people who busked with her in various groups that she was part of or leading. We’ve sort of missed [crossing paths with] her for years now, but we’d always known about her and saw her online stuff and heard stories about her. So we met her on the first of May last year, officially, and we played a show with her in Albuquerque on May Day.

George Brudi: But how we got linked up is a lot less romantic than just happenstance. It was our agent who linked us up.

CB: We had been told by bookers before that we should sign with their booking agency because we could play with people like, say, Sierra Ferrell.

That’s a good pitch, right?

CB: We said, “Nah, we’ll pass on this one.” They’d say, “I guess you’ll never play with Sierra Ferrell.” So we ended up playing with her anyway.

At the Exit/In show in Nashville, you played “Moon Over Montana,” and it’s not that often you hear a Jimmy Wakely shout-out. What made you want to record that song for this EP?

CB: It’s one of those songs that does well busking, and we enjoy singing it. And it’s a fun, three-part harmony tune. Then you have that cool violin part for it. So, it was sort of thrown in last minute, actually. We were trying other songs because we wanted to put one cover on the EP. We were trying all these other things. We tried recording “Goin’ Up the Country” and we didn’t really like that. Then we tried “Moon Over Montana.” It came out naturally and sounded much better than anything else that we had tried, cover-wise, that session.

Listening to that song on the EP, you’re an impressive whistler. How did you learn to whistle?

CB: From cowboy movies, like The Good, The Bad and the Ugly. Ennio Morricone, “The Ecstasy of Gold.” I loved whistling that when I was a kid. That was my favorite movie, and we had really good acoustics in the bathroom where we went to school. That’s where I learned to whistle.

At that show in Nashville, you were playing originals, but you pulled out a Lonnie Johnson song and a Lead Belly song and a Sons of the Pioneers song. How did you discover this wealth of music? Where did you hear about these older artists?

CB: Our grandparents. We lived with our grandparents, and our grandpa was a Dixieland banjo player and harmonica player. Also our dad had a lot of CDs, and played fiddle and guitar. We just grew up with it. Some of it was the atmosphere we were in that led us to discover the kind of music we actually related to, as opposed to just listening to whatever our friends in school were listening to, the Top 40 or something. I think all of us have an aversion to music that doesn’t feel good to us. I don’t know how else to say it.. We all don’t listen to a whole lot of music, but when we do listen, we’ll obsess over one artist or one song or one album. And so it’s not necessarily a wide breadth, but it’s a deep trench. [Laughs]

George, when did you gravitate towards playing the upright bass?

GB: It was a little more than a year ago, right before we played “Me More Cowboy.” I was telling Johannes that I should get an upright bass and we should sing into one microphone. The bassist standing in the middle, then two guitars on the side, and we sing three-part harmony. And then I got the bass without really realizing you actually have to learn how to play upright. So, this last year, I’ve been trying as fast as I can to figure out how to play the instrument.

How did that go for you? Did you pick it up pretty quick?

GB: I think I picked up the basic technique of it quickly, then I plateaued really heavily. I’m slowly digging myself out of it, because it’s hard to make notes, but to have them be in tune is the harder part.

How did “Me More Cowboy Than You” change the game for you?

GB: It’s the reason why we’re able to tour now and why we have a record deal and all that stuff. It’s like, that’s to thank for it. But I hope that it’s seen as a jumping off point, and isn’t just like the thing that people recognize, and then they’re like, ”All right, moving on.”

Are you getting that vibe? It seems like it fits in pretty well with a general show.

CB: It’s more of our concern that the suits will see it that way. “Well, write another hit,” you know? … There was even a write-up in a big magazine that put an article out saying that “Me More Cowboy Than You” was clearly about our experience in Nashville. I looked into it. The writer was from London. It was just sort of him guessing.

I noticed as soon as you played that song in Nashville, all the phones came out. “The flickering screens,” right on cue. It’s got to feel good to have a song that everybody’s excited to hear. What is it like to travel the country with a song that people love?

GB There’s nothing really to compare it to. We played the Ryman last November and when we played that song, looking at the stained glass windows and the crowd of people in the beautiful theater, that was a pretty cool moment to realize, like, “Wow, this is the reason why we’re here.”

Photo Credit: Kat Vandergriff

There’s an Edge to Abbie Callahan’s Sugary Country

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

There’s an effortless charm to singer-songwriter Abbie Callahan’s persona when you first encounter her via vertical video. Beautiful and whimsical makeup, adorable wardrobe, hyper-femininity, and a Gen Z polish to her social media presence are all complicated in the most fascinating ways by her music itself. Landing somewhere in between witty and incisive pop country like Kacey Musgraves and gritty, train-hopping Americana such as Sierra Ferrell, you’d be well served not to make assumptions – or to sell Callahan’s songs short based on appearances.

This is not a book you can accurately judge by its cover. Callahan’s songs will reel you in with her sharp, impactful vocals, her deft wordplay and solid hooks, and a wink and sly smile around every lyrical corner. Tracks like “Simon Says” will have your head bobbing before you even realize the devastation and trauma woven through the lyrics. A new, as-yet-unreleased number, “OptiMystic” – debuted, as Callahan tracks often are, on TikTok – lays out her worldview pretty tidily:

I’ve been known to be a little easy on a Saturday
Known to smoke a cigarette and throw up in the alleyway
Checked off greed and lust in a church pew
Had confession in the Red Door bathroom

Who can really say where you can talk to Jesus anyway?
Anyway…

If you were to engage with and enjoy Callahan’s music without any deeper inspection, you’d still come away with plenty. But the real appeal here is that the sweet, sugary veneer on these songs is only to bring you in. It’s the tinges of bitterness, the tannins, the “something much deeper going on below the surface” that will bring you back again and again. However you zoom out or zoom in on Callahan, her lyrics, her process, and the way she brings her songs directly to her listeners there’s subversion, a deliberate and inspired flouting of expectations.

@iamabbiecallahanWho can really say where you can talk to Jesus anyway… anyway🧚🏼‍♀️🔮♬ OptiMYSTIC – Abbie Callahan

Callahan is intentionally leveraging the way she’s perceived outwardly and visually to “Trojan horse” her way of making music into a country industry that’s often loath to platform artists like her, who build fandoms and idiosyncratic styles on hyper-femininity without apology. Like Dolly, Loretta, Kacey, and so many others who’ve come before her in that age-old country tradition, Abbie Callahan is onto something.

We caught up after a gentle spring rain in Napa Valley, as Good Country attended Live in the Vineyard Goes Country and caught Callahan performing as part of the event. Finding ourselves in such a stunning location, we began our interview chatting about country’s relationship to place and how well-suited this music is to the many settings it finds itself in.

I wanted to start by asking you about country’s relationship with place. Country music is always about place – rural places, urban places; farms and ranches; California, Tennessee, Iowa. We’re at Live in the Vineyard Goes Country here in Napa, so I’m thinking about country and place, and I wonder if you think about country’s relationship to place – and about how this music is so appropriate for so many different contexts, whether you’re in Napa or playing a honky-tonk or a festival. How do you think about country’s relationship to place and to land? It’s interesting to be here in a place like this with everybody sharing a few days in such a beautiful setting.

Abbie Callahan: That’s a great question. Usually I think about it in context of place in genre. It kind of is the same thing to me. My music with a band or just with guitar, I can make it fit into whatever genre I want – I feel like that in place, too.

But here [in Napa] it’s spring and the flowers are everywhere, it feels like they are one and the same. Especially my last project, Grossly Aware, with all the flowers – and we have the garden [right beside us] and all that. It feels like this is the perfect spot for me to be.

Two weeks ago we were back where I’m from in Iowa. It was gloomy and rainy and we were playing a bunch of the new stuff. It was, I don’t know, probably a little bit out of place, ’cause it was all fun disco [music]. But maybe it added to [the impact], because it was so gloomy and getting rained out. I don’t know how [my music] relates to place, but I feel like I can make it whatever I want, which is kind of nice. Kind of fits anywhere.

Well, being in California for this interview makes me wanna talk about “Strawberry, California.”

