by Dave Parsons

The promoter walking with me on the way to do an interview with Nashville artist KC Johns was pulled away for a moment.  As I stood in the spot where the promoter got pulled away, KC emerged from a camper, walking with a confidence that bore all the sweetness, sweat, and hope. KC Johns, with her guitars, her stories, and that voice, one part Memphis grit, one part roadmap across honky-tonk highways, didn’t wait for the formal introduction.  We shook hands, found two folding chairs that weren’t doing anything, and had a seat behind the makeshift trailer/stage at the Monongalia County Fair in Morgantown, West Virginia.

She had just come from the other end of the Fairgrounds, where she sang the National Anthem for the fair’s rodeo. For an artist used to performing in some of the most famous Nashville honky-tonks, this might be a setting out of time, but for KC Johns, the middle of a West Virginia field, with dirt under her boots, feels like coming home.

I haven’t been on a horse in over 12 years, she confesses during our conversation, But being back here in the dirt, the smell of it—it’s like a full-circle moment for me. I call this home.

It’s a sentiment that echoes through every note of her breakout viral hit Rodeo Queen, an upbeat rocker awash with country steel and roaring guitars that opens with the declaration: Mama didn’t raise no big city pretty girl. The song isn’t just a catchy anthem, but an autobiography set to music, a raw and honest tribute to the world that shaped her into the artist she is today.

Every great country music story begins somewhere humble, and KC Johns’ tale starts on a front porch in Mississippi with a grandfather who never pursued music professionally but understood its power. The whole reason I got into music was because of my granddad, Johns says, her voice softening with memory. He taught me how to play, gave me my first guitar. He loved good old country music, which made my love for country music. He basically brought me into this music life.

Born in Memphis and raised in Mississippi, those lazy afternoons picking on the front porch with her grandfather weren’t just music lessons, but classes in storytelling, in finding the universal truths hidden in personal experience.  He and I would just pick on the front porch, and I always told him he had the best seat in the house. That was like his seat, right there in that rocking chair. Then he’d bring out his lawn chair to all my shows, and he’d always have the best seat in the house at shows.

When her grandfather passed away two years ago, Johns could have let grief silence her music. Instead, she channeled it into Best Seat in the House, a tribute that reads straight from her heart. Even though he’s not physically present anymore, she says, he’s still there—he’s got the best seat in the house.

When she finally stepped off those ships, she found her way to Dollywood, the Smoky Mountain mecca where young dreamers learn what it means to be part of a show bigger than themselves. For KC, it was another rung, another rehearsal for the real thing. She did the work. She showed up. She sang. She smiled. She tucked away every lesson Dolly Parton’s kingdom offered about showmanship, heart, and making a song feel like a story being told just for you. She even landed a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo in a film, proof that she was willing to try anything if it kept her close to music and the stage.

Most aspiring country stars don’t spend six years as a cruise ship vocalist, but then again, most aspiring country stars aren’t KC Johns. At age 20, when most young artists are still scribbling in journals and singing into hairbrushes, she took a job offer that would shape her in ways no record label internship ever could.

I feel like the real courage came from when I got a job offer on cruise ships when I was like 20.  That was like a huge leap for me. And my family was like, you’ve got to do it. You’ve got to do it. I feel like you would love it. You’re going to learn a lot. So, I took the leap.

As a rock band vocalist alongside a male singer, Johns performed everything from disco to ’80s hits, country to rock and roll. You kind of become a family on that ship as well, because you’re with them for nine months at a time, every single day.  It was an intensive crash course in performance, professionalism, and the kind of stamina required to entertain an audience night after night.  These skills would prove invaluable when she eventually made her way to Nashville’s demanding music scene.

It was supposed to be six months, and it turned into six years. I loved it. They were great to me. I worked for Norwegian Cruise Lines. They were awesome.

It was work, but it was also practice for her soul. She learned to hold a mic so that people halfway around the world feel your heart. She learned that an audience wants sincerity even more than perfection.

After that ship docked for good, she found her way to Dollywood, the Smoky Mountain mecca where young dreamers learn what it means to be part of a show bigger than themselves. For KC, it was another rung, another rehearsal for the real thing. She did the work, and she showed up. She sang and smiled. She tucked away every lesson Dolly Parton’s kingdom offered about showmanship, heart, and making a song feel like a story being told just for you.

At the same time, the pull to write her own songs and tell her own stories was strong. In 2017, she made the leap, and moved to Nashville with nothing but an acoustic guitar, a dream, and more faith than comfort.  I was like, you know what? I’m just going to sleep on people’s couches and just go. I’m just going to do it. 

It wasn’t her first leap of faith—that had been the cruise ship job that launched her adult life—but it was perhaps her most defining one. I feel like my family really gave me the courage to take that leap. The decision to pack up her life and move to Nashville, living on couches and scraping together gigs, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The first gigs were on Broadway, the strip where country dreams go to be tested under neon and beer signs.  She sang because she had to, because every night was a new test of her voice, her spirit, her belief that she belonged. The moment she knew she’d made the right choice came not with a record deal or a hit song, but with something far more valuable……community. I think, honestly, my drummer and I have been playing together for like eight years. He was the very first drummer I played with on Broadway. I met his wife, Lisa, who is my best friend to this day. She made me feel so much a part of the Nashville community that that was my ‘I belong here’ moment. I was like, I know that I’m going to make and build a community here.

She didn’t come to Nashville to be smooth. She came to be real.

That’s not the sort of line you write into a song because it sounds pretty. That’s the kind of confession you hear in the back corners of life, the ones you tuck into notebooks, the ones that later become choruses that lift strangers out of their own darkness.

Nashville can chew you up and spit you out before your first song even finds a chord. It’s a city built on broken dreams, neon smiles, and the constant shuffling of new arrivals dragging their guitars down Lower Broadway. KC Johns knew all that, but she came anyway. She didn’t come for the polish or the pageantry. She came for the pulse. She came because something in her bones said she had to.

There’s something in the way KC Johns talks about music that feels like sitting on a front porch swing at dusk. The day’s been hard, but you also know it was worth it. She doesn’t sugarcoat. She admits the industry can knock you down. But she keeps coming back to that rodeo image, because it’s the metaphor that raised her. The music and the show will continuously knock you down, but if you continuously get back up… that’s the whole point.

And yet, she’s not all grit. There’s sweetness in her, too.  It’s the kind of sweetness you can’t fake. It’s in the way she tells you about fans who surprise her by showing up hours from home, wearing her t-shirts in some strange town.

I just ran into some friends out there that had my t-shirt on….And I was like, what are y’all doing here? They’re from 5 hours away in Pennsylvania. And they came all the way out here.

That’s the kind of thing that makes her eyes sparkle. Not chart positions, not industry buzz, but the human connection of people showing up because the songs meant something to them.

That connection is why she doesn’t try to put on airs. She doesn’t manufacture some sleek image of a country star. On social media, she just is who she is.

