For 3 minutes and 14 seconds of Boys Like Girls' recent set at New York City's Hammerstein Ballroom, Martin Johnson asked just one thing of the sold-out crowd: put your phones away.

"Let's do it like it's 2007," the frontman said before the band went into their biggest hit, "The Great Escape." 

Just before that, Johnson had requested exactly the opposite: take your phones out and capture the pop-punk anthem on film. But after the first chorus, phones were pocketed, and the energy in the room shifted to pre-smartphone, pure, and carefree teenage nostalgia. 

That's the kind of magic Johnson and his BLG bandmates — original drummer John Keefe, and new recruits (but old friends) guitarist Jamel Hawke and bassist Gregory James — have been feeling on their latest tour, which wraps on Nov. 1 in Raleigh, North Carolina. It's both a celebration of the band's beloved classics and their new album, SUNDAY AT FOXWOODS, their first in 11 years.

As Johnson proudly declared to the NYC crowd on Oct. 27, one week after the album's release, "In case you haven't noticed, we are back and we're better than f—ing ever."

In the time that the band spent apart, Johnson expanded his repertoire songwriter and producer for the likes of Avril Lavigne and Kygo; in 2017, he started a solo venture under the moniker The Night Game. Boys Like Girls was always in the back of his mind, but there was a lot of personal healing to do in order for the band to come back in full force. And after a 12-show reunion in 2016, it felt like maybe Boys Like Girls would never return.

"We sobbed in each other's arms after the [last] show — I don't know why we felt that way, but we all kind of knew that would be our last show ever," Johnson recalls. "That felt a little more like a celebratory victory lap with my best friends than it felt like reopening a chapter."

Yet, BLG still found its way into the music he was making — and once he had a song called "BLOOD AND SUGAR," he knew it was time to try again. Johnson had clearly never fully lost sight of the band's sound, though; SUNDAY AT FOXWOODS carries the same spirit as Boys Like Girls' older material, leaning more into anthemic '80s pop production and their signature guitar-driven, roaring melodies.

Below, Johnson details the healing journey that helped the new-and-improved iteration of Boys Like Girls come to life — and why it's just the beginning of their return.

This interview has been edited for clarity. As told to Taylor Weatherby.

You emotionally kind of go through this roller coaster, being on the radio at 20 and peaking, by cultural standards, at 23. And then you're trying to reassume your place in society at 24 as a normal human being, and you have to drop the narcissism and ego that are required to be that type of an artist. What happens is you bury the good things with the bad, and you almost become a completely different person. 

At that point, at 24, I also got sober. It was a bit of the death of a persona of introducing myself as Martin from Boys Like Girls instead of Martin Johnson. And kind of like, Who am I? Because I only know myself in the context of the music I make, and that's not going to make me a happy man long term. 

So then 12 years later, you look at your new music, and you've buried your ability to make [the music you used to make], because you've suppressed this kid inside you. You're not ashamed of them at all — I was grateful that that kid brought me so much value and incredible experience and life experience as a man. 

A lot of it I don't even remember, because I was so young, or inebriated. But it was important to make peace with that kid, and let him into the room, before figuring out what this was. And looking my 18 to 23-year-old self in the eyeballs and saying "I love you, I accept you, I'm not embarrassed of you, and thank you for everything that you did for me as a man." 

Then there's this "emo night" culture, where you go into a club and they play all the songs from 2002 to 2008, and everybody screams along really loud wearing all black and T-shirts that say "Sad as f—." And you're in the epicenter of that, but it feels like another life — it doesn't feel like you. Like, you're standing there in your mid 30s, [and it's] literally like I'm a museum exhibit behind glass. So also finding love for what culture has made out of who I was as a kid was [another] vital component of making this record.