We went there yesterday! We drove through it. It was my first time actually there. We went over the Golden Gate Bridge and I was– I’m from Iowa, so I’m from like, not much. [Laughs] So it’s cool that music can bring you somewhere and you get to see all the things. I don’t think I would’ve been able to see the Golden Gate Bridge and come to California [without music]. Or be in Napa for country music. Napa’s outside of my tax bracket, so it’s nice to be here. [Laughs]

One of the things I noticed when I was listening to “Strawberry, California” to get in the mood for us talking in California is the banjo playing. I love that the banjo is playing the melody along with your voice. And I love that you evoke bluegrass in your music so often. Could you talk a little bit about that song and having banjo in it, and about the bluegrass touchpoints across your catalog?

I was in a rock band that played in downtown Nashville. That’s how I paid for college. I was playing ‘90s grunge, so I’d go home and I want to listen to the opposite. That’s how I found bluegrass – just how simple and deep everything is. It’s different than how I write and talk. It’s so concise and wrapped up so well that I just envy it, in a way. I love listening to it, ’cause I feel like I can learn a lot. But then my setup, my band when I play, is a bluegrass setup. It’s upright bass, me, guitar, fiddle, another guitar. We just added drums, which is a big step.

But that’s when I started listening to bluegrass, ’cause it was like a palate cleanser. I don’t listen to a lot of modern country, because that’s the space I’m in. When I listen to it too much, I feel fatigued from it all. So bluegrass is a nice outlet. It just feels refreshing to listen to. I wasn’t raised on it or anything, so I feel a little bit like an impostor, but I love it so much.

Charlie Worsham played banjo on “Strawberry, California.” He played throughout the whole record, Grossly Aware, on guitar and banjo. “Strawberry, California,” it was tricky to get it right with a band, because of the time changes and how intricate the guitar is. But I pulled it up for him in the studio, he listened to it once, and he was like, “Wow, this is tough.” Listened to it twice, and then had it perfectly. I was like, “What in the world?!” He’s a freak. So good.

I really enjoyed listening to it. And then I also have been listening to your new single, “Drag, Queen.” I love it in so many ways.

It’s a little controversial.

Of course, it’s a little controversial, but also it’s 2026. They can catch up or we don’t need them. [Laughs] I love that, again, you’re subverting expectations. And again, it’s traditional modern country with that big hook, the wordplay is great. The sort of wink and a smile about it. But also I love that it sounds so bluegrassy.

Yeah, it’s the grassiest song I’ll be putting out this year. It’s super grassy. It’s so fun to play live. I played it on tour with Carter Faith this spring. Her audience was so perfect for it, ’cause they love weed and they are awesome. [Laughs] I played it on tour with her and it was probably my favorite song in my set.

I wrote that song last year – last June – and I posted it right away and it’s just been my favorite. I think it’s silly, but it has a lot of layers to it. I had a song, “Marry Jane,” blow up on TikTok. It was my first thing that ever did anything on TikTok, so I got hate for the first time. Which is always an interesting experience. It was all like balding, middle-aged old men being like, “Is this a song about a lesbian or a song about weed??” And I was like, “It’s about both, duh.” [Laughs]

Have you ever heard of an entendre? Yeah, no, you haven’t.

Double it. [Laughs]

[Laughs]

Anyway, it was so funny. But that’s why I wrote it. I was like, “They’ll hate this.”

@iamabbiecallahan Wrote this one yestersay, Marry Jane💌🍃 #maryjane #singersongwriter #nashville ♬ original sound – Abbie Callahan

I also wanted to ask you – femininity and hyper-femininity in country are also traditions. The performance of femininity by folks like Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn all the way to k.d. lang. I love the way that you inhabit femininity and it’s so clear that you do not feel like it’s a burden, or that it weighs you down, or that it’s something that you could be penalized for. But I wonder how you feel like it’s received – especially on social media, like you mention, TikTok. Do you ever feel like you’re penalized for your femininity?

You know, I think as we’re starting to talk to labels and all that, yeah. I think if I was a man with this amount of monthly listeners and success so far, I would have a deal already. In that way, it’s definitely hindering, but it’s not gonna stop me from anything. I will have more leverage in two years, and that’s fine. [Laughs] But whatever. But because it’s so raw and real and feminine, I feel like my audience is all girls. It’s been really nice. I feel like I can be myself, say whatever I want, and I don’t have to worry about it. [I can] dress however I want – and dress strange – and be something to look at and not just, like, pretty, you know?

And the girls get it. I love it. I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all. It’s what I prefer. …

Another song that really jumped out at me is “Simon Says.”

The production of it started with just me in my room on guitar on TikTok, and then people were like, “I need a full strings version of this. I need a banjo version of this. I need a pop version,” all these different things. When we recorded it for the first time the demo had a synth on it, which is the banjo part. That’s how it started. I knew that wasn’t how it was gonna end, but it was like in demo jail for a year and a half. And I was like, “It has to have that element,” and then it just worked out for the banjo.

I did have a question about TikTok, so it’s interesting to hear you talk about how you’re in the comment section, you’re seeing what people say. It’s interesting to me that you’re responding in your creative process as well. Like what you just said about “Simon Says.” You’re listening to the fans being like, “I need this, I need that.”

If they want an acoustic version I’m like, “If you’ll stream it, I’ll do it.” Without a label right now, that’s been amazing. Something will blow up and in a month and a half or two months later we can have it out. You can’t replace that. It’s been really nice.

How do you feel when you’ve done a bunch of reps of a song, or when you’ve taken it from TikTok, to demo, to recording, to bringing it to an audience – do you feel like the song changes meaning? Do you feel like “Simon Says,” for instance, will always have that tinge of sadness and trauma to you? Or do you feel like the audience takes it, it changes, and then you get up on stage and you don’t feel that anymore? Or does that feeling always stay with you? ‘Cause as a songwriter myself, I feel like I re-traumatize myself every single time I play one of my songs. Is that how it feels to you with a song like that?

I have to write about what I live. I can’t just write to write. I have to put myself through stuff. It’s whatever – “tortured artist,” you know. Every line in there is real, so it’s definitely re-traumatizing.

But I guess it was my first tour, my first time singing it on stage, I was thinking about the writing of it a lot. ‘Cause it’s something so magical, that three people are in a room – or two people or just me – and then now I’m in front of 1,000 people and some of them know the songs. I don’t know, something about that is so special. I wish my co-writers were there to see it. It’s such an intimate thing.

There’s a little bit of a healing moment there.

Totally. It kinda changed what I was thinking about, especially with “Simon” and a lot of the next project. All of it’s co-written, which is different for me. I was just thinking about the people that made it all come to life. When we were in the studio, little ideas that people had. It’s so cool.

So it’s like, less sad now. I guess it depends on the situation. If it’s me on TikTok, I’m getting into the sad headspace. But in person I’m like, “Oh my gosh, this is so fun. My favorite people helped get me here.” I’m like singing “Simon Says” with a pep in my step. Like, what is going on?! [Laughs]

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

Photo Credit: Catherine Powell

The Working Songwriter: Ricky Montgomery

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Our guest this week on the Working Songwriter resides in Los Angeles, but spent many of his formative years in St. Louis, Missouri. Ricky Montgomery first built an audience on Vine in his early twenties before releasing his self-titled debut album in 2016. That bedroom pop album was a cult favorite until 2020, when several of its songs exploded on TikTok, leading to a deal with Warner Records.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • LIBSYN • MP3

Montgomery’s singles, “Line Without a Hook” and “Mr. Loverman,” are RIAA-certified platinum and, all told, his catalog has collected more than a billion streams worldwide. That grassroots support has led to headlining tours with stops at the Wiltern in Los Angeles, Irving Plaza in New York City, and the Pageant in St. Louis, to name just a few.

This interview was recorded nearly 18 months ago and has been delayed due to a snafu on my end, but I’m so glad we get to hear it now. I think you’ll very much enjoy hearing about Ricky’s musical journey through his own words.

Photo courtesy of Prelude Press.