Just be yourself on social media and, hopefully, people will connect with you. I’ve done that my entire life, and just throw what you can on social media and hopefully people relate to what you’re doing and just have fun with you.

When Johns released Rodeo Queen in April 2024, she had no idea she was about to capture lightning in a bottle. The song, a deeply personal tribute to her parents and her rodeo heritage, struck a chord that resonated far beyond Nashville’s city limits.  The track draws directly from Johns’ family history.  Her mom was a world-champion barrel racer, and her stepdad was a bull rider. But what started as a personal story quickly became something universal, connecting with listeners who recognized their own small-town roots and family pride in Johns’ honest lyrics.

The numbers tell their own story as the song climbed to number 28 on the Texas charts, garnered over a million streams on Spotify, and accumulated over 70,000 video uses on TikTok.

That’s like the craziest thing to me. To just watch that do its thing is actually really, really cool.

In an industry obsessed with algorithms and aesthetics, she bets on authenticity. And it works because it’s not a strategy, but an instinct.  KC Johns’ Nashville story isn’t a fairytale. It’s a patchwork quilt made from Memphis blues bars, cruise ship spotlights, Dollywood stages, Broadway dives, and borrowed couches. It’s a story of stubbornness disguised as faith. It’s the kind of story that makes sense only when you hear her sing, when her voice carries the weight of every leap she’s ever taken.

I grew up listening to a lot of Sheryl Crow. Sheryl Crow was my favorite. I love what she does with rock and roll meets country. That record, all of her writing is so impeccable to me. I absolutely love her.

Success hasn’t softened Johns’ edges or diminished her appreciation for the grittier side of the music business. When asked about the challenge of maintaining authenticity in a town known for manufacturing stars, Johns is characteristically direct….

Be yourself. It’s like, totally be yourself. I feel like we all struggle with that, especially in Nashville, where you continue to try to find who you are as an artist. And I think if you’re just yourself, and you write about what’s true, I think that’s the most important thing.

KC still dreams like the girl who packed her courage and a guitar onto a cruise ship at twenty. I asked her, if the next year unfolded perfectly, what headline she would love to see written about her. She laughed at herself for even imagining, then confessed:

Wouldn’t it be the hit to have a monster hit? That would be the coolest thing ever. Yeah. That’s the dream.

Not fame for fame’s sake. Not glitter for the sake of the lights. A monster hit because it would mean her stories, her people, her losses and loves had traveled farther than she could drive in a van. That strangers she’d never met were singing her life in their kitchens, in their trucks, at their weddings and funerals.

With soundcheck and showtime approaching quickly, I asked Johns what she wanted people to take home at the end of the night. When the lights are dim, the crowd has scattered, and the amps are cooling in their cases, what truth does she want following her fans back to the parking lot? She didn’t pause:

I hope everybody just comes to a show and has a good time. Just leaving and having a good, great time. And just like, know that there’s still good in this world. … I hope people go away thinking that they know us. And we know them. And I just hope people just go away and just take us for friends. See at the next show.

That’s KC Johns’ showmanship in a nutshell.  It’s part grit, part tenderness, part rodeo queen, part barroom rocker. She’s as comfortable barefoot in dirt as she is under a spotlight, and maybe that’s why people trust her. Maybe that’s why fans who didn’t know her name at 9:30 on this evening leave the show at 11 feeling like they’ve known her forever. She doesn’t demand attention, but she earns it. She doesn’t talk down to the crowd, but pulls them in, arms around shoulders, as if every last one of them belongs in her band.

It’s that trust that makes the rest of her story believable. KC Johns doesn’t just want to be heard. She wants to be known. And by the time you leave her show, you will know who she is.

KC Johns Set List – September 12, 2025 – Monongalia Country Fair, Morgantown, WV

Smoke Show

Bad Perfume

Maybe it was Memphis

Kind of Vibe

Wrong Side of Goodbye

The Chain

Dodging Bullets

You Shook Me All Night Long

Whiskey Break

Pour Me

Wild as Wyoming

Best Seat in the House

Confused

Break From the Heart

Black Dog

Rodeo Queen

KC Johns Photo Album

by Dave Parsons

On a warm summer’s evening, thousands of Western Pennsylvania fans wrapped themselves in flannel, denim, and nostalgia at the Hollywood Casino at The Meadows in Washington, Pennsylvania, for the 2025 Summer Country Bash.  After a warm dose of acoustic country, a storm of outlaw country fire and holy-roller soul took the stage, led by none other than Travis Tritt, one of the final outlaws still standing from country’s golden era.

Tritt’s tour stop at the outdoor racetrack stage wasn’t just a concert, but more of a reminder that real country never left, and ’90s country never goes out of style. Tritt and his band put on a masterclass, using 35 years of hits as the foundation.  But before the legend took the stage, two openers gave the night roots and promise.

The night began not with flash but with familiarity. Ruff Creek, Pittsburgh’s own country-rock veterans, delivered their first set of the evening (they were playing another one after the show inside the racetrack/casino bar area), containing a stripped-down acoustic configuration of classic covers and a few originals.  They were the perfect reminder that country music lives and breathes far from Nashville, as they have been doing it with various lineups for decades in Western Pennsylvania.

Next up was a pretty young lady named Willow Avalon.  Dressed in well-pressed jeans, a tiger print top, and a cream-colored cowboy hat and boots, she displayed the quiet kind of confidence that comes from years of playing.  Willow played eight songs that charted a winding path through relationships that would otherwise be more painful to discuss.  Performing her original songs, with just her, a guitar, and a stool, she kept the audience entertained with stories behind titles like Something We Regret, Honey Ain’t No Sweeter, and Georgia Mile.  Each song kind of felt like it was taken from diaries kept under lock and key, while her cover of Look at Miss Ohio echoed with the ache of modern womanhood while wearing yesterday’s mascara.

And then there was Yodeelayhewho, which is a playful, mountain-folk moment of vocal agility that caught the crowd off guard and won them over instantly. It’s rare to see a yodel amp up an audience’s energy, but that’s exactly what happened.  Willow Avalon doesn’t chase radio trends, but just writes music from her own life. If she keeps writing songs like Tequila or Whiskey, she might become the kind of act that other artists cover a decade from now.

After a brief intermission following Avalon’s performance, the lights dimmed again. There were no fancy screens or introductions, just musicians laying into the opening notes of Put Some Drive in Your Country, and out walked one Georgia outlaw, in the kind of entrance that doesn’t need to be choreographed, because it’s already legendary.  Looking every inch the country legend he’s become since signing to Warner Bros. Records in 1989, Travis Tritt was dressed in a black and white patterned shirt, blue jeans, and that distinctive beard now more silver than black.

The song felt like a statement of purpose that the audience was in for a night of memories and favorite songs.  Never mind that some in the audience weren’t alive when these first few career-making hits were on the radio!  Gonna Be Somebody followed, and it was obvious that no matter their age, this crowd had Tritt’s CDs on their playlists. His band, anchored by longtime players who clearly know these arrangements inside and out, provided the perfect foundation, so that Tritt could lead the crowd through every word.

