Travis Tritt was faced with an almost unfamiliar feeling when the COVID pandemic put the live market on pause in March 2020. After dedicating more than a decade to touring, Tritt—a self-proclaimed "road dog"—went back into the studio for the first time in 13 years.

The timing was a convenient coincidence, as Tritt's manager, Mike "Cheez" Brown, had floated the idea in 2019. "One of the first things [Mike] told me when we started working together was, 'I still think you've got a lot of music left in you,'" Tritt recalls to GRAMMY.com. "The more we started talking about an album, the more I started thinking that was a really good idea. But I had been out of the studio for so long, I still had a little bit of concern about it."

Luckily for Tritt, Brown had just finished working with GRAMMY-winning producer Dave Cobb (Brandi Carlile, Chris Stapleton) on the Dirty Heads' 2019 LP Super Moon. Cobb not only eased Tritt's worries but opened up an entirely new realm of co-writers for the superstar—many of whom reminded Tritt of the legacy he's built. The result is Set in Stone, which dropped May 7 via Big Noise. The album celebrates Tritt's classic outlaw country sound as well as his influence on the genre that is, well, set in stone.

GRAMMY.com caught up with Travis Tritt about Set in Stone and how it served as a reminder of his lasting impact.

<style>.embed-container { position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%; height: 0; overflow: hidden; max-width: 100%; } .embed-container iframe, .embed-container object, .embed-container embed { position: absolute; top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; }</style><div class='embed-container'><iframe src='https://www.youtube.com/embed//qZDrI3KlpFE' frameborder='0' allowfullscreen></iframe></div>

It's been nearly 14 years since you last released an album. With all that has changed about music in that time, were you nervous about getting back into the studio?

Prior to sitting down and talking with Dave about his process, I did have a good bit of anxiety and nervousness about it. He records with a live band—no digital sampling going on—and tries to record as many live vocals as possible during that same period. That's the way I've done it since I first started recording back in the '80s. I don't think this album would be what it is if it hadn't been for that opportunity to work together.

Did he bring anything different to the table, since your recording processes were similar?

He set me up with some of his favorite writers, like Brent Cobb, Adam Hood, Wyatt Durette, Channing Wilson, Ashley Monroe, Dillon Carmichael. Pretty much every writer that I worked with told me how much my music had influenced them when they were young. That was humbling and gratifying. It was something that I really didn't expect.

In the first writing session [with Brent], he said, "Man, I was thinking about the kind of influence and impact that you had on so many people, including me. You don't have anything left to prove to anybody. Your legacy is pretty much set in stone." He had the first verse of "Set in Stone" and a couple of lines for the chorus already in his head. I heard it and immediately fell in love with the idea.

That's a pretty big statement! Did any other conversations result in songs for the album?

The first track, "Stand Your Ground," came from getting to know [co-writers] Channing Wilson and Wyatt Durrette. They were asking me about how I got started in Nashville, and I told them about the first time I met Waylon Jennings.

It was at a time when I was getting a good bit of criticism for doing things my own way, and a little bit different than the average country artist at the time. Waylon told me, "Listen, I've been hearing all the things that they've been saying about you. Just remember that [it's] exactly the same things they said about me, and about Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Jr., and David Allan Coe.

The only people you need to be concerned about are your fans, your audience. Those are the only people that matter." I told that story to Channing and Wyatt, and they immediately said, "We've got to write that."

Did any of your co-writers tell you that your less-traditional approach inspired them?

Almost all of them. A lot of those younger artists gave me a lot of credit for being able to stand up to record labels and say, "I think I know my audience better than any of you people, and I'm going to just stick with what I know." Some of them actually said, "You had a lot of balls to be able to do that." [Laughs.] 

<style>.embed-container { position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%; height: 0; overflow: hidden; max-width: 100%; } .embed-container iframe, .embed-container object, .embed-container embed { position: absolute; top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; }</style><div class='embed-container'><iframe src='https://www.youtube.com/embed//no49WL0OVig' frameborder='0' allowfullscreen></iframe></div>

Had you thought about your legacy before making this album?

I'll be honest with you—prior to meeting all these writers, I never really thought about what my potential legacy would be, and how much my influence would be affecting so many of these young people.

To realize that you've had—not only a successful career—but a positive influence on other people that want to follow their dream the same way that you did is something that I am amazed by. It's something that I am humbled by, and it's something that, quite frankly, I take a lot of pride in.

So many of these younger artists, songwriters, producers and people involved in the industry look up to me the same way that I looked up to some of my heroes, like Johnny Cash and George Jones. To be thought of in that way is an extreme honor. It's kind of like gravy on top of everything else.

I thought it was awesome that you ended the album with an homage to your home state with "Way Down in Georgia." How have your Georgia roots played a part in your career?

Georgia has influenced me tremendously. Very early on when I was first starting to have success, I had a ton of people that said, "You've got to move to Nashville." I always resisted that. Not because I had anything against Nashville, but because no place felt like home to me the way that Georgia has. It keeps me grounded, it keeps me centered.