Tucker Wetmore Is Buckled Up for the Ride

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

If you’ve read about Tucker Wetmore or listened to one of his many interviews, chances are the following subjects were lobbed his way: women, whiskey, blondes versus brunettes.

When the “star-maker machinery” that is the business of music collides with media outlets in search of headlines and algorithm rankings, it can make or break a promising new artist by reducing them to a pretty face with a clickbait story angle, the whole time steamrolling over the singer-songwriter at the core.

Tucker Wetmore is keenly aware of this and proceeds with caution. He’s affable enough to play along and astute enough to know the game. Peel back the layers and you’ll find a thoughtful, hard-working artist rooted deeply in faith and family and with a sense of public image versus personal values, carefully monitoring how and what he presents.

With multiple hit singles, award nominations, over a billion streams, product endorsements and campaigns, television appearances, endless interviews, the 2024 breakout Waves on a Sunset EP, and 2025’s unstoppable nineteen-track What Not To, Wetmore is taking it all in with cautious abandon, savoring the wins as they come.

It’s been a long, hard-fought road in a story now told countless times: he grew up in a small town, was raised in the church, brought up by his mother when his father walked out on the family. Music became vital at a young age, athletic prowess and four state titles led him to college, a severe football injury sidelined his career goals. Back home, he again threw himself into music, moved to Nashville in 2020, and pursued his dream.

On January 25, 2026, Wetmore added another victory to his timeline – this one particularly special, as it brought with it a lifetime of memories. He performed the National Anthem at Lumen Field during the halftime show at a Seattle Seahawks game, in front of a stadium filled with cheering fans.

He was still on that high when he spoke with Good Country only days after – and days before the launch of his Brunette World Tour. “It felt like a full circle moment,” he says of the halftime show. “I’ve been to Seahawks games growing up. I’ve been in that stadium, screaming my face off, cheering for the ‘Hawks. But to be on the field and playing my songs in front of thousands and thousands of people was absolutely surreal, especially for something as big as the NFC Championship. I’ve pretty much seen every NFC Championship since I was born. I was super nervous, but we got through it and we didn’t mess up too bad, so it was a good time.”

You have the biggest country debut album from a new artist in 2025. When did you realize that things were really taking off and it was time to “buckle your seatbelt, because this is happening”?

Tucker Wetmore: I’d say even before the album. The first time I felt like that was when Kameron Marlowe was nice enough to bring me on tour. I had one song out and I hadn’t even dropped “Wind Up Missin’ You” yet. I remember getting onstage at that first show and people screaming my songs back to me, singing every word to the songs I had teased [online]. It was absolutely insane. I was like, “I should probably buckle up. This is getting pretty real.” That’s when I knew I might have a chance to do this.

Can you ever be truly prepared for this level of success?

There’s definitely ways to prepare for certain situations, but there’s curveballs thrown at you every single day, so there’s no way to prepare for that. To put it in sports terms, learning how to sit back on the curve, wait for it to cross the plate, swing, and hopefully hit it.

We know about fan reactions to “What Not To,” and people relating to it from the perspective in which you wrote it. Have you also heard from fathers whom that song is hitting as hard because of what they didn’t do?

I’ve heard stories at meet-and-greets, people spending a little extra time telling me about how much that song has helped them cope. But I don’t think I’ve heard anything from fathers having that realization. That’s a touchy subject, and I hope it moves some fathers to want to be better.

All I can do with my music is write what I’m feeling, produce it the way I think it should sound, and put it out to the world for people to do what they will with it. One of my goals with that song was hopefully this changes some viewpoints on some fathers, and hopefully it helps people learn. It’s a “glass half full” kind of song. It’s saying, “Even though these things happened to me in my life, I can learn from this and use everything as a lesson,” instead of, “Oh, poor me.”

Have you ever fallen into that mindset?

I think we’re all human and we all do it. Not in a really long time, though.

I look at life as an opportunity. Whether it’s good or bad, it’s always an opportunity to learn and grow. I don’t [fall into it] so much anymore, but I remember being young and being pretty upset about some of the cards I was dealt. Luckily, my mom’s great and my family’s super supportive, I’ve got the best friends in the world that think the world of me, and I do the same for them. So I’ve got good people around me to keep my head on straight.

You had to grow up early when your dad left. What are some life lessons you took from those years that apply to your life and career now?

Growing up, I had four sisters and a beautiful mother, so it was a lot of women in the house, but it taught me a lot of things and I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

There’s definitely times where I thought, “It’d be really nice to go out with another male and throw the ball out in the yard.” But looking back at it now, I learned so much about how to care for women, and how to be a provider, at a really young age, even though there wasn’t much I could do back then. Now I’m taking all those lessons and putting them into real life, like providing for my family, taking care of them, making sure they’re good mentally and financially.

A lot of things I learned at a young age are translating into my life now. Down the road, when I do find that special someone, I want kids someday. I want to build a family and do it right. And so I’d say I’m prepared for when that day comes because I know what to do and what not to do.

In an interview with Billboard, you said about music, “It saved me. It helped me. It was my therapy.” Let’s talk about how music helped you and how it continues to do so.

Music is, in my opinion, the best form of therapy. I think it’s God’s gift to us to be able to create and sing along, or dance, or whatever it is, to a tune. Music has shaped my mindset so much. I started playing when I was 10 or 11 years old and it shaped the way I cope with things. Instead of getting angry or upset or sad or frustrated, whatever the emotion is, I sit down at my piano and I just play for 30 minutes to an hour.

Being creative and having that creative mind, it runs fast and it runs 24/7. It’s … not a double-edged sword, but there’s a yin-yang to it. Music is the thing that drives me crazy because my mind can’t shut up and stop. But at the same time, I was in a write yesterday and the energy in the room was so great for four or five hours straight. We were smiling and laughing and creating the song. So music is my escape from what music does to my brain, if that makes any sense. It helps me ease the craziness of my mind.

During those earlier periods, when music, as you said, saved you, how dark was the darkness?

I lean very strongly on my faith, even during the dark times, and we all get them. I’m the happiest man in the world most days, but I still have days where the weight of the world feels like it’s compressing my spine, in a sense. It’s definitely been dark at times, but I lean on faith and I lean on God, and I lean on my music and other people’s music. It’s easy to snap out of when you have those avenues that are so moving to the soul or the mind.

Has there ever been a time when your faith wavered, or when you questioned it?

Yes. In college … it sounds wrong, and I don’t mean it in this way, but I kind of put my faith on the back burner. I was focusing on other things instead of the most important thing. I was playing football, I was partying a lot with my buddies, I was drinking every weekend to escape whatever it is. I still drink, but I do it with a solid conscience and it’s more celebratory now. There’s a fine line of focusing on worldly things and keeping your eye on the bigger picture of faith and the blessings that God has for us, because there’s so many.

You are giving a portion of ticket sales from this tour to Face The Fight, supporting suicide prevention and mental health treatment for veterans. Why is this the organization you selected to promote and help?

The first time meeting them, I turned to my manager and I was like, “I want a part of this. Let’s find a way to do something.” We put our minds together and it was, “What if we do ticket sales?” I was like, “Yes, a hundred percent.” It’s a huge thing for me because I’ve got a lot of veterans in my family, a lot of men that served and that have given their life on the battlefield.

My grandpa was like my father figure a lot growing up. He ended up taking his life five years ago. He was a very decorated veteran and one of the best people I’ve ever met, but even though it was so many years later, he couldn’t win that battle in his mind.

I think it’s super important to not just shine a light on it, these people that have given so much for our country and the people in it. It is such a selfless act, especially in the heat of war, when you’re fighting for people that you don’t even know, and doing things that no human should do, in my opinion. And then to come home, and 20 or 30 years down the road you’re still thinking about it, and still in that mental space of, “I can’t escape my mind.”

What [Face The Fight] is doing is amazing. It’s a blessing to be a part of. I think if my grandpa had an avenue like that, or knew of an avenue like that, maybe he’d still be here.

In an interview or podcast, you mentioned that you read the comments–

Sometimes.

You must have a really thick skin, because that can wear a person down.