The crowd caught its breath while Tritt issued his welcome, and all came back in together after the first line of  Whiskey Ain’t Working was brought forth. With all of the millions of units sold over his career, it’s easy to see how these songs have become part of the DNA of country music. Even when he did a deep album cut, Where Corn Don’t Grow, the choir never stopped. This wasn’t pandering to the casual fans either. This was an artist trusting his audience to follow him down the path for the next 90+ minutes.

Smoke in a Bar was a bit of a surprise, as was an upbeat version of Uncloudy Day. Tritt’s interpretation of this traditional gospel song was both reverent and personal.  While he was on those last two attributes, he discussed getting involved with US Veteran organizations.  This association brought about the connection in the video for Anymore.  The storyline was continued in 2 other songs to come, and made for a music video trilogy that is a mini movie when watched back-to-back.

Outlaws Like Us served as a bridge to the outlaw tradition, while a medley of Drift Off to Dream and Help Me Hold On showcased Tritt’s versatility and still powerful voice. Country Club brought the tempo and sing-along back up and was the perfect setup for Here’s a Quarter (Call Someone Who Cares).

It’s a Great Day to Be Alive served as an uplifting moment, while Modern Day Bonnie and Clyde and 10 Feet Tall and Bulletproof showcased Tritt’s storytelling ability.  After paying homage to his roots and heroes, and an instrumental showcase while introducing his band individually, the band hit all channels into the finale T-R-O-U-B-L-E. 

As the crowd headed for their cars, it was clear this was something special. Travis Tritt demonstrated that experience and authenticity still matter in an age of manufactured pop-country.  At 62, he’s not trying to be something he’s not. He’s doubling down on what he does best, and the results speak for themselves.

The nods to heroes and mentors like Hank Williams, Jr., and Waylon Jennings tie Tritt to being one of the dying breed that were known as outlaws and made music that dared to break the mold, a cornerstone of country music.  Other than Willie Nelson, Tritt is one of the last of that breed that still tours constantly, and does it with a maturity that today’s artists would do well to pay homage to by copying.

In an era when so much popular music feels hyped and influenced into submission, evenings like this remind us why country artists have careers spanning 4 decades and still present country music at its finest.  It takes a guitar, a band, and a crowd hungry for something real.

And on August 23, 2025, that’s exactly what Travis Tritt delivered.

Willow Avalon Setlist:

1. Something We Regret
2. Work To Do
3. Honey Ain’t No Sweeter
4. Look At Miss Ohio
5. Tequila or Whiskey
6. Baby Blue
7. Yodeelayhewho
8. Georgia Mile

Travis Tritt Setlist:

1. Put Some Drive in Your Country
2. Gonna Be Somebody
3. Whiskey Ain’t Working
4. Where Corn Don’t Grow
5. Smoke in a Bar
6. Uncloudy Day
7. Anymore
8. Outlaws Like Us
9. Drift Off to Dream/Help Me Hold On
10. Country Club
11. Here’s a Quarter
12. Great Day to Be Alive
13. Modern Day Bonnie and Clyde
14. 10 Feet Tall and Bulletproof
15. Whiskey Bent
16. Ain’t Living Long Like This
17. Jam
18. Trouble

Ruff Creek Photos August 23, 2025

Willow Avalon Photos August 23, 2025

Travis Tritt Photos August 23, 2025

by Dave Parsons

The sun is headed down over the back of the Guernsey County Fairgrounds, where several thousand country music fans are enjoying the Old Washington Music Festival.  Still to come in about an hour is the closing act for the day, the Roots and Boots trio of country legends that are Sammy Kershaw, Aaron Tippin, and Collin Raye.  A charming lady, who is actually Collin Raye’s bus driver on this run, gets me past security and up onto Raye’s bus for an interview.

It wasn’t the first time we had done this.

At 64, the Arkansas native still carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone who’s been doing this for a lifetime. I’m greeted like an old friend in his home away from home, with a hug, a handshake, and thanks for asking to get together.

So, where to begin?

The shirt….It began with a shirt.

Not just any shirt, but one of those bright, boldly patterned Western numbers every country artist worth their boots was wearing in the early 90s, which was the Garth Boom. I had found photos I had taken of that time, and I brought them with me on my phone, safely secured like a sacred relic. Collin Raye smiled when he saw it. I remember that shirt, he laughed. Back then, everybody was trying to look like Garth.

And just like that, we were back in 1991. He was promoting All I Can Be, his first major label single and album, and I was just a kid with a tape recorder and a notebook. He told me that night it was the second interview of his career. This was our full-circle moment. I thought this would be a great starting point for our chat, but I know enough to turn the recorder on and let the conversation go where it will. In the next 30 minutes, we talked about his journey, about God, grief, Garth, Foghat, and the miracle of still being here.

Since I was 15 years old, this has been my dream. And 15 years later, it happened. We didn’t know if I was going to have a bunch of hits or if it would be one and done. So I just tried to enjoy it while it lasted. Luckily, it didn’t end.

Collin Raye was actually born in De Queen, Arkansas, a small town that seems worlds away from Nashville’s music industry machinery. Growing up in a household where country music was the soundtrack, Raye was initially resistant to the genre that would eventually make him famous.

When I was a little kid, the country music was always on. I thought that was it because that’s all my mom and dad listened to, and we loved the old stuff. I knew Hank Williams like the back of my hand. And then I grew up and went out around 13 or 14 and went to see Foghat, and it was kind of life-changing. I thought, okay, this is fun. Because we’d gone to country shows, and when I was a kid, country shows weren’t like that.

That exposure to rock and roll would prove crucial in shaping Raye’s eventual approach to country music. Unlike many of his contemporaries who came up purely through honky-tonks and country venues, Raye spent years in the bars and the casinos as what he calls a pretty lively entertainer. This rock influence would later help him stand out in an increasingly crowded Nashville field.

Well, let’s back up a second. The transformation from rock-influenced bar performer to country star wasn’t immediate. It required the kind of artistic courage that would become a hallmark of Raye’s career.  He has always had the willingness to tackle serious subjects when others were content with party anthems and truck songs.

When Collin Raye hit the scene in the early ’90s, he came out swinging with heart and harmony. The hits came fast: Love, Me, In This Life, Little Rock. But behind the polish was a man raised on Haggard and honky tonks, rock clubs, and real life. He wasn’t just chasing fame, but he was chasing meaning.

We were just learning. Everything was so new. But I was also in awe that radio personalities even wanted to meet me. That felt like a miracle.

He remembered that period with reverence, especially the relationships built on those radio tours. People were welcoming, complimentary of the record. We’d make sure they came to the show, spent time with them, and shook hands. That meant something.

That sincerity became his hallmark.

Raye’s career coincided with the Garth Brooks revolution that transformed country music from a niche genre into a mainstream powerhouse. But rather than simply copying Brooks’s approach, Raye found his own way to merge traditional country storytelling with rock energy.