For 12 years, I wasn't really emotionally available to watch old videos of myself. I was, like, on drugs, so watching myself perform in 2009 really hurts my heart. So I went back and I watched everything I could on YouTube, I listened to every single demo that [we] had never put out — and there are hundreds — I listened to every voice memo that I had from 2004 to 2010, I went through my entire video/photo library, all my camcorder tapes. 

And what a gift to experience that deep into my 30s, when I had made peace with myself as a human, and learned to love myself but hadn't yet loved my past or felt grateful for my past. There was always this, like, eerie disconnect around the age of 24, and this sort of line in the sand where like a new life began. That line doesn't exist for me anymore — and that was a huge part of creating SUNDAY AT FOXWOODS.

I think it's also vitally important to have no rules. The thing that kept me from being willing to step into the ring to make a Boys Like Girls record for so long is [that] I felt there were rules. We made that first record with two guitars, a bass, drums, and a little bit of synthetic programming. When you do that, you do it with as much intensity and bravado as you possibly can, because you don't know anything else. Then you're in your mid-30s, and your toolkit has expanded so much, from writing music for other people and from time on the globe, and from failing, you know what I mean? 

For me, that created this beautiful freedom, where I was able to feel free to use that skill set, but also infuse the things that I had learned in my 20s/30s. Which was super liberating, because it felt like a second chance at creating music that changed my life.

[Last year], I bicycled across the U.S. It was 4,400 miles, it took me 70 days. I did it with one other guy, carrying all this stuff, camping and [staying in] some hotel rooms. I think the purpose for that was, I was looking at my life — and I deeply love my life, but I'm always looking for more. I'm always looking for what's next, I'm always looking for fulfillment, and I'm looking for what's my next creative endeavor — what is going to be the thing that makes me feel free and wild.

For a while, music had actually made me feel a little bit confined. And it's hard to even explain that, but I think a lot of it is to do with the direction the music industry has taken, where everything is dictated by metrics. So the fatigue that's involved with that had created a little bit of a block for me, and I had thought about stepping back on stage to segway out of that block, but I didn't know if that was the answer. 

I'm in a super happy marriage, [and I was] super excited that she was gonna let me go on the bike. We weren't sure if we were ready to have a kid yet. I got out on the bike, and within two weeks, the world got really quiet and two things became extremely clear.

Number one, I am supposed to sing. It was the thing I was supposed to do since I was a kid. It became really clear to me that in order to express myself and not feel locked in a box, what I needed to do was make my own music with no rules. 

And then also, I was like, I'm ready to be a dad, and I'm ready for what that looks like and I'm ready for that responsibility. It's so funny, because when I was a kid, being a dad felt like not freedom at all. We actually named our daughter Freedom.

I don't know that I'm never gonna write for somebody else again. This chapter for me is about my creative outlet and performance in the context of Boys Like Girls — what that means to my childhood self, what that means to my current self, what that means to me as a father and a man.

We booked a little bit of a trial-and-error tour last year — a soft, like, "Should we do this?" We went to Southeast Asia and Australia, and we played When We Were Young Festival and a couple of headlining sets here. The mutual energy exchange that we were experiencing from the crowd wasn't really something we had felt since maybe 2009. And that's really contagious to feel that — when you look out at the crowd and you're delivering escape and joy and euphoria, you receive it back.

It made sense to feel like, "Guys, let's play some songs here. This was a big part of who we are — why just totally kick it under the rug? It's been a long time. Let's go jam." And then it took on a really big, deeper meaning for us getting it in front of people. It was like, "Let's take a real crack at this. We'd been doing completely other s— for 12 years. Let's put it all on ice and let's do Boys Like Girls again."

It was the most liberating thing any of us have ever [done], and the biggest commitment we've made to ourselves as musicians since 2005 when we signed a record deal.

We played our first show since 2016 in Australia. We were in Perth. I stepped on stage with my best friends, and all of a sudden, this completely full club, sold out, is screaming these songs I wrote at 18. Sometimes you don't choose your path, it chooses you, and it became really clear to me that I had a job to do and this was it. At first, that came with a little bit of guilt that I hadn't done it sooner. Like, How did I neglect this for so long?