The other advantage is that I can still drive by places I went as a young man and have a specific memory come back, and end up writing a song about that. So many of the songs that I've written over the years were triggered by a memory that came from being close to where I grew up. Including songs for this album, like "They Don't Make 'Em Like That No More." I drove by a park where I took a beautiful girl on a date, and all of those memories came back and [inspired the lyric] "She was the prettiest thing this ol' boy had ever seen." 

You've been able to play some shows recently. Has the energy felt different, considering your concert has likely been the first post-pandemic live show for many?

Definitely. I've noticed a palatable hunger. It's like a caged animal, you know? You keep an animal in a cage for a long period of time and when they get out, the first thing they're gonna do is sprint and go crazy, just to be enjoying a little bit of that freedom again. I think that's what we're seeing every single night. The excitement is overwhelming.

The sentiment of your hit "It's a Great Day to Be Alive" is all about enjoying life. Does it feel like fans are embracing that even more so now, considering the difficult year we've all endured? 

I was doing a show in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, and I noticed when I did that particular song, there were a few people running up and down the aisles high-fiving people. That's always been a song about celebration and the celebration of life, but I think you're exactly right. It's even more so now because people are not taking opportunities to enjoy their life for granted any longer.

<style>.embed-container { position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%; height: 0; overflow: hidden; max-width: 100%; } .embed-container iframe, .embed-container object, .embed-container embed { position: absolute; top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; }</style><div class='embed-container'><iframe src='https://www.youtube.com/embed//YDBTlv1z0dA' frameborder='0' allowfullscreen></iframe></div>

Now that you've been back in the studio and writing again, it sounds like there probably won't be another 14-year gap before your next album?

No, I don't think so. Now that I've had opportunities to work with these younger songwriters, and some of these producers that are current and relevant today, I think you can anticipate that I will be not having these long hiatuses in the future. I'm definitely going to be writing and recording more, and I'm going to try to bring new music to the table as often as I can. [Dave Cobb], my manager, and these young songwriters all contributed to helping light a fire underneath me.

Is there anything left on your career bucket list?

I have worked with just about everybody that I've ever wanted to work with. I really don't see a whole lot of things that I would look at and say, "That's something I've never done or experienced."

All I ever wanted to do was just make music that moved me. To be able to look back on selling over 30 million albums and having the opportunity to perform in front of millions of people over the years—and still be able to honestly say that I love it just as much now as I ever did—it's an honor, a privilege, and a pleasure.

I've had the blessing of so many great experiences in my life. I just want to keep on doing it. There's an old expression, "Dance with the one that brought you." I just want to keep dancing.

Carrie Underwood On Creating Her First Gospel Album, 'My Savior,' Working With CeCe Winans, & Making "Legacy Music"

Is it possible to write someone else's song for them? Which isn't the same as being an outside writer: it's writing something that spiritually belongs to your influence. That's the sensation that came over guitar and banjo picker Billy Strings, when he wrote "California Sober."

"California Sober" had the lilt and thematic ring of something like Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard's 1983 hit "Reasons to Quit"; in fact, it felt like it emanated from Nelson entirely. Which makes sense, given that Strings had just hit the road with the country patriarch.

"I don't think I would've recorded the song if Willie wouldn't have wanted to do it with me," Strings tells GRAMMY.com. "It's like, I'm not even going to cut this unless Willie wants to do it. It would just be like ripping off Willie's sound."

Exhilaratingly, the Red-Headed Stranger accepted — and their resultant duet of "California Sober" is nominated for Best American Roots Song at the 2024 GRAMMYs. And that's just the beginning of his prospects at Music's Biggest Night, coming up on Feb. 4.

At the 2024 GRAMMYs, Strings also picked up a nomination for Best Bluegrass Album for Me/And/Dad — his album with his bluegrass old-timer father, Terry Barber. And Dierks Bentley's "High Note," featuring Strings, is up for Best Country Duo/Group Performance.

Read on for an interview with Strings about how these albums and songs came to be, and what he learns from Nelson, Bentley, and Béla Fleck, and much more.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

Tell me about your relationship with the Recording Academy, and the GRAMMYs.

Well, the last few years, let's see: we were nominated for Best Bluegrass Album for Home, and we won that [in 2021]. And the next year we were nominated for two different things. Can't really remember, but we didn't win anything. [Editor's note: Strings received nominations for Best Bluegrass Album (Renewal) and Best American Roots Performance ("Love And Regret").]

That was when I went out there and checked it out, and had a great time being on the red carpet and seeing all the crazy outfits and stuff. And it's kind of crazy because although we didn't win, my friend Béla Fleck won.

I played on [his] record [2021's My Bluegrass Heart]. I was so honored to play with Béla Fleck and all those amazing musicians on that record, and it's been like 20 years since Bela made a bluegrass record — it's like, man, he deserves it.