Let’s face it, everybody was chasing Garth already, he admits. So, Garth had kind of broken the wall down to what a country show could all of a sudden be.  His rock influence helped Raye develop a stage presence that was both traditionally country and dynamically modern. Songs like That’s My Story and My Kind of Girl showcased his ability to deliver high-energy performances while maintaining the emotional authenticity that defined his ballads.

I wanted to make sure that we got to record some songs like that too, so that people would know if he goes to see Collin, it’s gonna be fun, it’s not gonna be sleepy, and so we did I Want You Bad and That Ain’t Good. We did the video for Worth It at Billy Bob’s, and it really accomplished that to where people were like, ‘Oh, whoa, I didn’t know he was like that.

Raye’s breakthrough came with All I Can Be, but it was the follow-up single that would define his artistic identity. Love, Me became his first number-one hit and established him as an artist willing to explore emotional territory that many of his peers avoided.

When I started the first album, All I Can Be, and Love, Me was of course the second single, and it went number one for three weeks. And we thought, okay, we got something going now. And then it was a message of sorts, but it was still a love song, not necessarily social, though. But, I thought okay, people like me doing this kind of thing with a message.“

That willingness to deliver meaningful content would become Raye’s calling card, but it wasn’t without commercial risk. When Tom Douglas’s Little Rock came across his desk for the third album, Epic Records was initially hesitant about releasing such a heavy social commentary as a single.

We had heard Tom Douglas’s song ‘Little Rock,’ and Paul Worley and I, my producer, were like ‘this is a great song. We really pushed Epic to put it out on the radio, and they were first hesitant about it. They were like, you know, this song’s kind of social, it’s kind of sad, this might be a downer for people driving home during drive time. We’re like, I get it, but I just really feel like it’s just such a good song.”

The song, which peaked at number 2 on the U.S. Billboard Hot Country Singles & Tracks chart, proved that country audiences were hungry for substance. This was the first hit for songwriter Tom Douglas, who had all but given up hope on a career in songwriting, working in real estate and dealing with Walmart stores at the time.

So once that song happened and went to number one, I thought okay, so I know now what I can get away with and what I can’t get away with, Raye says. And so that sort of started me on a path of looking for more deep songs like that.

I shared with Raye that lyrics like the one from Little Rock hit me square in the chest back when it was out, but for just one line: Jesus will forgive, but a daddy don’t forget. As a young father raising daughters, I took that line to heart. It became part of how I saw my role as a father.  Love like Jesus, but also to protect like a father who remembers the pain his children should never have to know. It wasn’t just a lyric. It was like a mission statement, but instead of coming from a pulpit on Sunday morning, it whispered from a car stereo into my conscience.

Perhaps no aspect of Raye’s career has been more consistent than his Christian faith, which has served as both inspiration and filter for his artistic choices. Unlike artists who compartmentalize their beliefs, Raye has always seen his faith as integral to his musical mission.

I’m Christian, right? I love the Lord, and I knew I always knew that it was He who was allowing this to happen to me. And so it’s like okay, because there are a lot of people in this country that can sing circles around me that aren’t gonna get that chance. I was getting it, and so I thought okay, what do you want me to do?

This spiritual foundation led to some of his most powerful songs, including Not That Different, What If Jesus Comes Back Like That, and The Eleventh Commandment.  The latter, being a haunting ballad and accompanying long-form music video, about child abuse and the failure of institutions to protect the innocent, revealed a boldness not often heard on country radio. That one didn’t chart high, but it wasn’t meant to. It was meant to wake people up. And some things are more important than chart positions. 

Raye’s Christian convictions eventually found fuller expression in a 2005 album of hymns titled His Love Remains. It would become his best-selling post-Sony album. Fans responded deeply to the spiritual sincerity of tracks like It Is Well with My Soul and Give Me Jesus.

People still ask about it. That record touches people in a different way. It’s the kind of thing you make because you feel called to do it.

This part, I almost kept to myself.

It was at the Sweet Corn Festival in Millersport, Ohio, eight years ago. My daughter was a broadcasting major in college, and she interviewed Collin that night, which later turned into a radio special she produced.  When we were done and took pictures, Collin paused, and out of a clear blue sky, he looked at us and said, There’s something going on in your life. Can I pray with you?

What he couldn’t have known was that my wife, a minister, was at home handling a crisis in the family. I was rattled, miles away, trying to keep it together.  Somehow, Collin felt it, and right there in a trailer, rain beating down on the roof, he took our hands and prayed for us and with us.

Collin acknowledged doing that with us.

That’s happened to me before, where I don’t know, the Holy Spirit just kind of tells me, gives me this feeling, and I feel like I need to do something. When he does that, I act on it because that happens for a reason. It doesn’t happen often. Maybe I’m thinking three or four times in my life that’s happened.

Twenty-one of his singles have reached the Top 10 on the country charts, including 14 singles reaching the top 10 consecutively between 1991 and 1996. But for Raye, the numbers tell only part of the story. He sees himself and his contemporaries, guys like Sammy Kershaw, Aaron Tippin, and Joe Diffie, as bridges between country music’s golden age and its current iteration.

I feel like ’90s country was special. It was a special, special time. Since the last great era was, of course, George Jones, Haggard, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Waylon, Willie, and Willie’s like the last man standing there, it’s gone. So, I feel like we’re the new those guys. I’m not comparing us to those guys, but to the public, we’re kind of those guys now, and that’s a beautiful thing to get to be a part of that.

We couldn’t avoid the elephant in the arena: the state of country music today.

There was a time when every song was about cold beer and dirt roads. And the first 1,800 of those were fine, but I’m a lyric guy. I want something that moves me.

He praised the new generation. Guys like Jelly Roll, Cody Johnson, and even Luke Combs. Jelly Roll surprised me. Incredible voice. I haven’t met him yet, but I’d like to. And Cody? He could have made it in any era.  I hope they’re the start of a shift. Because country music was always about the story.

This understanding of his place in country music history informs his current approach to his career. Rather than chasing contemporary trends, he’s focused on more personal projects in the future.  If I do another record, I’m thinking seriously about doing a tribute record to an artist that I really love. I did a Glen Campbell album, and I loved every second of it. I thought about doing a Bob Seger tribute because, praise God, I can still sing those songs in his key.

At 64, Raye continues touring, though he’s realistic about the physical demands. I’ve been nursing a bad knee since September of last year, so I’m a little hobbly, but I still get it done, and I’m just thankful I still can.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of spending time with Collin Raye is his perspective on mortality and meaning. The man who once worried about chart positions and radio play now measures success differently.  The moments of spiritual connection with strangers, the letters from fans whose lives were touched by his music, the stories of how his music was the soundtrack in people’s lives —these have become the real currency of his career.

When we get to heaven, it’s gonna take us forever to realize how much He loves us. We think ‘well, I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy.’ We’re not. But He loves us just that much anyway, and it’s just mind-boggling to me.