But I allowed that to just be the story of Boys Like Girls, and that's because our fans have grown up with us. I look out and I see it. I'm just like, Wow, we grew up together, dude. That was a journey together. And here we are, man. We made it, that's crazy. And it feels like that on this tour. 

I feel completely cut loose. I think you can hear that in the music, I think people can feel that in the performances, and playing the older songs has never felt better. I'm really enjoying doing this, and I feel like as soon as I get off the road, I want to make more Boys Like Girls music.

We're closer than we've ever been by a massive long shot. And that's a huge gift, but it came through a lot of work, finding what this looked like in 2023 — really asking ourselves the hard questions.

Obviously Boys Like Girls is not in its original form, but it's pretty much as original as it possibly could be considering the circumstances. Jamel was in the band in 2009 through '11 — he was our auxiliary guitar player. What's funny about Jamel was, we actually asked him to join the band in 2004 and he said no. [Laughs.]

Greg had been around the band and best friends with us for 15 years. He used to live with Paul [DiGiovanni, BLG's original guitarist] when the band was kind of peaking, played bass with us on stage a couple of times in between 2007 and 2009, and opened for us acoustic a few times on the OP Tour with Cobra Starship. He had sort of been a huge part of our story the whole way.

Morgan [Dorr, former bassist] and Bryan [Donohue, original bassist] and Paul, we love those three so, so deeply. I think we're on stage with the exact people that we're supposed to be on stage with right now. The guys are really assuming the character well and owning the music in a way that I'm so proud of. They've been there the whole time, so the context and the cultural significance is so clear. It's not just playing a four-chord part — it's playing a movement, it's playing a cultural moment, it's going back in time with us.

We're lining up stuff for next summer. This tour feels natural and amazing. My family and my wife are so supportive about the journey. My relationship with my bandmates is the best it's ever been in our entire career of 20 years. I feel healthy, happy and supercharged. And I'm ready to make the best music of my career.

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Since Mike Piacentini’s switch from computer science to audio engineering in college, his family has been his biggest champions. So, when he received his nomination for Best Immersive Album for Madison Beer's pop album Silence Between Songs, at the 2024 GRAMMYs, it was a no-brainer to invite his parents and wife.

“He’s always been into music. He had his own band, so [the shift] wasn’t surprising at all,” Piacentini’s mother says in the newest episode of Family Matters. “He’s very talented. I knew one day he would be here. It’s great to see it actually happen.”

In homage to his parents’ support, Piacentini offered to let his father write a short but simple acceptance in case he won: “Thank you, Mom and Dad,” he jokes.

Alongside his blood relatives, Piacentini also had support from his colleague Sean Brennan. "It's a tremendous honor, especially to be here with [Piacentini]. We work day in and day out in the studio," Brennan explains. "He's someone who's always there."

Press play on the video above to learn more about Mike Piacentini's support system, and remember to check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of Family Matters.

How Madison Beer Broke Free From Pressures Of Internet Fame & Created Her New Album 'Silence Between Songs'

It's fair to say that the 1980s hadn't been particularly kind to country legend Johnny Cash. Once considered the Don of the Nashville scene, the singer/songwriter suddenly found himself dropped by Columbia Records, recording terrible parody songs (remember "The Chicken in Black"?), and addicted to painkillers after a bizarre accident in which he was kicked by an ostrich.

But as the new decade approached, Cash's reputation gradually started to recover. A 1988 tribute album, 'Til Things Are Brighter, alerted a much younger indie generation of his catalog of classics. He was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1992. And then arguably the biggest band in the world at the time, U2, invited him to take lead vocals on Zooropa's post-apocalyptic closer "The Wanderer." The scene was set for a triumphant comeback, and on 1994's American Recordings, the Man in Black duly obliged.