There’s a lot of keyboard warriors out there. I can read the worst comment in the world and it doesn’t get under my skin at all. At the end of the day, I know who I am. The irony behind it is most of the people saying heinous and nasty things online have never created a song. They’ve never sung a tune. They’ve never sat in a room at 3 a.m. because they can’t sleep and put all their feelings on a piece of paper and tried to put a melody behind it. They don’t get it. They see things at surface level. I’m not going to bash on them or say it’s their fault for that. There’s irony behind it and that’s all I take it as. It’s funny to me. It’s almost comical at times.

@tuckerwetmore This one is getting loud live.. #songofthesummer ♬ Brunette – Tuck

I heard you use the words “build your brand” during a podcast. There’s a lot of image in this industry: wear the tight jeans, pose with your shirt up – you know what I’m talking about. How do you make sure this doesn’t overshadow the craft? As a new artist, do you have the autonomy to say no, to not answer a question, to stop an interview, to not want to take this picture?

While building a brand, and while creating something that is larger than yourself, it is more important to say no than it is to say yes. I definitely have the autonomy of saying no, and I do say no to a lot of things that come across the table. It’s saying yes to the correct things that align with not just the goal of what we’re trying to build, or the pillars that we are building it on, but morally. I account for my faith in pretty much all the decisions I make.

If I could give advice to any artist coming up – and I’m still making my way there – my biggest piece of advice is, “Say no to things that don’t feel right or don’t make you look like you.” I think I’ve done that pretty decently. At the beginning it’s really hard to say no to things, because you want every opportunity there is. But now I’m saying no to a lot more, saying yes to the correct things, and trusting my people. They know who I am and what we all want to build together, and it makes it a little easier.

Earlier you mentioned people reacting to song teasers. Before this career explosion, was there pressure to keep up when “everyone” is teasing songs on social media and the algorithm is bombarding people? It can turn into artists chasing numbers, which can also affect your mental health. How did you ride that storm without falling victim to it?

The grace of God, honestly. That’s a tough thing. It’s easy to compare yourself to others, based on a numerical scale of, “This got a million views, and I just posted one that’s got 150,000, it’s not being shared.” It’s very easy to get into that comparison mindset, but I do think it’s important to keep posting your stuff. Luckily, I’m getting to the point where I don’t have to post all the time. Posting is one of the most taxing things to my brain. I can’t stand just sitting there and making TikToks or taking photos or whatnot.

I realize the weight that a viral video can hold to your career and to a certain song or a project. It’s an easy way for millions of people to engage with what you’re trying to create. It’s a great tool. That’s the word I’ll use for it: social media is a tool. Some people idolize it and can’t go through their day without it. I look at it as a tool for people to share my music and hear my music and get excited about the things I’m trying to do.

We can’t do this without talking about your mother. She is such an integral part of your life and your career. Without her support, how different would your trajectory have been?

I don’t think there would be any trajectory at all, honestly. After I got injured playing football and dropped out of college, I was living back home. I remember having that conversation with her. I was like, “Mom, I really want to chase this music thing.” It was like a sigh of relief from her, in a sense. Her shoulders went down, she took a deep breath, she goes, “Finally. Finally. I’ve been telling you this for years now.”

She helped me pack up all my stuff and move, and she supported me financially the first couple years of me moving to Nashville. I would be living on the street if it weren’t for her – metaphorically living on the street, because she would never let me do that. She believed in me before I even had good songs. She believed in my work ethic and my mind and my creativity. One of the biggest blessings God has given me is a mother who cares and wants to see her kids succeed in whatever dream they have.

And now she’s doing podcasts and talking about your childhood.

Yeah. Somebody needs to rein her back a little bit!

You love being on the lake. Is water also a form of therapy for you?

Oh, a hundred percent. I grew up in a super small town, Kalama, Washington. Because it’s built up on a hill, pretty much wherever you are, you can see the Columbia River. I spent so much time on that river, or on the Kalama River, or at the lakes surrounding. I feel happiest when I’m at the ocean or at the islands.

I’ve got a lake house in Nashville and it’s a great escape for me to go back home and be able to sit there and look at the water. It helps not just my creative mind, but [also] my mental health. Another thing God has given us as natural therapy is the beauty of a body of water. It’s the most simple thing in the world, but I do not take it for granted.

Is it a spiritual place for you as well, a natural church?

Yeah. Anything can be a church, as long as you’ve got the spirit in it!

What’s on your heart as you’re getting ready for this tour?

Excitement. It’s been a couple months since I’ve toured and I’m itching and eager to get back to it. I’ve had a great break. I’ve had a very creative break. I finished writing my second album yesterday. Obviously, things change and I get new thoughts or whatever, but right now I feel pretty confident in the songs we got, and I’m excited to get back on the road and maybe tease or play some of these new ones and see how people like them.

And I’m excited to just be on the road. I feel most alive when I’m in the craziness of it all. It does get taxing at times, but it’s truly a drug to not just me, but pretty much all my artist buddies. It’s a feeling you can’t really explain, getting up on a stage in front of thousands and having people scream your creations back to you. It’s the coolest thing in the world. I’m excited to see the fans and be with my band, my crew, and my team. It’s a family that we’ve built, and it’s going to be cool. I’m excited.

Since you brought it up, before we close, what can you tell us about the next album?

It is sonically one of the coolest things I’ve heard in a long time. I don’t want to give too much away. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what I want this next record to be for the last year already. I think about what I get in my truck and listen to, and I’m kind of an older soul. So it’s very ‘70s-influenced and early ‘80s, with the guitar tones and drums and weird, synth-y sounding steel guitar licks. It’s really cool and it’s fresh, and I don’t think anybody’s really doing it right now, which I’m excited about but which is also scary, because I don’t know how people are going to feel about it because it is different.

I was thinking about this yesterday, actually: “Proving Me Right” is the perfect bridge into this next chapter, sonically. It’s not too far leaning over there, but it’s still got the old tendencies in it. If you were to listen to anything that gets you excited about this next record, I’d say “Proving Me Right” is a great start.

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

Photo Credit: Chase Foster

Becoming Himself, Mon Rovîa Helps Us All on Our Journeys of Becoming

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Mon Rovîa has kind eyes. Unassuming and watchful, he’s spent a lifetime reading the room and taking the temperature of the situations he’s found himself in. As a child, he was quiet. These days, he exudes calm. When he speaks or sings, people listen closely. If his eyes are kind, his voice is empathetic. Soft and soothing, it embraces the listener like a warm hug from somebody who knows how it feels to be lonesome and wouldn’t wish it on another. Only a fool would take this kindness for weakness. It’s a vulnerable strength, tempered over time in the fires of resilience.

By now, Mon Rovîa’s backstory almost feels etched into stone. Born in Liberia, on the Atlantic Coast of West Africa, he was adopted by Christian missionaries during the violent bloodshed of the Second Liberian Civil War. He traveled with his new family through the Bahamas, Montana, and Florida, before settling by the grandeur of the Appalachian Mountains in East Tennessee. From a young age, he has lived in complexity, contrast, and displacement, a questing soul searching for meaning, purpose, and his place in this world.

As he reveals in our Cover Story interview, he still hasn’t found what he’s looking for. However, through music, Mon Rovîa has uncovered a trail to walk along. In recent years, his distinctive Afro-Appalachian folk music sensibilities have earned him a devoted audience through social media, regular releases, and touring.

Across his debut album, Bloodline, he offers memoir and testimony, sharing yet more chapters from his remarkable story. Written and recorded in Los Angeles with producer Cooper Holzman, the album crystallizes his early promise into something timeless, sublime, and deeply needed. In late December, he made some time to reconnect with BGS.

This is more of a provocation than a question, but the highest compliment I could give your music is that it makes me feel that if we all listened more closely, there would be less need for questions.

Mon Rovîa: Thank you very much. That is beautiful. I’ll have to dwell on that.

When was the last time you cried?

I cried this year. That’s a crazy question, because I ask my friends at least once a year, “When was the last time you cried?” or “Have you cried this year?” What made you ask me that?

You seem like an emotional guy.