This eternal perspective doesn’t diminish Raye’s appreciation for his earthly success, but it provides context. The hits, the awards, the platinum albums—they’re all part of a larger story about using whatever platform you’re given to make a positive impact.

I’ve always put Him first, even when I wasn’t living right, and asked What am I doing? What do you want me to do with this? And the more you’re living away from Him, the less you’re hearing. But He’s always been my guy.

As our conversation winds down and Raye prepares for the show, he reflects on the miraculous nature of his career with the humility that has always defined him.

I’m not delusional enough to think that I’m going to be remembered forever…my grandson and I were watching a game show, and two different times on this one game show, the answer was Paul McCartney. It already had all but a few letters of his name exposed and a clue that it was a former Beatle, and not one contestant out of three knew who he was.

It’s a sobering reminder from an artist who understands his place in country music history better than most.

Don’t take anything for granted…..Don’t just assume this is going to go on forever….and never stop giving thanks to God for it.

Today, Collin Raye continues to travel the highways between small venues and county fairs, carrying with him three decades of hits and hard-won wisdom. He’s no longer the ambitious young artist chasing radio success, but he’s something perhaps more valuable.

He is a keeper of country music’s deeper purposes.

In an industry increasingly driven by streaming numbers and social media metrics, Collin Raye represents something increasingly rare. He is an artist whose career was built on the belief that country music should mean something. A reminder that authentic artistry and commercial success aren’t mutually exclusive, but they do require the courage to choose substance over formula.

The road hasn’t ended for Collin Raye. If anything, it’s taken on new meaning as he’s learned to see each performance, each connection with a fan, each moment of spiritual recognition as part of a larger purpose. In a career defined by number-one hits and platinum albums, his greatest achievement may be maintaining his artistic integrity while never forgetting that the real measure of success isn’t what you accomplish, but how you use whatever gifts you’ve been given.

For an artist who’s spent his career asking What If Jesus Comes Back Like That?, the answer has become clear through decades of experience. You treat every encounter as sacred, every song as an opportunity to touch lives, and every day as a gift that shouldn’t be taken for granted. It’s a philosophy that’s served him well through the peaks and valleys of a remarkable career, and one that continues to guide Collin Raye down the long road home.

by Dave Parsons

There’s something about David Lee Murphy. There always has been.  The summer sun was beginning its descent over the rolling hills of the Guernsey County Fairground at the Old Washington Music Festival on Saturday, July 19, 2025, when Murphy, whose career spans more than three decades, delivered a powerhouse performance that reminded everyone why his songs have remained staples of country radio for so long.

No elaborate production. No over-rehearsed banter. Just song after song that hit like tailgate memories and jukebox time machines. From Kenny Chesney and Jason Aldean covers to his own hits and back again, David Lee Murphy turned that Saturday slot into a masterclass in country music comfort food.

David Lee Murphy was born in Herrin, Illinois, a southern Illinois town steeped in coal country roots and the kind of grit that shows up in both voice and attitude, in 1959. He moved to Nashville in the early 1980s with a dream not unlike a thousand others. But he had something more: a poet’s touch, a honky-tonk heart, and a guitar case full of tunes that would one day shape the sound of country radio.

His first big break came as a writer. He penned hits for other artists before ever stepping into the spotlight himself. But it was his 1994 debut album Out with a Bang that made his name stick. That record gave us Party Crowd and Dust on the Bottle.  Both songs became instant classics. One was a Friday night anthem. The other, a slow-sippin sermon on love and memory. And both have aged like well-worn boots.

Unlike many of his ’90s contemporaries, Murphy never chased trends. He never pivoted to pop-country. He never tried to reinvent himself with a cowboy hat and auto-tune. He just wrote and sang. As the 2000s rolled in, Murphy stepped out of the spotlight and leaned into the craft—writing hits for others. And what a list it became.

From the moment Murphy opened with Out With a Bang, it was clear that the 66-year-old performer had lost none of his stage presence or vocal power. The crowd, a mix of longtime fans who remembered his ’90s heyday and younger listeners discovering his catalog through streaming services, responded with immediate enthusiasm.

You could feel the energy shift the moment he stepped on stage, said Jennifer Walsh, a 42-year-old fan from Columbus who attended the festival with her teenage daughter. My daughter knew some of his songs from Spotify, but seeing him live was something else entirely. He commands that stage like someone half his age.

The setlist Murphy delivered was a masterful blend of his biggest hits and carefully chosen covers that showcased both his versatility as a performer and his deep knowledge of country music’s contemporary landscape. After the opening, he immediately shifted into Loco, one of his most beloved uptempo songs that had the crowd singing along from the first chorus.

What set Murphy’s Old Washington performance apart was his thoughtful integration of cover songs throughout the setlist. Rather than simply performing his hits and calling it a night, Murphy demonstrated his deep appreciation for contemporary country music by including carefully chosen covers that complemented his original material.

His rendition of Big Green Tractor, the Jason Aldean hit, showed Murphy’s ability to adapt to the more rock-influenced sound that has come to dominate country radio. Similarly, his covers of Justin Moore’s Why We Drink and Kenny Chesney’s Pirate Flag demonstrated Murphy’s understanding of country music’s evolution while staying true to his own artistic identity. These weren’t note-for-note recreations but probably more like Murphy helped create them.

The parade of hit songs from Murphy’s pen, an aspect of his career that has kept him active in Nashville long after his radio heyday, continued for most of the set. He co-wrote the songs Living in Fast Forward, Pirate Flag, and Everything’s Gonna Be All Right for Kenny Chesney. He even added his co-penned Hurricane, which Parker McCollum was responsible for being added to a lot of country streaming platforms. Bottom line is, David Lee Murphy knows how to write hit country songs.

The audience’s response to Murphy’s performance highlighted country music’s unique ability to bridge generational gaps. Older fans who remembered Murphy’s radio dominance in the 1990s sang along to every word of his classics, while younger attendees discovered the power of his songwriting in real time.

The covers Murphy included served as bridges between different eras of country music, allowing fans of various ages to find common ground. That was when he brought them all together in one big party crowd.

If ever a song fit a festival, it’s Party Crowd. The band kicked in, and the crowd down front moved forward. No one was left in lawn chairs. People danced like it was 1995 again. Murphy roared through the verses, let the crowd take the chorus, and stood back as the field echoed the final line together.

This is his most requested…. His most quoted…. His best-loved song….. Well, that is until the slow roll of the opening notes of the next song.  The entire historical biography of one Creole Williams will bring a country festival crowd to their peak energy.

Creole Williams lived down a dirt road…..

The band pulled it down to a hush, and Murphy sang that opening verse nearly a cappella.

Don’t let it fool ya about what’s inside…

As the chorus rose, the sky began to darken with something more than night. The rain was coming…and no one cared.  This was the moment they came for. For 3 minutes, everyone gave the person next to them their rendition of Dust on the Bottle, turning the Guernsey County Fairgrounds into the largest communal karaoke bar in Ohio.  Murphy tipped his cap, said his thank you’s, and darted into the wings.