The Rick Rubin-produced album was far from a one-off. Cash delivered three American follow-ups in his lifetime (1996's Unchained, 2000's Solitary Man, and 2002's The Man Comes Around). And two posthumous volumes (2006's A Hundred Highways, 2010's Ain't No Grave)  further bridged the gap between his statuses as country outlaw and elder statesman — and helped further his legacy as one of country's all-time greats.

As the first American Recordings installment celebrates its 30th anniversary, here's a look at how the series deservedly rejuvenated the career of an American recording legend.

It United Him With A New Muse 

Best known for his pioneering work with Run-D.M.C., Beastie Boys, and Public Enemy, Rick Rubin seemed an unusual fit for a sixty-something country singer whose glory days were considered decades behind him. But left spellbound by Cash's performance at a Bob Dylan anniversary gig in 1992, the superproducer offered to make the Nashville legend a superstar once more.

Cash took some persuading, but eventually agreed to join forces on the assurance he'd be in the creative driving seat, and a new unlikely dream team was born. Rubin lent his talents to all six volumes of American Recordings — co-producing the middle two with Cash's son John Carter Cash – and won the first GRAMMY of his career for his efforts. The Def Jam co-founder would also later work his magic with several other '60s heroes including Neil Diamond, Yusuf and Neil Young.

It Saw Cash Lean Into Contemporary Music More Than Ever

Cash had never been averse to tackling contemporary material. He covered Bruce Springsteen's "Highway Patrolman" in 1983, just a year after it appeared on The Boss' Nebraska. But the American Recordings series saw the Man in Black embrace the sounds du jour like never before, whether the grunge of Soundgarden's "Rusty Cage," electro-blues of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus," or most famously, industrial rock of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt."

On paper, this could have been nothing short of a disaster, the sign of an aging artist desperately latching onto a much younger musical generation in a transparent bid for relevancy. But instead, Cash elevates the Gen X classics into modern hymns, his sonorous voice injecting a sense of gravitas and Rubin's production stripping things back to their bare but compelling essentials. Far from an embarrassing grandad act, this was the sound of a man respectfully making the source material his own.

It Returned Cash To The Charts 

Cash had reached the lower end of the Billboard 200 in the '80s as part of supergroups The Highwaymen and Class of '55. But you had to go all the way back to 1976's One Piece at a Time to find his last entry as a solo artist. The American Recordings series, however, slowly but surely restored the Man in Black to his former chart glories.

Indeed, while its first two volumes charted at numbers 110 and 170 respectively, the third peaked at a slightly more impressive 88 and the fourth at 22, his highest position since 1970's Hello, I'm Johnny Cash. The posthumous fifth entry, meanwhile, went all the way to No. 1, remarkably the first time ever the country legend had achieved such a feat with a studio effort (live album At San Quentin had previously topped the charts in 1971).

"Hurt" also became Cash's first solo US country hit in 14 years in 2003. And while it only landed at No. 56 on Billboard's Hot Country Songs chart, it remains Cash's most-streamed song to date with over 600 million streams on Spotify alone.

It Included Masterful Collaborators 

As well as handing over the producer reins to Rubin, Cash also surrounded himself with some of the rock world's finest musicians. Tom Petty, Red Hot Chili Peppers' Flea, and Fleetwood Mac's Lindsey Buckingham and Mick Fleetwood all lent their considerable talents to Unchained. Sheryl Crow and Will Oldham did the same on Solitary Man, while Nick Cave, Fiona Apple and Don Henley joined him in the studio on The Man Comes Around.

But Cash also kept things more traditional by recruiting fellow country legend Merle Haggard, 'fifth Beatle'Billy Preston, and "Ballad of a Teenage Queen" songwriter Jack Clement, while the presence of wifeJune Carter Cash and son John made the third American Recordings something of a family affair.