I guess I am. I’ve cried a couple of times this year.

It’s been a big year. How has your life changed over the last 12 months?

It’s interesting. From the outside, your friends and family see your life changing in a lot of different ways as they watch. Going through it as the artist, many things remain the same for me. I still spend a lot of time trying to reach something, and only I know where that satisfaction lies.

People can look at [what’s] outward and say, “Oh, he’s reached something.” The hard part, probably many artists go through this as well, is that deep down, the search always continues for something that hasn’t been answered. I couldn’t tell you what this is.

There’s the question of ego as well. I always think about these people, like Bill Withers, who were able to do what they needed to do before stepping away from the spotlight.

I hope I’m more of a Bill Withers. My personality leans towards silence and not being seen in general. I could see myself disappearing at a certain point. That would be nice.

Do you think there’s an inevitability to the pathway you’re on, or could you have become someone else?

I definitely think there are other things I could have been. I look back at the circle. The start of coming from Liberia as a young kid, surviving the war, being adopted and taken to the States. From there, I could have become many people. Perhaps it would have been sports, or a person who was not well-known, working a 9-to-5 job, clocking in and out. I also think about the choices I made. You could look at some of them and say, “Those were really bad choices,” but each thing is a step, a piece of this road we walk.

In the end, all of it became the better choice, because everything – the good and bad choices on the journey – led me to where I am now.

It’s great to spend a lot of time making and playing music, but everything that happens in between writing or recording songs is just as important.

You’re right. I did odd jobs. I worked the grounds, mowing lawns. I made flower beds. I was in tech recruitment. I worked at restaurants. Getting paid nothing. Getting yelled at more than getting paid. I took it in. I learned. All of these things became different parts of the story. They became different chapters of songs and elements.

I was thinking about what André 3000 said when OutKast were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame: “Great things start in little rooms.” I agree with that, but I also think great things start as a response to big expanses.

I spend a lot of time in a little room with a ukulele, just singing into the ether, but I need both: the silence of a little space, the expansiveness of the world, and the opening of that as well.

19th-century Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh had this thing about bringing permanence to the impermanent. A flower will last for a season, but his paintings of those flowers still endure with us today. We can immortalise something through painting, or do the same with song.

I find from the artist’s standpoint that is, perhaps, the goal: to make something that is immortalized, that surpasses your own life, and carries on when you’re no longer here or present. I think that would be the greatest achievement. If there were an end goal to make something that lives on longer than I do, that would probably be the biggest joy of my life as an artist.

What does water mean to your music, and could a river be considered a bloodline?

Water is the source of all things. Rivers remember where the headwaters lie. They know where they come from. They never forget, no matter how far they come from the source. Bloodline for me is exactly that. It’s a reclaiming of remembering. A lot of the time in the States, I tried to forget. I wanted to assimilate into an American way of life that is built on forgetting. Over time, music brought me back to remembering the cornerstone of my life, the headwaters – which are Liberia, West Africa – and the gift of being able to make something out of a lot of pain, turmoil, and uncertainty. So water is crucial.

When I think about your story, how and why you left Liberia, and what has happened since you arrived in the United States, I think about how this was all preceded by an even more complicated story. As you’re reminding us, it goes deeper and deeper.

There’s truth there, and it’s crazy to me, too. I love that you brought this up, because there are a lot of people who live on the land here in America who don’t even have that in their consciousness, don’t even understand the relationship between the two countries in a way that isn’t talked about. It’s complex. The Back-to-Africa movement. Monrovia after President [James] Monroe. It’s embedded in the very fabric of the country of Liberia. A lot of Liberians feel a kinship to America, but they don’t understand that America doesn’t think one bit about that.

A fascinating thing about cultural exchange is how, through the good and the bad, it can create new cultures. It’s so deeply woven into the foundations of country, folk, and bluegrass: the musical techniques, the instruments, everything. I imagine you often meet people who are excited to tell you about different musicians, scenes, and eras from the past.

Yeah, people have. Growing up, I was pretty locked into a religious space. I listened to a lot of Christian music, but I had no idea about mainstream anything. That wasn’t based on living in Liberia either; it was just the family I was adopted into. I’ve been enlightened by things in the past, and people have referred to music. More importantly, I’ve learned some things on my own from Appalachia and folk music. As a Black man, one of the things that kept me away from the [folk music] space for a long time was feeling like it wasn’t mine.

The truth of the matter, as you have brought out so well, is that a lot of these things do come from cultures that have mixed over time. Slaves were brought over from West Africa, but they brought those instruments, sounds, and sang those songs. That’s another thing that has been stolen along the path, whitewashed, you could say. It’s been beautiful to reclaim things as they’ve found me unknowingly. I’ve learned a lot by looking back on that. It’s been super special to know that I do have a heritage in this space. It’s a beautiful thing.

How important is food to your music?

Food? How important is food to my music? Well, as someone who doesn’t eat that much food, I tend to be quite empty when I make songs, play shows and stuff. I don’t know why.

Do you think you fast for your art?

Yeah, I fast for my art. Perhaps I’m more filled by what music brings to me lyrically and sonically. Food, I guess, is a necessity to live, but for the soul, it’s music. You’ve got your body, but then the soul has to be higher. What’s filling that for you? People have to ask themselves that question.

Something I notice everywhere is people looking to country music and the culture that surrounds it for some form of direction. We’re two and a half decades into the 21st century, living in what used to be considered the future, and yet so many people are looking backwards through rose-tinted lenses.

If we look closely, the rose is very much withered. You can look back and romanticize the South, and its culture, as everyone in the States is doing; they love to be cowboys and farmers, but you know the hardships and the pain that this land has brought, right? Let’s look back on that, if we’re also going to look back and romanticize this. The piece of clarity people often miss in the whole system is the truth, the full truth.

The truth is ugly.

The truth is ugly, but I’m wondering, though– at least for me, there was a time when it was ugly, but the acceptance of it in my own life has brought some sense of beauty at the same time. Once you see the truth – which you know well – it will never leave you. That’s why people are afraid of it. That’s why they never look at it. They don’t want that thing to haunt them through time.

You give a lot of yourself through your music. How do you fill your own cup?

Honestly, being in nature. Being back home in Chatt[anooga], and also being very far away from music. That’s how I refill, 100%. When I’m back home, I do little things, like going back to where I started, which is being on TikTok, playing for these people. I didn’t know them. They didn’t know me. But they raised me up. So I give back that time. I’ll never stop doing that. No matter how big Mon Rovîa gets, I’ll always go back to the people in that space. That fills my cup.

Also, playing soccer. I play tons of soccer. Outside of music, it’s my favourite thing in the world. I would probably drop everything to be a professional soccer player.

If you’ve spent time in Europe, Latin America or Africa, you know what time it is. For many people in many parts of the world, soccer is more important than life or death. It is the game.

I never get tired of playing soccer. I play all the time. It’s my favorite thing and a big part of my joy. Also, my community here has been so beautiful to me. Whenever I get to be home for a long time, I’m just preparing to be filled, and then hopefully ready to pour it out when the road calls again.

It’s important for an artist to have a relationship with a place and its people. There is a value in being accountable to a community, and having a community that is accountable to you.

I would agree. They get to ask me questions about things I struggle with on the daily, and how I’m actually doing as an artist. People who don’t know me might say, “Man, touring must be the best thing in the world?” They’ll want to see if it’s just parties and going out every night in big cities. It’s not like that for me, but maybe it is for some artists.

How many years do you think it takes to become an overnight success?

I don’t know. Nobody knows the years someone has been working towards something like this. What’s your answer?

Five to ten, but people won’t always be transparent with you about how long they’ve been trying to get there for.

That’s a good point.

@mon_rovia_boy WBU?! This is “heavy foot,” from my debut album “bloodline” which is finally OUT NOW 🫂 #folkmusic ♬ Heavy Foot – Mon Rovîa

The other thing about being a musician or an entertainer is you’re operating in a space where you can easily spend 25 years being 25.