And the crowd just got louder, and more frenzied, and for the first time all weekend, they called an entertainer back out on stage. Murphy returned for an encore that caught everyone off guard. Instead of another country classic, he launched into Chuck Berry’s Johnny B. Goode, a choice that initially surprised but ultimately delighted the crowd.

The song selection wasn’t entirely random.  The song has been a mainstay in setlists for decades, but it was the perfect upbeat way to wrap up a set of solid country music, with some good classic rock and roll.  The performance of Johnny B. Goode provided a high-energy conclusion to Murphy’s set and left the crowd on an energetic high note, leading into Alabama.

For the thousands who attended the Old Washington Music Festival on July 19, 2025, this performance will likely remain a highlight of the festival. David Lee Murphy didn’t come to Old Washington to prove anything; he came to remind the fans what real country music sounds like.

And on a Saturday night, under a sky holding back a storm, David Lee Murphy did what he’s always done best.

He sang like the bottle wasn’t dusty at all.

It just needed another pour.

David Lee Murphy Setlist

Old Washington Music Festival – Saturday, July 19, 2025

1. Out With a Bang
2. Loco
3. Big Green Tractor
4. The More I Drink (Blake Shelton cover)
5. Way Out Here
6. Why We Drink (Justin Moore cover)
7. Here and Now (Kenny Chesney cover)
8. Are You Gonna Kiss Me or Not (Thompson Square cover)
9. Hurricane (Parker McCollum cover)
10. Anywhere With You (Jake Owen cover)
11. Everything’s Gonna Be Alright
12. Pirate Flag (Kenny Chesney cover)
13. The Only Way I Know (Jason Aldean cover)
14. Party Crowd
15. Dust On The Bottle

Encore: 16. Johnny B. Goode (Chuck Berry cover)

by Dave Parsons

It had been 45 years…….45 summers under Ohio skies…..It was Saturday, July 19, 1980.  I was 15 years old and had begged my dad to take me to Jamboree in the Hills. It was the festival’s 4^th year, and they were already packing 80,000 a day into the natural amphitheater at Alderman Airport outside St. Clairsville, Ohio.  In all honesty, I went to see 2 performers, and we prepared to leave after the second finished his set around 8 PM.

Two legendary country artists had been scheduled next in the primetime slots. One of them canceled a few weeks before the show, and was replaced with a group that had only one song with any radio airplay.  The legendary story now is that they played the show for $500, which was mostly travel money to get there and to the next show. They opened with the Star-Spangled Banner, which garnered them a standing ovation of sorts out of the gate, as well as got everyone’s attention.  What followed was a band playing with their hearts and gratitude for an audience this size.  Their name was easy to remember:  Alabama.

It’s been 45 years, and on Saturday night, July 19th, 2025, Randy Owen stepped to the microphone at the Old Washington Music Festival, just thirty miles down Interstate 70 from Alderman airport, at almost the same time of evening.  There were many in the crowd who had been there that night in 1980, and even more folks who had come for this weekend, just to relive many evenings spent with Alabama’s music.

Forty-five years ago, those young cousins from Fort Payne, Alabama, took the stage at Jamboree in the Hills, with dreams bigger than their bank accounts and played the one song they had on the radio to that point…..Tennessee River.  On this night in 2025, all those gold records, industry awards, and miles traveled opened their show at the Old Washington Music Festival with the same song….their first #1 in their career, Tennessee River!

The owner and dreamer for the Old Washington Music Festival made pilgrimages to Jamboree in the Hills, dreaming of recreating that magic, that sense of community, that feeling of coming home through music. And here, in this moment, with Alabama taking the stage once more on this sacred stretch of Ohio countryside, the circle was preparing to close in the most beautiful way imaginable.

The Alabama that took the stage Saturday night is notably different from the quartet that dominated country radio in their heyday. Jeff Cook’s death from complications of Parkinson’s disease on November 7, 2022, left Randy Owen and Teddy Gentry as the two remaining original members. Yet rather than diminishing the band’s impact, this transition has seemed to sharpen their focus and deepen their appreciation for the music they’ve created together.

Randy Owen, now 75, remains the band’s charismatic frontman, his distinctive vocals still carrying the emotional weight that made Alabama household names. His cousin Teddy Gentry, 72, continues to anchor the rhythm section with his bass playing and harmony vocals that have been integral to Alabama’s sound since their formation. Together, they’ve adapted to continue the Alabama legacy while honoring the memory of their fallen bandmate.

The current touring lineup includes professional musicians who round out the sound, ensuring that the full arrangements that made these songs classics are faithfully reproduced for live audiences.

It’s hard to imagine it took long years of tip jars and word of mouth to earn the major label deal they’d been dreaming about. It reads like the American dream: three cousins from Fort Payne, Alabama, who started playing music together in 1969, fundamentally altered the landscape of country music. They were among the first country acts to embrace the arena rock presentation style, with elaborate stage productions and high-energy performances. They proved that country music could fill stadiums and amphitheaters, paving the way for countless acts that followed.

They understood early on that longevity in the music business required not just talent but smart business sense, an authentic connection with their audience, and making friends with everyone who wanted to tell their story. How else does a 17-year-old kid, working at his high school 50-watt radio station, get invited to their press conference during their 8,000-10,000 seat arena tour, and then invited back the following year, when they were selling out 20,000-seat arenas?

Alabama’s 18-song setlist for the Old Washington Music Festival was a masterclass. They balanced their biggest hits with a few album cuts, showcasing the full range of their career. Following Tennessee River with If You’re Gonna Play in Texas (You Gotta Have a Fiddle in the Band) demonstrated the band’s playful side and their ability to craft every song into a sing-along.

The inclusion of songs like The Closer You Get and Sad Lookin’ Moon in the early portion of the set showed Alabama’s range beyond their party anthems. These songs allowed Randy Owen’s vocals to shine, and Teddy Gentry’s harmony to work to create the lush vocal arrangements that have always been an Alabama trademark. Forever’s as Far as I’ll Go and When We Make Love represented Alabama’s romantic side, songs that have been played at countless weddings and anniversaries over the decades.

Alabama’s performance at the Old Washington Music Festival served as more than entertainment. It was a reminder of the band’s profound impact on American pop culture and country music specifically, as well as their unwavering commitment to giving back to communities and fans across the nation.

Randy Owen created Country Cares for St. Jude Kids in 1989. His vision became a series of radiothons and fundraising efforts that raised more than $800 million to help St. Jude treat children with pediatric cancer and other life-threatening illnesses, as well as to research cures. It has become one of the most successful charitable partnerships in entertainment history.

The band’s commitment to their hometown goes far beyond a check as they hosted the June Jam festival in Fort Payne. June Jam was created by Alabama and brought some of the biggest names in country music together for sixteen years. The June Jam Foundation has raised over $20 million for disaster relief efforts, veterans, and a number of other charitable initiatives.