And that was a big moment in my life — being in the studio with those guys, making that record. I still look back and I'm grateful to Béla for giving me the opportunity to do that because it gave me so much more confidence in myself. I still get almost emotional when I think about Béla actually asking me to be on his record because it just means so much to me. It's just always been kind of crazy. I'm just completely flabbergasted and honored because I never thought I'd be nominated for a GRAMMY or anything — let alone we won one already.

[Me/And/Dad] is probably the most important record I'll ever make because it's with my dad. And I think it's an important record for bluegrass too, just because of the songs and kind of the way we played those songs. And there's an old style that, as time goes on, the guys who sing and play like that are kind of dying off.

My dad's one of that older guard, and he just has this beautiful voice and amazing guitar playing, and he taught me everything I know about bluegrass music and it's deep in my heart and soul. It was so cool to be able to call my dad and say, hey man, guess what? Our record got nominated for a GRAMMY," and he's like, "Holy s—."

Can you drill deeper into why it's the most important thing you'll ever make?

Because everything I know about music, and bluegrass, I learned from my dad.

He started me off really young in my childhood; it was so based around the music. All the sweet memories that I have from when I was a boy were based around bluegrass music, and it seeps into your heart and soul and gets under your skin in a way that I guess only bluegrassers could really know.

It's music that can make me cry and make me laugh, and it gives me déjà vu, and it's almost a portal directly to my childhood back before I knew anything dirty about the earth. It was back, simpler times, just hanging around the campfire, picking music, and with my family and just beautiful times. 

And whenever I get together with my dad and play, it brings me back to just being a little boy.

And can you speak more to the importance of Béla Fleck? I interviewed him at Newport Folk, and he couldn't have been kinder nor gentler, with a fraction of the ego he could rightfully have.

He's the best man. He's become a good friend of mine. Obviously, he was my hero first. And so that's always good when you meet your heroes and they're really cool people. It means a lot.

And he's just like any of us; he's constantly just playing and trying to write and get better. He said to me one time, "We're all just trying to keep our heads above water," 'cause maybe I was feeling down about my playing or whatever, he's like, man, we're all doing the same thing.

What he's done for new acoustic music is incredible. The things that he's done with the five string banjo, and not only him, but his bands like the Flecktones and New Grass Revival with Sam Bush and John Cowan and those guys just, that's a big inspiration to us up and comers that are playing bluegrass music but like a little bit more progressive side.

I listen to everything from heavy metal to hip-hop and jazz and everything, so it's kind of sweet when you can take bluegrass instruments and play any kind of fusion music. And Béla is a huge innovator in that world.

One thing he told me was, "There is no best." I'm sure that resonates with you in some way.

Yeah, absolutely. Everybody's kind of the best at what they do. I'll never be as good as Tony Rice, ever — not if I practice eight hours a day for the rest of my life. I'll never touch him. But if I just kind of focus on what I'm doing and try to invent my own voice, maybe I'll be the best one at that.

How would you characterize that voice you've developed?

Well, I was raised playing bluegrass music — pretty traditional bluegrass. And then in my teenage years, I veered off and played heavy metal and got into more writing songs and just lots of different music other than bluegrass.

But when I came back to bluegrass, some of those things kind of stuck, particularly the stage performance thing. A lot of bluegrass bands, I feel like just stand there and play, 'cause they don't really have to do anything else. I can't help but move around and jump around and bang my head and stuff like I used to in a heavy metal band, 'cause that's how I learned to perform.

I've seen people be like, man, this is not headbanging music. And I'm like, "Well, hell yeah, it is."

Can you talk about Dierks Bentley, and "High Note," and the road to the nomination for Best Country Duo/Group Performance?

Dierks is a good buddy. He's just a real dude. I met him a few years ago. I was walking down the street, I was going to lunch with [flatpicker] Bryan Sutton and this white pickup truck pulled up, and Brian's like, "Oh, hey, what's up, man?"

We started talking. I didn't even know who it was. And the inside of his pickup truck was a mess. It was just like, s— everywhere, tapes and old, just like my car. So I'm like, okay, well, who's this guy? And then I realized he's a big country star, and I liked that he was a big country star and drove around with a messy truck.

Are you a messy truck guy too?

I try to keep it pretty nice nowadays, but yeah, usually my s— gets trashed. There's like fishing lures and just bulls— everywhere.

So I don't know, that made an impression on me for some reason — the inside of the cab of his truck. But after that, we became buddies and we had picked a couple times. He's a good buddy of [mandolinist] Sam Bush as well and so that's kind of a mutual friend of ours.

And there had been a couple times on stage where me and Sam were playing with Dierks, and he can play some bluegrass, man. He knows a lot of bluegrass songs and stuff.

So when he hit me up to do this song with him, I was like, of course, but especially when I heard it on a high note, he knows I like to smoke a lot of weed and stuff, so it was kind of like the perfect song for me. And it had that bluegrass flavor so I could jump on guitar and sing the tenors and stuff, sing the harmonies and stuff.

How popular is weed in the bluegrass community?