Yeah, and for some reason, it’s allowed. Maybe that’s why people don’t take musicians too seriously until they become really big. It always just seems like a hobby, or like you’re trying to stay young. I’ve always wondered about that. Even with my work, some people don’t understand that it’s my job. I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to pay some bills and live okay, but they’ll still talk to me as if I’m still looking for the dream. Like, “How’s that going? Are you doing okay?”

But maybe there’s a point: so many people grow older, but their mind and spirit stay the same age. I’m not sure whether our dreams should be all-encompassing. I think it’s good to dream, but when you have that big dream, you need to have little dreams as well, things that can come alongside the bigger picture and also bring life to you, because everything is fleeting, right?

Before we wrap up, I wanted to ask you something. When you think about everything that had to happen for you to arrive at this moment, how does it make you feel?

I’ve actually been thinking about this a lot, the feeling of it. Everyone around me is very happy about the things that have come to pass, but a lot of the time, I still feel a very great loss. I think about my mother, my father, my siblings, whom I have not seen, and everything that had to happen for me to come here, and come to it. I often wonder if I would trade all of that, perhaps, to look at my mother’s face, hear her voice, or remember what she looked like. I think all I can say is that it’s a beautiful sadness I’ll carry forever.

The late French illustrator Jean “Mœbius” Giraud loved to tell these stories that were essentially the same story. They’re all about someone who wants something more than anything, and, upon obtaining it, realizes they don’t want it at all.

I have had many thoughts of laying down the pen in that way. It’s a difficult thing. Joy for me is very elusive. I call it the elusive flower. In moments, I feel it, and it is amazing. A lot of the time, it’s very far from me.

I think that was how Mon Rovîa came to be, through my search for joy in all of these things that have happened. Really, happiness has been the connection with people. Having them relate to the songs, and the songs helping them on their journey to becoming.

My purpose is to focus on the human condition and the realities we all live day in, day out. I’m here to tell that story because it is the only one that is truthful currently. I’ll accept wherever that takes me. If it makes me super poor, great. If it makes me able to live a life aloof in the woods with some land and animals, great. At the end of the day, my path is set, and I walk it the way I must.

Photo Credit: Carter Howe

From TikTok to
Everything I Wanted

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Evan Honer opens his new album, Everything I Wanted, with a charge of electric guitar – an unexpected twist for a singer-songwriter who has mostly recorded with a stripped-back sound. And after commanding attention with that blast of energy, Honer carries the listener through a range of emotions familiar to any twentysomething (and beyond). There are breakup songs, of course, but also entanglements with loneliness, self-doubt, and even the relationships that seem to be going well.

Recorded in Honer’s garage studio just outside of Nashville, Everything I Wanted documents a creative moment where sonic exploration may be the biggest priority. However, the fans who discovered Honer in 2022 through a TikTok cover of Tyler Childers’ “Jersey Giant” will likely embrace the songwriting on the new album, with lyrics that reflect a day in the life of someone who’s still figuring things out.

Honer was raised in Surprise, Arizona and excelled in competitive diving at California Baptist College in Riverside. Although a spot on the U.S. Olympic team was within reach, Honer turned instead to a career in music and established his own label, Cloverdale Records. From his home office, Honer called into Good Country to talk about his new album, his relationship with fans, and the road ahead.

I listened to your catalog, and this album seems more electrified than your previous work. Why it was important for you to show another side of your musical approach?

Evan Honer: I felt like the first two albums were… I guess it was what I was into and the production that I was a fan of at the time. I was so new to everything, too. I just thought, “I’m gonna record the guitar, then maybe we’ll have drums.” But I hardly had any drums at all with my first two albums. I guess I just didn’t know the possibilities. And the more I grew as an artist, and thankfully, with the resources that I have, the more things I can do. If I want this exact sound, I know I can do it and I can do it in my garage. My taste has changed. I grew as an artist, and I realized, why not? I can do whatever I want literally.

Are you pretty consistent with your writing routine?

Yeah, most of the time I’m working on something. And it could be one line the whole day, but I sat there for three hours. That’s very common. Now I’m writing with other people more – with artists that I am inspired by. And when I’m back home, it takes a long time. Sometimes it’s sitting with my guitar for hours, and I don’t get anything except a couple words. Or I go backwards and I change everything, then I don’t even have lyrics anymore. I try to do some type of writing every day, but on the road it’s a lot more difficult.

The song “Curtain” captures your relationship with your fans. What does that relationship between artists and audience look like for you personally?

It’s such a difficult thing for me. Recently I’ve been able to enjoy a tour more and not be so affected by it emotionally. On my first tour, I was so not used to how you’re running on no sleep at all and you’re around the same people for a month. You have a bad show, and it feels like your life is over. That is sort of what I wrote [“Curtain”] about, just the ups and downs of being on tour.

I still am upset after a bad show and I don’t know if I ever will not be. In my opinion, a bad show could be, like, one person talking for one song. It was tough for me to realize – and it still is tough for me to realize – that I have such a different perspective on it. There’s my perspective, and their perspective. I felt like I needed to write that song where it’s like, “I’m looking out at you, and I’m just grateful that you guys bothered showing up to hear me scream about my problems.”

And it really helps me, now that I let it. They’re constantly telling me, “Oh, your music means the world to me,” and that is the greatest thing to hear. But them being there is like the whole reason and it means so much to me. That relationship is not one-sided at all. It’s completely: “I need you as much as you need me.”

Listening to “Not There Yet,” I can remember that phase in relationships where it’s like, everybody wants me to be all in, except I’m not sure myself if I’m ready. When you finish a song like that, who is the first person that gets to hear it?

Most of the time, my best friend Blake Abernathy. He was a big reason why I started doing music. When I graduated high school, I went to go sell AT&T Internet and DIRECTV. I moved out to Minnesota with Blake and that’s where we became best friends. We worked together and he shared his music tastes. Tyler Childers was the first person he showed me and I’d never had felt that feeling before, from hearing a true songwriter, someone that makes me feel something.

And from that point, I went down a rabbit hole with my favorite songwriters, like Benjamin Tod, James Taylor, Jim Croce, and so many that I can’t even think of. And that’s how I started and fell in love with writing. From then on, I sent every single song to Blake and he always shoots me straight. He’s always such a big supporter in anything I’m doing, and he always gets it. He’ll tell me, “This is very different, I’m not sure if I like it yet,” or stuff like that.

For the record, can you explain how the “Jersey Giant” video took off?

The first song I ever posted on TikTok was the first song I released, called “How Could I Ever.” I had a good reaction to it and that was literally one of the only songs I had finished. At that point I was like, “Holy crap, I have to write another song because I don’t have any.” Maybe four months later, I was like, “All right, I got a new one.” So, I released “Comfort the Fall” and then “Foolin’ Ourselves,” and maybe a couple other ones, I’m not sure.

Then I released “Jersey Giant” as a cover and it went crazy. Then a bunch of label people were in my email! That was so funny. “Jersey Giant” was a big moment, for sure, but I think the songs that made people come to the shows were from my first and second album, rather than “Jersey Giant.”

@evanhonermusic Don’t know how to play the banjo but i do love this song #dialdrunk #noahkahan #cover ♬ original sound – Evan Honer

I saw you playing banjo and singing a Noah Kahan song, “Dial Drunk,” on a TikTok video. When do you find yourself reaching for the banjo? Is there a certain mood where you think, “Banjo is going to make this better”?

Yeah, there’s a good amount of banjo that I played on this album. I don’t know, I just love the banjo. It’s always so interesting to me to have a song like “Long Road.” It’s not super country. And then you throw in a very country instrument, like a banjo. I love having really country instruments in songs that are not country and have very different melodies than what a traditional country song would normally have. It’s always fun to just throw in a banjo, whenever it feels like it needs it. Maybe I overdo it sometimes. [Laughs]

Do you remember when you first reached for the banjo, or what led you to it?

My grandma actually got me that banjo. I just wanted a new and different instrument to write on, to create new ideas. I think that’s always helpful with piano and banjo. Just writing on a different instrument to hopefully get a different outcome, because sometimes I’m writing on the guitar and it feels like “I’ve written this song already” and I don’t feel excited about it. Now I’m trying to explore every option to write a song, even if it’s writing and producing at the same time.