It Went Back To Basics 

While American Recordings was, in many respects, Cash's most forward-thinking album, it wasn't afraid to keep one foot in the past, either. For one, the star recorded most of its first volume in his Tennessee cabin armed with only a guitar, a throwback to his 1950s beginnings with first producer Sam Phillips.

Cash also trawled through his own back catalog for inspiration, re-recording several tracks he believed had unfairly gone under the radar including 1955 single "Mean Eyed Cat," murder ballad "Delia's Gone" from 1962's The Sound of Johnny Cash, and "I'm Leaving Now" from 1985's Rainbow.

It Proved He Was Still A Masterful Songwriter…

Although Cash's unlikely covers grabbed most of the attention, the American Recordings series showed that his stellar songwriting skills remained intact throughout his later years, too. "Meet Me in Heaven," for example, is a beautifully poignant tribute to the older brother who died at just 15, while the folksy "Let the Train Blow the Whistle" added to Cash's arsenal of railroad anthems.

"Drive On," meanwhile, is worthy of gracing any Best Of compilation, a powerful lament to those who came back from the Vietnam War with both emotional and physical scars ("And even now, every time I dream/ I hear the men and the monkeys in the jungle scream").

…And Still A Master Interpreter 

As well as putting new spins on his own songs and various contemporary rock favorites, Cash further displayed both his interpretive and curatorial skills by covering a variety of spirituals, standards and pop hits first released during his commercial heyday.

The likes of early 19th century gospel "Wayfaring Stranger," wartime favorite "We'll Meet Again," and Simon and Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water" may have been firmly in Cash's wheelhouse. But more leftfield choices such as Loudon Wainwright III's offbeat morality tale "The Man Who Couldn't Cry" proved that even when outside his comfort zone, he could stamp his own identity with aplomb.

It Made Him An Unlikely MTV Star 

Cash was 62 years old when American Recordings hit the shelves — not exactly a prime age for MTV play. Yet thanks to some inspired creative decisions, the career-reviving series spawned two videos that received regular rotation on the network. Firstly, "Delia's Gone" caught attention for two major reasons: it was directed by Anton Corbijn, the man renowned for his long-running creative partnership with Depeche Mode, and it starred Kate Moss, the world's biggest supermodel at the time, as the titular victim.  

Then nine years later, Cash picked up six nominations — winning Best Cinematography — at the MTV Video Music Awards thanks to Mark Romanek's emotionally devastating treatment for "Hurt." Interspersing clips of the clearly fragile country singer at the rundown Museum of Cash with footage from his earlier days and artistic shots of decaying fruits and flowers, the promo perfectly embodied the transient nature of life. And it had the capacity to reduce even the hardest of hearts to tears.

It Added To His GRAMMY Haul 

Cash won almost as many GRAMMYs with his American Recordings series as he had during the previous 40 years of his career. The Man in Black first added to his trophy collection in 1995 when the first volume won Best Contemporary Folk Album. This was the first time he'd been recognized at the ceremony for his musical talents since the June Carter Cash duet "If I Were A Carpenter" won Best Country Performance for a Duo or Group with Vocal back in 1971  

Three years later, Unchained was crowned Best Country Album. And after picking up a Lifetime Achievement Award in 1999, Cash won 2001's Best Male Country Vocal Performance for "Solitary Man," then again in the same Category for "Give My Love to Rose"in 2003. He posthumously won two more GRAMMYs for Best Short Form Video, in 2004 for "Hurt" and in 2008 for "God's Gonna Cut You Down." In total, the American Recordings series won Cash six more GRAMMYs, bringing his overall count to 13. 

It Was A Powerful Epitaph

In 1997, Cash was told he'd just 18 months to live after being misdiagnosed with neurodegenerative condition Shy-Drager syndrome (later changed to autonomic neuropathy). He ended up outliving this prognosis by a good four years, but during this period, he lost the love of his life and was forced to record his swansong in-between lengthy stints in the hospital.  