Well, I mean, in our scene it's pretty popular, but there's also folks that don't like to see me up there smoking or anything… maybe the more old-school kind of conservative types. But I just do my thing, man. I'm not trying to hurt nobody.

Speaking of, we have "California Sober" with Willie Nelson.

Man, so, Willie Nelson, holy f—.

Yeah, dude.

Wow, I love him so much. My grandpa loved him a lot, and my mom. When I grew up, my dad would, he'd be singing "Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain" and all them songs, and a lot of songs off Red Headed Stranger, I heard growing up — my dad singing those, and my grandpa playing the records, and stuff.

Willie was a big deal, especially to my grandpa, and he's been dead since 2001. So I always think about my grandpa when I think of Willie too, 'cause he loved him so much. If my grandpa was around to hear this song, he would just lose it.

And the way that it came about was, I went on tour with Willie on his road show, The Outlaw Tour, and we were one of the bands on there. And during that tour, Willie invited me up on his bus, and we hung out for a little while and just shot the s— and told jokes, and he told me how he got Trigger and everything, and talked about Django Reinhardt and Doc Watson.

I just had a great time. It was like hanging out with my grandpa or something, and I had a great time on the tour. And when I got home from that tour, I was sitting out by my burn pile and I ripped off this piece of cardboard, and I just had this tune going in my head, "I'm California sober, as they say / Lately, I can't find no other way."

I just wrote it down on this piece of cardboard. And then I went inside and kind of started writing a song — and I realized that I was writing a Willie Nelson song. I was so inspired by being on the road with Willie that I came home and I wrote this song — it's like I wrote it, but it was such a Willie song.

So what happened next?

I had my manager reach out to his manager, or whatever, and say, "Hey, here's this song that I wrote. Would you want to do it with me? And the answer was a resounding, 'Hell yes.'"

We made the track here in Nashville with me and the band, and then I went down to Luck, to his studio down there at his home in Texas, and Willie came in and we just hung out for a while, man. He sat down in front of the mic and he said, "Well, what do you want me to do?" And I was like, What the hell? I'm nobody, dude; you're Willie Nelson. You're asking me?

But he was like, "Well, do you want me to sing a verse?" I was like, "Tell, try to sing harmonies on the chorus and then take a crack at that second verse." So he put the harmonies on the chorus just fine. And when he got to this verse, it seemed like he was kind of just still learning the words a little bit, and I don't know if something [happened] like, he got frustrated on one take or something.

The next time, he just nailed it, and it was like this young Willie voice came out and he just sang so beautifully, and I had goosebumps, and it was just incredible, man.

And then right after that, he finished his part, he said, "We got it?" And I said, "Man, I think we got it. He said, "OK, let's go play cards."

So we went out back to his little spot there, where he's been playing cards for 50 years with everyone, Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson. His old buddy, Steve, [was there]; we were sitting there playing poker, and… I'm sitting there playing cards with two old buddies who have been playing cards together for 50 years, man. Hearing those two talk s— to each other, man.

They took a thousand dollars of my money real quick, and I would've paid another thousand just to sit there at that table and hear them bulls— each other.

What will your call with Willie be like if "California Sober" wins?

I'm going to say, "Hey, man, I'm coming to get my thousand dollars back."

Béla Fleck Has Always Been Told He's The Best. But To Him, There Is No Best.

Like many of his peers, Charles Esten has known music is his calling since he was a kid. But at 58, he's just now getting the opportunity to do what his contemporaries are long past: release a debut album.

As fans of the beloved ABC/CMT series "Nashville" or the hit Netflix drama "Outer Banks" know, Esten first established himself in the acting world. But as his "Nashville" role revealed, the actor also had some strong singing chops, too — and it wasn't a coincidence.

Due Jan. 26, Love Ain't Pretty is a testament to both Esten's patience and his passion. Combining his soulful country sound and emotive songwriting, Love Ain't Pretty poignantly captures his years of loving and learning. And with a co-writing credit on all 14 tracks, the album is the purest representation of his artistry possible.

"Being the age I am, and the difference of what this album is to what maybe my first album would've been if I was 28, is the intentionality," he tells GRAMMY.com. "I can chase what's thoroughly me, and the facets of that. And in the end, that, I think, makes better music anyway."

As the title suggests, Love Ain't Pretty mostly focuses on finding the beauty in life. Along with several odes to his wife, Patty ("One Good Move," "Candlelight"), Esten delivers tales of self-reflection ("A Little Right Now") and simply enjoying the moment ("Willing To Try"), all with a grit that's equal parts inspiring and charming.

Perhaps the most fitting sentiment on the album is "Make You Happy" — not because of its lovestruck narrative, but because it captures Esten's goal with Love Ain't Pretty and beyond: "Wanna make you happy/ Wanna make you smile."

"I know that musical superstardom is not an option," he acknowledges. "I don't even seek it. So, what do I seek instead of perfection? Connection."