They also deliver one-on-one.  A photographer friend of mine named Dale frequently brought a disabled young lady with him to see her favorite band.  She was confined to a wheelchair and had difficulty speaking.  Dale brought her to the Alabama show in Wheeling, WV, and asked me to meet them at the hotel in the afternoon.  After Jeff Cook walked past and said hello to them both, Randy came through the lobby, jogging, headed for his room.

Randy stopped on a dime when he saw Dale and his friend.  He knelt at the side of the wheelchair and took her hand.  Dale explained she had worked on something Randy had encouraged, and she proceeded to stammer out I love you, Randy. Owen said he loved her too and hugged her.  He was wiping his eyes as he stood up to shake our hands and head for the elevator.  This was when Alabama had reached the top of the country music world.  Randy could have waved and kept going.  But he didn’t.  That young lady had worked weeks on learning how to express that to him, and he received it with the love she offered.  He made sure she got his wristbands at the show that night.

I thought of Dale and that young lady, as Randy introduced Angels Among Us.  I couldn’t help but think I was looking at one while he sang the song, and his wristbands caught my eye.

One of the evening’s highlights came with Orange Blossom Special, featuring Megan Mullins Owen on vocals and fiddle. The instrumental showcases during this number allowed each band member to demonstrate their individual skills while maintaining the cohesive Alabama sound.

The final portion of the setlist was pure gold for Alabama fans. Born Country, She and I, and 40 Hour Week represent some of their most socially conscious songs, while Roll On (Eighteen Wheeler) brought the energy to arena levels, with its driving rhythm and universal theme of hard-working Americans keeping the country moving. “Take Me Down” continued the momentum, building toward the evening’s climactic finish.

As the medley of Dixieland Delight gave way to that sacred hymn Will the Circle Be Unbroken, something profound was happening in that Ohio field, and something profound was happening in the skies above. Those boys with a dream were completing a journey with a lot of the same people that began forty-five years ago, just thirty miles down this same stretch of Interstate 70, and as if on cue, the gentle drizzle that had blessed the evening suddenly gave way to the rain that had been forecasted all night. The young voices that once sang of Tennessee rivers had become seasoned storytellers, their harmonies deepened by time, loss, and the weight of carrying a musical legacy.

When Randy Owen’s voice wrapped around those timeless words about circles remaining unbroken, when Teddy Gentry’s bass notes provided the foundation as they had for nearly five decades, when the crowd joined in with voices spanning generations—grandparents who were at Jamboree in the Hills in 1980, parents who had raised their children on Alabama’s music, young adults discovering these songs for the first time—the very air seemed to shimmer with the magic of musical time travel as the rain began to fall in earnest, as if the sky itself was moved to tears by the beauty of the moment.

From that first nervous performance at Jamboree in the Hills in 1980, to this triumphant return as elder statesmen, the journey had traced a perfect circle. The scared young men with calloused hands and empty pockets had become legends.  And the music —oh, the music remained as pure and true as that first night when they sang about Tennessee rivers and dared to dream.

At this point, Alabama’s impact is measured not just in chart success but in legacy. There would be no Luke Bryan without Alabama. No Jason Aldean, or Zac Brown Band, or Morgan Wallen. Their harmonies and heart set the standard for country groups from Diamond Rio to Rascal Flatts and beyond.

Yet the most powerful legacy they’ve built isn’t one of hits. It’s one of trust. Alabama is one of the few acts in country music history that can walk onstage after 40 years and not just receive a hero’s welcome, but deliver a show that feels fresh, urgent, and alive.

Which is exactly what they did on this Saturday night at the Old Washington Music Festival.

As Alabama played an encore of Mountain Music, and thousands of folks danced in the mud with voices in celebration of melodies that had soundtracked their last forty-five years of American summers, it was clear as the rain falling that some circles are meant to be unbroken. And sometimes, if we’re very lucky, we get to witness the moment when time folds back on itself and magic becomes real.

As they continue to Roll on to the next tour date, and complete another circle of decades in that town, for this one night, Alabama had come full circle on Interstate 70, from hopeful beginnings to legendary endings, proving that the greatest stories aren’t just about where you’re going, but knowing when you’ve arrived exactly where you were always meant to be.

The boys from Fort Payne had made it home again, thirty miles and forty-five years later, and the circle remains unbroken.

by Dave Parsons

Rain had shortened the first half of the day at the Old Washington Music Festival on Friday, July 18. 2025.  I had tried to arrange an interview with the Davisson Brothers band by email for a couple of weeks, and got no reply.  A novel idea to be sure, came to me while they were signing autographs in the merch tent after their set.  I could just get to the end of the line and ask them to do the interview after they have finished signing.

43 years ago, when I started this writing/photography adventure, this was the way it was done.  Find a road manager or group leader, and ask for what you want from them.  Nowadays, your email goes to the publicist, who goes to management, who loops you into members of the road team that never get back to you. (Yes, it happened twice during this festival weekend!)

Or you just never get a reply for your efforts.

So, I approached the Davisson Brothers Band with hat in hand and asked for a few minutes of their time, and they graciously said yes.  They took me around the side of the merch tent, which was great for shielding noise to record the affair on my phone, but we continued walking to their bus, past the bunks, and to the lounge area in the back.

Donnie Davisson and I settled into chatting, with subjects ranging from Charlie Daniels to Terry Bradshaw, until brother Chris Davisson was able to join us, and we got down to answering every imposing question on their career I could think to ask.  What made it special was that it was like talking to someone in your family, and considering they are family, it made it all the more special to be there.

The story of the Davisson Brothers Band isn’t just about three siblings who picked up instruments and found success—it’s about a musical lineage that stretches back through the hollers and ridges of West Virginia like the roots of an ancient oak. Blending bluegrass, Southern rock, and country into a refreshing and often progressive acoustic sound, the Davisson Brothers Band draws from their Appalachian heritage and a wide array of musical influences, including Garth Brooks, Willie Nelson, Del McCoury, and Dickey Betts.

We’re sixth-generation musicians. Seven generations, Chris told me as we settled into the chat. We come from Old Mountain Fiddlers. And I like the thing that we just keep growing and learning. We’re still learning every day and trying to teach these young next generation.

This isn’t mere mountain folklore, but it’s a living, breathing tradition that continues to evolve on stages from West Virginia honky-tonks to Australian music festivals. The band has built its reputation not just on its musical prowess, but on its commitment to carrying forward something that runs deeper than entertainment: cultural preservation through artistic expression.

The journey from playing the bars in Morgan County to touring internationally speaks to both the band’s talent and their relentless work ethic. It’s a path that’s taken them from the smallest venues in their home state to sharing stages with some of country music’s biggest names, yet they’ve never forgotten where they came from.

We have got to do it in arenas for 15 or 20,000 people. We toured all last year at 10 to 15,000-seat venues, and we come home. And the next weekend we get right back and do something in the place that we used to play,” Chris reflects, his voice carrying both pride and humility.