Little wonder, therefore, that the American Recordings series is defined by the theme of mortality: see "The Man Comes Around," a biblical ode to the Grim Reaper ("And I looked, and behold a pale horse/ And his name that sat on him was death, and hell followed with him"), Death Row anthem "The Mercy Seat," and funeral favorite "Danny Boy." As with David Bowie's Blackstar, Cash was able to reflect on his impermanence in his own terms in a sobering, yet compelling manner that continues to resonate decades on. 

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Jon Batiste walked into the 2022 GRAMMYs with a whopping 11 nominations, making him the most recognized artist of the evening. By the end of the night, he received five GRAMMYs for Best American Roots Performance, Best American Roots Song, Best Score Soundtrack For Visual Media, Best Music Video, and the highly coveted Album Of The Year.

In this episode of GRAMMY Rewind, watch Batiste take the stage to accept the award for Album Of The Year for his sixth studio album, We Are

Batiste began his praises by acknowledging God: "I just put my head down and work on the craft every day. I love music, he said. "I've been playing since I was a little boy. It's more than entertainment for me — it's a spiritual practice." He also thanked the "many people that went into making this album," including his grandfather, nephew, father, and executive producer, Ryan Lynn.

"This [award] is for real artists, real musicians. Let's just keep going. Be you! That's it. I love you even if I don't know you," Batiste cheered.

Press play on the video above to hear Jon Batiste's complete acceptance speech and check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of GRAMMY Rewind.

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When Wyatt Flores released his second EP, Half Life, on April 19, he ended his celebratory Instagram post with one simple wish: "I hope these songs make you feel something."

That's been Flores' mantra since the rising country singer first began releasing music just three years ago. Hailed as one of the genre's most honest new stars, Flores speaks his truth in his red dirt music, on stage, and on social media. As Half Life showcases, he's unafraid to broach life's toughest topics, from suicidal thoughts on "Devil" to a complicated relationship with religion on "I Believe In God."

"I like to keep it very based on what I felt, and just try and go for that emotion," Flores says of his music. "If you can somehow captivate [listeners] in the story and make them feel the emotion through the song, then you've done your job. I guess that's all I'm after."

His unabashed vulnerability has made his music resonate widely — and fast. In 2023, Flores went from playing for hundreds to thousands in a matter of months, garnering more than 325 million global streams and more than 13 million TikTok likes along the way. He consistently uses his rapidly growing platform to champion self-care and mental health, even taking a brief tour hiatus in February to get himself back on track.

Two months later, Flores assures that he's feeling rejuvenated and healthier than ever, sparking some happier tunes that even caught him by surprise (more on that later). He'll spend the summer playing a mix of headlining shows, festival stages and a few supporting slots for Mitski, first kicking things off with his debut at Stagecoach on April 26.

As Flores gears up for tour, he sat down with GRAMMY.com during some time off in his native Oklahoma to chat about his remarkable rise, the complexities of being so vulnerable, and how he feels like he's getting the "best of both worlds."

Do you remember the first show that you were like, "What is happening?"

Yeah, it was Asheville, North Carolina. It was either the last week of April last year or the first week of May, I can't quite remember. But that was my first ever sold-out headline show. I think the venue cap was like 550, and they were screaming so loud that I got off stage and I was like, "Did anyone feel like there was a trash can going off in their ear?" And then my bass player, Bill, was like, "No, that's the last time you'll hear that frequency." 

That was where everything changed. It kind of started making me realize how real this was getting. Then, everywhere we went, [it was a] sold-out crowd, and they're excited as all get out. I literally thought that I was living a dream. 

I played at, you know, the s—iest hole in the walls you could ever imagine. I just thought I was gonna be there forever. Honestly, I was still having fun doing that. But I just couldn't believe the dramatic change that happened.

At what point did it actually feel real?