Below, Esten recounts his fateful journey to Love Ain't Pretty — from his first taste of stardom to finally fulfilling his lifelong dream.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Charles Esten (@charlesesten)

All the way back in third grade, our elementary school had a contest to write the school song. They said, "Find a Disney song and use the melody and then put new words to it." I did it to "It's a Small World." I probably wrote little doodles on my own [before that], but that was the first one with any bit of fame. 

I went back, like 10 years later, and they were singing that. They actually made it as part of all the assemblies and everything. That feeling, to hear people singing words that you thought of, I'm sure that was the beginning of this path.

Eventually, when I went to college, I was in a band. But, even before I was in a band, my grandmother passed in my sophomore year of college. And, I didn't get back in time to see her. She had helped raise me when I was little, after my parents' divorce, so it hit me hard. I somehow was able to put what she meant to me in a song, and that made a big impact in a lot of ways. Whereas that third grade little ditty made everybody laugh and smile and everything, this made my mother and my aunts and uncles [cry] in a warm, loving way. I could see it affecting them. 

I could [also] feel it help me process what I was going through. That was another bit of an aha moment, like, "Oh wow, writing a song can do that also."

Right after that, I started a band. That experience of hearing a band bring your song alive — it was so much more full, this experience, and hearing somebody else add a thing you hadn't thought of, that was another true revelation, the power of that. So I got hooked rather quickly. 

Honestly, I probably would've stayed in that world if my band had stayed in that world. They all made the decision to graduate and go be doctors and lawyers and stuff, as the song says. When that finished up, I didn't know what I was going to do next. But, having experienced that made it clear to me that I was not cut out for a desk job — even though I had an economics degree. 

I had some friends that had gone to L.A. and started becoming actors. I thought, "Maybe I'll give that a try." But the long and the short of it is, if you had asked me, "Will you continue in music?" I'd be like, "Absolutely. I'm going to go out there and I'm going to meet another bass player and a drummer and another band will come."

It didn't happen. I went to London and played Buddy Holly for two and a half years in the musical "Buddy." When I went back to L.A. after that, then the family started to come, and so the band just never happened. But I had a piano, had guitars — I never stopped writing or playing.

At one point, I had the thought, "Well, I might have missed the boat in terms of ever getting to be a performer myself, but I can write songs." And by this point, I was really listening to a whole lot of country, '90s country, 2000s and all.

So, I decided I was going to start writing in a more formalized way, in a more intentional way, instead of just whenever a song came to me. And, as soon as I sort of said that, things started happening.

I met my friend Jane Bach, who is a great Nashville songwriter. She was going back and forth between LA and Nashville at the time. She invited me to sing at the Bluebird [Cafe in Nashville], which I knew very well, and I said yes. And twice, I had to cancel because I got other work. And at a certain point, I literally said to my wife, "When am I going to get to go to Nashville? That'll never happen."

[That] maybe was two or three years before "Nashville." And then I get this script that says, "Nashville." Next thing I know, I'm here and I'm literally doing my first scene in the Bluebird.

I understand, very cleanly, that ["Nashville"] opened all these side doors that most people don't have access to. But, I also know that there's a chance they could have all been opened and I could not have been ready. 

When it finally [happened], for a lot of people, just looking at an actor who's playing a singer/songwriter, I get the feeling that it was a pleasant surprise — I like to think that there was a little more there than they expected. It was actually more authentically who I was than the actor.

I never really quite verbalized this, but the feeling [of landing "Nashville"] was one of — it'll make me emotional — completion. I felt like the show was an answer to so many unsolved things in my life. And that's, I think, why we haven't left. And it's also why the album meant so much to me.

It meant so much to me that I didn't just get here and do an album. I got here at 46. To be that old and not really know who you are as an artist — I never had to define myself. So, I didn't chase that immediately. I just wanted to make music in Music City and make as much as I could. 

I always felt behind, because all my contemporaries that had been here, very many of them were already incredibly famous and already had done so much. But you can't [focus on] the road not taken. 

I have to admit, there's some part of me that would be like, "What if you were putting out your first album at 28?" That's nothing I sort of worry about. I know that it wouldn't have been this. I wouldn't change anything. I have this wife and this family and this career that brought me here. It feels like this was the way it was meant to happen, as strange as it all is.

I felt more prepared than people might expect. And I had something that most people didn't have, which was, Deacon walked in places before I did. Deacon sang at the Bluebird before Charles did. Deacon was at the Grand Ole Opry before I was.

That began what I would call my 10,000 hours in this town. Between the number of hours I've been able to be on stage at these incredible venues, and play music with these incredible people, and all the singles I was able to put out over the last 10 years, I now feel like that, in some ways, I have as much of a catalog as people that have been here for those 30 years. But, it's still my first album, which I've held onto for something special, and I'm so grateful for the way it turned out. I couldn't be happier.