That’s a scary thing to me. It’s like, we’re writing this song as we’re making it. Normally you have a whole song, or at least how I do it, and you produce it out, and the creative part is producing it. But it’s kind of scary when you don’t have the lyrics. You don’t even know what the chorus is going to be, but you’re already starting to produce it.

Is that because you’re on deadline or just trying to stretch your boundaries? What leads you to a situation like that?

There’s no deadline at all. [Laughs] I’m a fully independent artist, so it’s all up to me when I want to release stuff. I think that’s why I feel like I’ve released a lot more than maybe somebody that kind of started the same time. Three albums in, it’s just me trying to make something different.

I read you released an album the day you graduated from college. Was that like a mission statement? Like, “I’m gonna do this. I’m a musician from this day forward”?

Yeah, pretty much. It’s called West on I-10, because I would go west on I-10 driving back from home to college. Funny enough, the navigational voice would always pop up in my voice memos with, like, “I-10 West.” I had already decided that I was going to do music full-time. I was a diver in college and I originally made plans with my coach to do my fifth year and go for the Olympic trials. That was tough, making that big change. First, my dad was very much like, “Wait, are you sure you want to do this?” But now he’s the biggest supporter ever. There was just a lot of uncertainty and releasing that album on the day I graduated just felt like the most normal thing for me. All those songs I’d written in college are now on that album, and I felt like then I can move on to whatever else.

What goes through your mind now when you hear this new album in its entirety?

This is always tough for me. In January when I recorded it, listening through the album, I’m, like, incredibly stoked on it. And I still am, but it’s a different type of stoked now. I’m stoked that it’s out and I don’t have to sit on these songs anymore. I can move on to what I’m liking now. Because right now, my taste has already changed, where I’m into different production styles, I’m into different, really weird lyrics, or whatever it is. I’m in a different spot now.

That’s always an interesting thing to see how delayed the music industry is. Even if I’m independent, it still takes time to do all these things. So that’s always a hard thing for me, but I’m so happy that it’s out, and I’m so happy that we recorded that way, just 18 straight days of recording. That helps with the cohesiveness of it. I’m really proud of it, and I’m really proud that it’s my third album, and I’m excited to make something else.

Photo Credit: Harrison Hargrave

Gimme That Old-Time
Non-Monogamy

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

At times frowned upon or occasionally slandered, covers are as deep-rooted as the songs and the emerald valleys that have produced them.

Indeed, covers stir discussion, spark research, and add another patch to the great heart-sewn embroidery of music. Fashioned in a similar vein to the original – that’s flattery. When a song circles across genre divides, well, that’s an enriching voyage.

The members of Kissing Other ppl – Rachel Baiman and folk duo Viv & Riley – see their endeavor not just as an individual artistic sojourn but as a larger opportunity to establish a collective conversation. Here, they’ve taken a handful of mostly rock and pop songs and blended, marinated, and sautéed them in unfamiliar flavors. The end results turned out nearer to their own identities.

“I grew up playing traditional Appalachian style,” said Riley. “This is not that!”

Baiman is a sincere and dogged lyricist, with a harmonious ear and a top contender’s punch. She grew up in Chicago, with a factory-made violin in her hands and an insatiable curiosity for why and how music could conform and contort to her swiftly evolving moods. Somewhere along the line, she started getting serious about music and purchased a John Silakowski five-string fiddle on a lengthy installment plan. She arrived in Nashville at age 18, riding fragile finances. Slogging on foot, lugging her fiddle in a hard, cumbersome case, she lacked the extra dollars to hail a taxi. Her odd jobs were many: dog walking; catering; reading novels and writing summaries for a sociology professor; she once even held a job organizing a comedy contest. But a fearless, tenacious sense of purpose compelled her to stick with music.

Pondering all of these circumstances in her heart, Baiman released several persuasive projects, including Shame (2017) and Common Nation of Sorrow (2023). Riley Calcagno, one half of the contemplative folk duo Viv & Riley, added stringed support and pre-production assets to one of Rachel’s albums.

Subsequently, Baiman asked Riley and Vivian Leva (the other half of the duo) if they’d be willing to join her on tour, where long hours on the road were spent in between gigs consuming, swapping, and contemplating music. Baiman’s traditional background taught her how to fully perceive a recording – whether an old fiddle tune or multi-generational, passed down ballad, or even a contemporary pop song – to not only hear it superficially, but to visualize its promise. Through prolonged stretches of asphalt and expressway, she’d oftentimes wonder what she, if given the opportunity, could bring to a certain song.

 

@kissing.other.ppl♬ original sound – kissingotherpplband

“The idea stems from Rachel’s musical generosity and curiosity and the extended times in those van rides,” said Riley. “Eventually, the songs included were the ones that we’d all individually had been listening to and were moved by. Songs that had stopped us in our tracks at different realms of our lives. Songs that hit us emotionally or otherwise… spontaneously contributed in the week that we recorded them.”

Some of Riley’s earliest memories are of his father’s fondness of traditional music. His father played the guitar, fiddle, mandolin, and banjo. At age 3, the younger Calcagno expressed interest in the fiddle. Though he was raised in an unrelentingly urban environment in the heart of Seattle he was never far from the folksy hospitality of music: square dances, jams, and potlucks. At the Wintergrass Music Festival in Bellevue, Washington, he formed connections with musicians originating from the sparsest, most countrified swaths of the state.

“I discovered an authentic-feeling bluegrass scene in the state and an old-time rural music scene on the West Coast that was kept going by people living in cities,” he explained, “and I don’t see that at all as contradictory.”

Like many other kids his age who grew up in Seattle, beginning in middle school, Riley burned liberal hours listening to local indie rock, though the attachment he had made with traditional music would override all else. He met Vivian Leva at a music camp in the Seattle area which emphasized the cultural importance of preserving long-standing traditions.

“I was a fan of Viv’s parents’ music,” said Riley. “We started playing music right away. Viv is a gifted songwriter. We started passing ideas back and forth. That was eight years ago.”

Vivian Leva was born and raised in Lexington, Virginia, in the Shenandoah Valley close to the abounding cultural and geographical influences of Charlottesville, Roanoke, and the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s a small town with a deep worship of bluegrass and old-time narratives.

“Before I was born, it was a big hub of old-time traditional music,” said Viv. “Young people moved here for the rich, blossoming scene. My dad came here at 18 and stayed forever.”

Viv’s father, too, took a particular interest in the fiddle, traveling to neighboring counties and states to observe and jam. Her mother sang and guitar-picked, emulating and scrutinizing the local and regional ballads she had fallen in love with. They attended old-time fiddler’s conventions as a family. And when her parents formed a duo and headed out on the highway, sometimes she would share in such jaunts first-hand.

“When I was little I went on tour with them for a bit,” said Viv. “As a teenager, I was playing in my dad’s bands. As a kid he would bring me up to sing a song on stage.”

Certainly, music has long filled the souls of Rachel, Viv, and Riley with good things – and Kissing Other ppl is a remembrance of affection as much as it is a representation of impression. Indeed, Baiman said that Kissing Other ppl is a natural extension of her – and her counterparts’ – inquisitiveness, their attempt to understand the mysterious processes of expression, meaning, and memory.

“In reality,” said Rachel, “I don’t think any band or musical project should attempt monogamy, because you miss out on so many opportunities to learn and grow and bring new inspiration back to your main role.”

Similar to Rachel, Viv finds original songwriting to be a sacred, mysterious place to dwell. But she also believes that covers are a part of the whole process of an artist’s maturity, the recognition of the music of one’s friends, mentors, neighbors, and across-the-board community.

“There can be a stigma about covers,” she said. “You can’t make it your own. You are not creative enough to make your own music. It’s a shortcut. It’s a cop out. But as someone who has written a lot of songs and released a lot of records of original music, and plans to do so in the future, I don’t see it that way. It is an acknowledgment of how being inspired by other people’s music is such an important part of creating your own music. You can’t make your own music in a vacuum.”