The band’s international success, particularly in Australia, illustrates how authentic Appalachian music transcends geographic boundaries. Their song Po Boys became a number one hit down under, leading to appearances at major festivals and even a reality television show on Australian CMT.

When that song went to number one over there, we went and did what they have, what they call the CMC Music Fest.  It was like Jamboree in the Hills back in the day. And then we had a reality television show on their CMT over there.”

Perhaps most remarkable about the Davisson Brothers Band is how they’ve managed to nurture the next generation of family musicians while maintaining their own artistic growth. The interview revealed a particularly touching aspect of their story: the emergence of sons Nick and nephew Landon as artists in their own right.

These boys here, Nicholas, Jared, and Lanham, have been on stage with us since they were three years old. Now Nick Davidson has his own career starting. And he’s about to put out some music. Then Lanham is about to put out some music. Lanham McFadden and Jared B. But these boys have been on stage with us since they were three years old.”

The pride in Chris’s voice was unmistakable as he described watching these young men, who literally grew up on stage, now stepping into their own as artists. Their performance of Chris Stapleton’s Tennessee Whiskey during the rain-shortened set demonstrated not just their vocal abilities but their understanding of how to honor both tradition and contemporary country music.

They also write all their own music, these two boys. But since this was a new audience for them, we did a cover song, which they killed it on.”

The band’s upcoming tour with Oliver Anthony represents perhaps their biggest mainstream breakthrough to date. Anthony’s meteoric rise with Rich Men North of Richmond has opened doors for authentic Appalachian artists like the Davisson Brothers, who’ve found themselves at the center of a cultural movement that values genuine mountain music over polished Nashville productions.

We’re currently on tour with Oliver Anthony, who is the biggest breakout artist of the last two years. He’s broken every traditional country chart with his spiral hit, Rich Men North of Richmond.

The connection goes deeper than just touring together. Chris was involved in the recording process for Anthony’s latest single “Scorn for Warming,” which went to number one on the charts. The collaboration represents a meeting of minds between established mountain musicians and the new wave of authentic country artists who are challenging Nashville’s commercial approach.

He went to an old farmhouse down in West Virginia and recorded it and made the video. It just went number one on all the charts. And the video was trending at number five.

The band’s recent appearance at Joe Rogan’s comedy club, The Mothership, in Austin, Texas, marked another milestone in their career. Being the first musical act to perform at the venue speaks to their crossover appeal and the cultural moment they’re helping to define.

We also just got to be the first ever act to play Joe Rogan’s Mothership in Austin, Texas. Three weeks ago, with Oliver Anthony. Joe Rogan invited us down, and Oliver did the podcast, and we filmed and recorded the first ever music in the comedy club, the mother ship.”

The significance wasn’t lost on them. In an era where authentic voices are increasingly valued over manufactured ones, the Davisson Brothers Band represents something that resonates beyond traditional country music audiences. Their appearance on one of the most influential platforms in American media demonstrates how far their mountain music has traveled.

Their latest album, Home Is Where the Heart Is, was produced by Brent Cobb and David “Ferg” Ferguson, and features Tim O’Brien, Rob McCoury, Stewart Duncan, Leftover Salmon’s Vince Herman, Ronnie Bowman, Kyle Tuttle, Lindsay Lou, and more. The record represents both an artistic peak and a personal statement about their identity as musicians.

That record was awesome. That was kind of a record for my brother and I. The family. It was like we weren’t trying to write for the radio. We weren’t trying to write hit songs on the radio. It was more just writing what was happening with us.”

The album process, recorded at the legendary Cowboy Jack Studio in Nashville, where Johnny Cash once laid down tracks, brought together musical heroes and friends in an atmosphere that prioritized authenticity over commercial considerations.

We recorded it at the original Cowboy Jack Studio in Nashville. We got to record it with Brent Cobb, produced it with David Ferguson on 30. And it was cool to have our buddies producing it too… We’ve got guys that were our heroes from the Del McCoury band and Leftover Salmon to guys like Tim O’Brien.

The creative process involved whittling down about 50 some songs to the final twelve tracks, a challenge that speaks to their prolific songwriting and the difficulty of capturing their full artistic vision in a single release.

Beyond their musical achievements, the Davisson Brothers Band serves as cultural ambassadors for a region that’s often misunderstood or stereotyped in popular media. Their success provides a platform for sharing the rich musical traditions of Appalachia while dispelling misconceptions about mountain culture.

We’re just a family group going up and down the road, doing what we know and representing West Virginia, Appalachia, and our family culture and heritage. And kind of waving that West Virginia flag everywhere we go.”

This representation goes beyond symbolism. Their music carries the stories, struggles, and triumphs of their community, offering audiences worldwide a genuine glimpse into Appalachian life. In an industry often criticized for its lack of authenticity, they provide something increasingly rare: music that emerges organically from lived experience rather than marketing calculations.

Perhaps what strikes me most about the Davisson Brothers Band is their understanding of music as both art and inheritance. They’re not just performing songs; they’re maintaining a cultural tradition that connects past, present, and future generations. The sight of multiple generations sharing the stage represents something increasingly rare in modern music: genuine intergenerational collaboration.

We just had a viral video with our dad… three generations of Davidson were singing and it went viral. And we just keep going up the ladder and doing what we love to do, and trying to build a future for the young boys and set an example.

Their approach to nurturing young talent within the family structure provides a model for how traditional music can evolve without losing its essential character. By bringing their children up on stage from an early age, they’ve created a learning environment that no music school could replicate.

As our conversation wound down and the band prepared to load their equipment for the next show, I reflected on how the weather-shortened performance had provided something more valuable than a full concert set: insight into the character and philosophy of artists who view setbacks as opportunities and who measure success not just in terms of career achievements, but in terms of family legacy and cultural preservation.

The Davisson Brothers Band represents something essential in American music: the continuation of authentic traditions by artists who understand that their role extends beyond entertainment to cultural stewardship. In an era of manufactured personas and algorithm-driven playlists, they offer something increasingly precious: music that emerges from real places, real people, and real experiences.

Their story isn’t just about three brothers from West Virginia who made it in the music business. It’s about the power of family, the importance of cultural heritage, and the way that authentic artistry can transcend geographic and social boundaries to connect with audiences around the world.

As they prepared to continue their tour with Oliver Anthony and plan for future projects including the young family members’ solo careers, one thing was clear: the Davisson Brothers Band isn’t just preserving Appalachian musical traditions—they’re actively writing the next chapter of that story, ensuring that the mountain music legacy continues to evolve and inspire for generations to come.

The goal is to continue to carry on our family tradition… And I like the thing that we just keep growing and learning. We’re still learning every day and trying to teach these young next generation.

They’re not selling an image—they’re living an inheritance. They stand at the intersection of tradition and tomorrow, singing through storms, bringing crowds together like church congregations in the rain.

On this day at the Old Washington Music Festival, through torn-out songs, downed wires, damp amps, drenched feet, and last-minute interview requests, they delivered more than music. They offered a testimonial that music, forged in mountain mud and generations of a family, rises above storms.