I knew that I wasn't emptying the whole toolbox to play Deacon. But, having said that, I'm so moved by how much playing that guy influenced my music and my songwriting. A song like "A Little Right Now," it roars at the top and rages a little bit, but in general, that is a Deacon song through and through. "I'm a farmer praying for rain/ I'm a gambler that needs an ace of spades/ I'm a sailor hoping for a gust of wind/ I'm a singer looking for that song/ I'm a prisoner that ain't got long/ I'm a dreamer waiting for my ship to come in/ But lately all my roads have been running out/ There ain't no silver linings in these clouds/ Help me, Lord, and show me how to find the kind of faith that I once found/ 'Cause I could sure use a little right now." When you watch the show, you'll go, "That's the Deacon-est thing I've ever heard."

There's other songs on this album as well. "Maybe I'm Alright" — Deacon's journey was from utterly broken to "maybe I'm alright." As I look at it, he informs this album.

I'm a procrastinator. That's why I released so many singles in 2016, that world record. [Editor's note: Esten released 54 original songs once a week for 54 straight weeks, earning a Guinness World Records title in 2018 for the "Most consecutive weeks to release an original digital single by a music act."] 

That was a mind hack — a life hack — to arbitrarily create deadlines. And, my God, did that work, because I just started putting it out. [After that,] I started thinking about an album, and I even made an early attempt at it, and then COVID hit. 

They felt like songs from a thousand years ago [after the lockdown]. I pretty much scrapped it and didn't use any of them, and said, "I've just got to do this again in a different way. It's a different me. It's a different world."

My wife is not a procrastinator. And I'll show her, sometimes there's an upside of procrastinating. It's like using a crockpot when there's a microwave right there — it stews in all the ingredients. 

Deacon's a major ingredient, but if you just put that major ingredient on it and cook it real quick, it's too pronounced. Stew it in there with all the other ones until it's a new flavor, a new thing in its entirety. And that's what happened.

It's also interesting that, being the age I am, and the difference of what this album was to what, maybe, my first album would've been if I was 28, is the intentionality in terms of radio success or chart success — or chasing something that might not be thoroughly you, but might be a little more popular than thoroughly you. There's no reason for it at my age, so I can chase what's thoroughly me, and the facets of that. And in the end, that, I think, makes better music anyway.

There's a video I put out for "Somewhere in the Sunshine." Already, the impact of that song is sort of blowing my mind. The video is full of quotes from people that commented on YouTube about who they lost, and how it's giving them a little moment of peace, and how it's blessing them. That's my radio play. That's my GRAMMY.

I try to always realize how blessed I am to be able to do this. It's so much more precious later in life. I think people sometimes meet me and I have an enthusiasm for it that is younger than my years. And, maybe [that's] just because I've been waiting at a distance so long and it finally came true. I might get jaded someday, but it hasn't happened yet.

There's still an outsider mentality. I also feel like an anomaly. All the great artist friends I have, I'm not like them. They've been on the radio, they've had cuts, they've had hits. And then, all the new ones starting off doing their first album, I'm not in their group either — they have a whole career and future ahead.

On the other hand, I feel warm and welcomed in all of those arenas, and in everyone in this town. It always has been unusual for me here. All the reasons I'm here, all the why's, all the how's — but I guess, in the end, that's how I fit, and that's how I belong.

I was blessed that I was able to take my time. I think, once you let go of the outcome, freedom is available. It's just really hard to let go of that outcome. But, as I said, I'm a different beast. What I am means I better let go of that outcome, because the odds of me getting a No. 1 smash off this, they're not great. But the odds of me moving somebody with this music? I think they're pretty good.

2023 In Review: 5 Trends That Defined Country Music

As one of the lone women in the outlaw country milieu, Jessi Colter has navigated the music industry with grace for more than half a century — through false starts, lulls, and the death of her husband and collaborator, Waylon Jennings.

But while some living legends can feel a touch frozen in time, Colter is constantly in motion.

"We've just returned home a few days before the Hall of Fame performance, and my house is a wreck," she reports to GRAMMY.com, upon landing back in her Arizona climes. During a brief  conversation, she's speed-eating lunch and jumping in a car; she even suspects this interviewer was multitasking as well. ("Are you doing dishes?" Colter inquires, in response to an errant clank over the line.)

That consistent movement — of body, of creative practice — allowed Colter to cook up one of her most inspired albums. Edge of Forever — produced by GRAMMY nominee Margo Price, and mixed by Colter's son, three-time GRAMMY winner and five-time nominee Shooter Jennings.

Backed by Price's crack band, tunes like "Standing on the Edge of Forever," "Lost Love Song" and "Can't Nobody Do Me Like Jesus" crackle with potency — and have all of the impact of her early work, prior to all these spins around the sun.

But this timelessness doesn't mean it's simply retro, or '70s; it moves through time. Edge of Forever couldn't have happened without the lumps she's taken in the country machine, or the jubilations.

Furthermore, it proves that the hitmaker behind "I'm Not Lisa" and "What's Happened to Blue Eyes" back in '75 remains a force — as a feisty, vital country-music matriarch. Below, Colter chats with GRAMMY.com about Edge of Forever, and what's on the other side.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

Congrats on the release of Edge of Forever. I think the word "timeless" gets thrown around a little too much, but the description fits here.