“Anytime that you are playing a song, you are creating it again in the moment, and re-interpreting in your own way,” added Riley. “Whether it is a cover or an old traditional song, you still have the power to sing it and do it in a way that really moves someone.”

Baiman said the intuitive, empathetic nature of the type of music she plays requires that she be an attentive observer as well as a cordial, broad-minded learner – prerequisites for a collaboration of this sort.

“I think that having a background in old-time and fiddle music in general really prepares you to be a musician who listens,” said Rachel. “If you approach any musical situation with the mindset of, ‘Can I do something to help support the group musically here?’, that goes a long way.

“Old-time really prepares you for the idea that your best contribution might be not to play at all. The bar is really high for joining in, you have to make sure you’re adding something that isn’t already there, and you’re not dragging down the groove. That’s part of the etiquette of informal jamming and it translates to professional playing.”

A fine cover such as the group’s rendition of Wilco’s “Ashes of American Flags” not only illuminates a previous desire, elevating or enriching it with brand new urgency, but in some fashion it obliges the total re-evaluation of the original.

“There are people who are not able to handle ‘Ashes of American Flags’ because of the context, or they come from a different generation, or they don’t like Jeff Tweedy singing it,” said Riley. “Why not give a song like that another chance or give it another life? If you have a song that’s fun, or one that hits hard, emotionally, lyrically, or harmonically, maybe you can add to it, instead of just burying it on a playlist.”

Riley notes that many of the greatest records and biggest chart sellers are in fact cover-centric productions, though they might not have been advertised or promoted as such at the time. Many great albums are rife with songs written by others, sometimes entire roomfuls of songwriters on Music Row. Many memorable albums, such as Bob Dylan’s 1962 self-titled debut, only have a small number of originals; among the traditional folk and blues arrangements, Dylan’s had but two.

Indeed, Kissing Other ppl simply builds on a long tradition of artists rearranging songs that they like and then reinserting them back into the public sphere of approval.

“We seem to be obsessed with originality in our current moment and society,” said Riley. “But we are also at a time when art and – the pursuit of it – is less funded and less valued monetarily than ever. So many of the great records that we love are cover records. Ours isn’t heavy-handed.”

Perhaps one sterling example of a cover album that marvelously nudged old material into fresh fields was Tim O’Brien’s Red on Blonde, on which O’Brien grabbed a handful of Dylan songs, tinkered with their framework, and dragged them into bluegrass brightness. Many of these songs have stuck around since the album’s release in 1996 and bluegrass buffs routinely call out titles such as “Señor (Tales of Yankee Power)” and “Farewell Angelina.”

One of the record’s most memorable tracks is a rendition of Jason Molina’s “Hold On Magnolia,” which draws out the spookily and eerily beautiful essence of the inscrutable artist’s mystifying original. Rachel’s fiddle punctuates the abstract stylishness with characteristic splendor and aplomb.

“Jason Molina [1973-2013] was one of the greatest songwriters,” said Riley. “He grew up in Lorain, Ohio, and he went to Oberlin College, where I went. He had a rough life and died of alcohol-related complications. He left so much amazing music behind… if even one person hears our version and goes and listens to his records then it is a job well done.”

Alluding to Molina, Viv noted the deferential nature of covers and their special reward.

“That’s the cool element of doing a record of covers,” she said. “You can inspire people with that special song that resonates and if they haven’t heard of that artist, they can go back and listen to their work.”

On both “Hold On Magnolia” and “Ashes of American Flags,” Viv found herself in the new position of playing the drums. She sensed the two songs required the presence of drums and their inclusion was inspired by her simple desire to test the unfamiliar.

“One of the incentives I had to go to guitar lessons when I was younger was that my teacher would let me play drums for the last ten minutes of the lesson,” said Viv. “During COVID, Riley surprised me with a drum kit. He got an electric guitar. We were having fun during the lockdown in our basement. We were doing less folk music, and experimenting with instruments outside of the immediate folk genre. So, I took a crack at it.”

“I think it is a testament to the spirit of making the record that we felt comfortable putting her on the drums,” added Riley. “[Producer] Greg D. Griffith made the snare drums sound huge and awesome, adding a big element to the tracks.”

One song that Viv introduced to the project was “Born to Lose” by Waylon Payne, and the diversity in these respective arrangements is startling: Payne’s original was supported by a complete country band; the new offering is sagaciously stripped down, extracting every syllable of bitterness, sorrow, self-loathing, and private turmoil from the lyrics.

“I had been particularly into this artist, Waylon Payne,” said Viv. “His vocals are really fascinating to me. His ornamentation is really incredible. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what he was doing. I was definitely interested in trying to get his vocal ornaments similar, because I think that they are really beautiful.”

The spacey, moody “Where’d All the Time Go?” by Doctor Dog was another one of Rachel’s proposals.

“That is a fun song to do as a trio, because of its echoing harmony parts,” said Viv. “I would have never picked that song for myself to learn. That’s what made it challenging. It took me outside of my vocal comfort zone, and that was a fun challenge for me.”

The name of the band, Kissing Other ppl, is a teasing affirmation of one of the pop songs covered on the album, a soft, mischievous Lennon Stella song released in 2020.

“It has a fun and flirty vibe,” said Riley, “but it also gets to something funny and true about relationships. It captures the lightness of the experience of playing music and hanging out, and not taking yourself too seriously. It was Rachel’s idea and she stuck with it. It is awkward and funny, and why not? Life is short.”

Baiman said the namesake reveals a good-natured admittance of the diversionary quality of art.

“Coming from two different projects that are based in original music and collaborating on cover songs,” said Rachel, “we chose the band name as a playful nod to the idea that we were cheating on our own projects by trying something different and new.”

The trio intends to take their reincarnated versions on the road. Beyond that they have no fixed plans to continue – or, for that matter, discontinue – sewing and hemming their skills and interests together.

Indeed, sustained in its own special love and humility, kissing other ppl expresses not just innovative lyricism and beautiful buzzes, but a powerful sense of understanding. What Rachel, Viv, and Riley all agree on is that the genre or style of its communication is less important than the nourishing energy and want that necessitated its assembly.

“In the end, a lot of the songs are ambiguous,” said Viv. “It is hard to say exactly what some of the songs are about. We are not spelling out what you should be thinking or feeling. It’s just cool to see how other people are able to communicate things in totally different ways than how you would communicate them. But somehow it still hits you.”

Photos courtesy of the artist.

Basic Folk: Olive Klug

Posted on by Justin Hiltner

Olive Klug and I recorded this interview in my closet while they were in Portland, Maine, to play a show. Along with their band Cori, Haley, and Payton they stayed with us and it was a real pleasure to be around them for a few days. You can tell that Olive is at their best around their band and it is a true collaboration on stage. Shoutout to the whole crew for leaving such a remarkable impression on me and my wife and for assembling some baby furniture while they were staying at our house.

In our conversation for Basic Folk, Olive takes us on a journey through their musical upbringing, exploring their childhood influences, including their father’s eclectic taste in ’60s and ’70s rock and folk. Olive discusses their love for Joni Mitchell and Taylor Swift, which inspired them to learn guitar and develop their own musical tastes. They provide insights into their early internet presence on platforms like YouTube and Tumblr, and how these shaped their creative expression and online identity.

LISTEN: APPLE • SPOTIFY • AMAZON • MP3

Olive also touches on their experience of transitioning to a music career, going viral on TikTok, and the emotional and practical challenges that come with it. Additionally, they delve into how their psychology background and neurodiversity inform their songwriting, live performances, and day-to-day life. Our conversation wraps up with thoughts on the productive chaos of touring, the importance of community in the folk world, and their aspirations for long-term, sustainable growth in the music industry. Everyone belongs at the Olive Klug show. They leave their glow wherever their travels take them.

 

@oliveklugThe gay cowboys keep leaving nashvillea title=”♬ original sound – Olive Klug” href=”https://www.tiktok.com/music/original-sound-7519310944065817375?refer=embed” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>♬ original sound – Olive Klug

Photo Credit: Alex Steed