I had one fellow, I asked him how old he was. I figured he was 20 or 28 and he was 60. I think it was [for] Variety. When I first talked to him. And he said it just has such a feeling that it takes him back to the '70s, and I wasn't sure what he meant exactly. I just am who I am and that's who I'll always be.

But anyway, he loved it. He said it really felt, for him, comfortable. And I understand what he's saying. There's a whole lot out there that's not so comfortable.

Interesting. What do you hope people take away from your music?

Well, certainly that, and I hope I communicate with feelings they've had. I loved it on "I'm Not Lisa," when the little girls would send me tapes of themselves singing it. I thought I have communicated, because when I write it's very inward of my experience or somebody really close to me and so forth. So that's how it goes.

Take us back to your early conception of Edge of Forever — the spark that lit a flame.

Well, I had songs. And I became acquainted with Margo, and she helped me out on a Facebook flash [giveaway] of my book An Outlaw and a Lady, for Harper Collins, that I wrote with David Ritz.

And this was 2015. She was pregnant with Ramona when we cut this album and she was about to have the baby. So as far as the genesis, it took two or three visits together, and [her husband] Jeremy [Ivey] and she both intimated that they would love to see me do an album.

It was years later that we did it. And we did it quickly and directly, because she was about to have her baby. And so it didn't take the kind of time that I'd taken on other albums, but it's taken time to wind its path to the yellow brick road, which seems to be Appalachia Records, who she'd worked with before.

[Label owner Loney Hutchins is] great to work with, and I've never worked with a small label that worked with other indies. But anyway, they've been terrific. And so we just kind of were drawn to each other. And I had these songs that she reacted to, and then there was a couple others, then one written on the spot.

And so it just happened and now it's taken the legal teams, and the manager — this and that, so forth. Anyway, it's worked out. It worked its way to here.

Can you talk about your dynamic with Margo and Shooter?

Yeah, it's fantastic. It's easy. I've worked with Shooter before on The Passion of the Christ, where he wrote on the spot with me. It was an album that went with The Passion of the Christ; It wasn't a soundtrack.

We wrote a song called "Please Carry Me Home." If you haven't heard it, try it, because we wrote it and he produced it on the spot. Then [my daughter] Jennifer [or Jenni Eddy] and I actually wrote "Secret Place," which is on this album, a number of years ago.

Waylon was still with us, and he heard that song — and he didn't often say just this, but he said, "You've got to do that." And it's just been in my pocket.

Often, artists keep songs that inspire them. They don't use them until the time is right. And so there were a number of songs that I had been holding onto. "Lost Love Song," "Can't Nobody Do Me Like Jesus." I totally rewrote that spiritual except the bridge.

Anyway, the dynamic was fantastic with Margo, with Shooter, with Jennifer Eddy Jennings, my daughter; her father is Duane Eddy. Waylon was a wonderful father to her. So, it's been a gift; the whole thing has been a gift for me.

Working with Jenni Eddy must have a gift among gifts.

Oh, yes. She's so gifted and a great singer. She just hasn't come into the public yet, but she's working on a number of things.

And Struggle Jennings, my grandson, recorded a great album with her called Spiritual Warfare, where Struggle is rapping. [Jenni] sings, and she wrote the songs, and then he raps. And it's interesting.

I don't know what she'll end up doing. Her voice is much more melodic than mine, and she sings beautifully with me. It would be worth working to her and Jenny Lynn Young accompany me, if and when I perform. It''s magnetic, the whole thing.

As a singer/songwriter myself, even something I wrote a year ago can feel alien to me today. Can you talk about reacquainting yourself with tunes from many years ago?

I understand that, but if you love a song to start with, you'll always love it. And so that's how it went with me.

"Maybe You Should Have Been Listening" was one of Waylon's favorites on my classic albums, and "With or Without You" was something I wrote a number of years back for a girlfriend of mine who went through being stood up by a well-known man right before their wedding.

Little Stevie Van Zandt loved that song: "With or without you/ I'll go on alone… And like Bob Dylan said, if it's not right, it must be wrong." I love that. And if people would remember that. "Angel in the Fire" I wrote some time ago. I love it every time I sing it, with Lisa Kristofferson in mind.

"Lost Love Song" was a song that I held in my pocket to inspire me. It is talking about the prison of love. I never have been able to find who wrote it. He may be living, he may not, because I had this years before Waylon went, which was 2002.

"Hard On Easy Street" was great fun. I did it on an album that I [do not] yet have the right to publish. Never came out. It's a great song. "I Wanna Be With You" is always an upper, and percussionists particularly love that song because it's such a rhythm.

"Standing on the Edge of Forever" was a new song I wrote in the last 10 years [about]a relationship that just won't come together, and that's what that's about. But it's also, as Lenny Kaye edged me on to say, This is it, either or. It's that time you come to and it's enough of whatever it is, get on or get off.

"Can't Nobody Do Me Like Jesus" — oh, that's one of the great songs of all time. James Cleveland wrote it, but I rewrote it. But I don't find to ever get any income from that.It's just a great song talking about how it is. If you're going to do right, you may be alone.

"Fine Wine", Jennifer wrote that with some accompaniment by Margo, and it's talking about early widowhood. And it was how it was maybe four years ago, even though that was a 16-year mark of loss for me, I had been alone for 16 years when I said I'm open for love.

And as things work out and good things happen, I met my current husband, a rancher, horseman from Wyoming, and took it a few years to kind of get to know each other, but we're having a good time.

With Edge of Forever out in the world, what are you looking forward to in the near future?

Right now, I'm looking forward to a documentary I've been working with [a production team] on for eight years. It's called They Called Us Outlaws. Eric Gaberman, partnering with the [Country Music] Hall of Fame did so much research on our time — and the sentinel turn of music in our generation — that I said yes.

[It's a] film coming with so much fact, and then he brings it into the present. Those that have a mindset more to try to do what they wrote and how they did it. And the "outlaws" was more or less a branding in a time that branding wasn't even known, and it stuck. So, it's been useful to a lot of new artists coming with new sounds.

*Jessi Colter. Photo: Chris Phelps*

You've lived through so many epochs in the music industry, When you look back on your decades in the industry — all the triumphs and losses — what do you think of?

Well, there have certainly been chances. Don Was ran into us at the Crazy Horse in Orange County. He showed up in the dark, and scared me because I didn't know who he was. While Waylon was doing the show, and he just talked a minute and said, "You know what, Jessi? The '70s were so much fun."

There was something about that that was the beginning of a lot, but it was the ending of something. It was a major turn with the University in Austin having been exposed to a lot of rock. So when Waylon and Willie came with their sound there, they reacted more like a rock group — Waylon did not cross boundaries in those days. You didn't do it. The companies wouldn't allow it.

So, it was an amazing procedure that took place and we were so glad to be part of it. Since then, it's kind of rolled with the punches, and Americana has gotten its feet.

And Shooter has been miraculous in some of the things that he's yielded already. But Waylon and he both don't go for prizes. They do help you, but you have to have that creative want to.

When he was 16, he didn't want a car; he wanted Pro Tools. So, he started early on his path and is doing great. He was a little before his time in performance and then working through being the son of Waylon Jennings, he worked through that and did great.

He loved his father dearly, and he now is a great spokesman for his father, which I love. But all in all, we'll just have to wait and see what's going to happen around the corner.

On You're The One, Rhiannon Giddens' Craft Finds A Natural Outgrowth: Songwriting

Updated Friday Oct. 13, 2023 to include info about Kendrick Lamar's most recent GRAMMY wins, as of the 2023 GRAMMYs.

A GRAMMY veteran these days, Kendrick Lamar has won 17 GRAMMYs and has received 47 GRAMMY nominations overall. A sizable chunk of his trophies came from the 58th annual GRAMMY Awards in 2016, when he walked away with five — including his first-ever win in the Best Rap Album category.

This installment of GRAMMY Rewind turns back the clock to 2016, revisiting Lamar's acceptance speech upon winning Best Rap Album for To Pimp A Butterfly. Though Lamar was alone on stage, he made it clear that he wouldn't be at the top of his game without the help of a broad support system. 

"First off, all glory to God, that's for sure," he said, kicking off a speech that went on to thank his parents, who he described as his "those who gave me the responsibility of knowing, of accepting the good with the bad."

Looking for more GRAMMYs news? The 2024 GRAMMY nominations are here!

He also extended his love and gratitude to his fiancée, Whitney Alford, and shouted out his Top Dawg Entertainment labelmates. Lamar specifically praised Top Dawg's CEO, Anthony Tiffith, for finding and developing raw talent that might not otherwise get the chance to pursue their musical dreams.

"We'd never forget that: Taking these kids out of the projects, out of Compton, and putting them right here on this stage, to be the best that they can be," Lamar — a Compton native himself — continued, leading into an impassioned conclusion spotlighting some of the cornerstone rap albums that came before To Pimp a Butterfly.

"Hip-hop. Ice Cube. This is for hip-hop," he said. "This is for Snoop Dogg, Doggystyle. This is for Illmatic, this is for Nas. We will live forever. Believe that."

To Pimp a Butterfly singles "Alright" and "These Walls" earned Lamar three more GRAMMYs that night, the former winning Best Rap Performance and Best Rap Song and the latter taking Best Rap/Sung Collaboration (the song features Bilal, Anna Wise and Thundercat). He also won Best Music Video for the remix of Taylor Swift's "Bad Blood." 

Lamar has since won Best Rap Album two more times, taking home the golden gramophone in 2018 for his blockbuster LP DAMN., and in 2023 for his bold fifth album, Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers.

Watch Lamar's full acceptance speech above, and check back at GRAMMY.com every Friday for more GRAMMY Rewind episodes. 

10 Essential Facts To Know About GRAMMY-Winning Rapper J. Cole