It was probably when we played Dallas [in December of] last year. That was the biggest room that we'd ever played. I was like, 3,000 people bought tickets to show up to my show. And then I just kind of had to kind of process like what was actually going on. I kept questioning it for the longest time, but that night it was just different.

We had just played in Fort Worth, like, three months [before that], and that was 600 people. So when we played Dallas, that was when I just looked at the crowd and I was like, Okay, this is it.

That's interesting, because you had to cancel a stretch of shows not long after that. Was that kind of all correlating — taking it in, but being overwhelmed from all of it?

Yeah, because there's a lot of things that went on in my life that I never took the time to process, and that was one of the first things — being like, This is my life from now on. And I think that's what I liked about the Life Lessons project so much, was giving listeners an inside view on what it looks like to be on this side of the fence. Because everyone thinks that it's gotta be the most wild thing to be an artist, but I don't think they realize what comes with it. 

I'm still sitting here going, I shouldn't be on this interview with you. I don't deserve it. Like, I don't have the cool style, I show up in sweatshirts and s—ty Adidas shoes. I don't put myself on a pedestal.

I've never wanted to become something I'm not, and that's kind of been the hard point. Because, you know, you got folks from the hometown [saying], "Don't forget who you are!" And then all of a sudden you get lost in all of it. And then you're sitting there going, Do I even know who I am? 

Making some healthier changes kind of opened up some other wounds that I bottled up. I never processed my grandpa's death, and at the same time that that was all going down, I was also firing management — which, they say in Nashville, the manager should be the one person that you do trust. 

I took one week off so I could come back for [my grandpa's] funeral, and had to delay some shows there. And then I was homeless for two weeks from another situation. But I was like, Nope, I'm just gonna work my ass off. I'm just gonna show up, do what I need to do. And I never took the time to actually look at anything that had happened. And that's kind of where the falloff went, because I was just trying to survive the chaos.

I'm sure it's hard being in the spotlight period while  going through so much  at the same time.

For a while, there were certain things that I did not like about myself. [I felt like I was] changing personalities. I know most people can't see it, but that was something that I was struggling with. Everyone was seeing how happy I was through social media — because I'm not afraid to post the silly s— that goes down on the road; me being a jackass in the van or something like that — but then people expected that from me. 

I had to fully come to terms with, wherever I am in my heart, that's who I am right there in that moment. I don't have to portray this image that people see just because we post it on social media.

I also think it's amazing to have the platform you do and be so honest about how you're feeling. Because it's probably healing for you, but also going to be healing for the people who see it — even if it's challenging and really personal to admit.

I put down my phone for a really long time, which was one of the best things ever. [Laughs.] I came back and I went through my DMs. People were like, "Thank you for saying something because I finally had the encouragement to say something to my wife" or something else. I'm glad that it gave people the encouragement to speak up, because if I don't, then how will they? 

I look at my fans, and I'm blessed. There's no better fan base, they're the sweetest people ever. They are diehard fans, but they talk to me like I'm their friend, like they've known me forever. For them to trust someone enough to say something [about] how they feel or what's going on in their lives, that means the absolute world to me.

Clearly that means that what you bring to the table is what your fans are also going to bring to the table for you.

One of the things that I've been trying to work through, is realizing that I can listen to their problems, but I can't take their problems with me. And that was something that I had to learn. I was like, I can't do that to myself, or I'm gonna plummet.

There was a time when we were in Colorado, and someone had sent me these messages [about this girl], and I ended up looking [her] up. She was an eighth grade girl, and the last video she had posted on TikTok was of "Please Don't Go." She'd committed suicide a month after she had posted that. Her mom was trying to raise attention towards bullying and things like that. 

It was hard for us. But we had to look at it through a new perspective. And it's like, we can't change someone's decision, as badly as you want to. And we try and look at it from this perspective of, How long did that song keep them here? Time is valuable, and even if it was for another month, at least it kept them here just a little bit longer, kept them through the fight. Even though you don't always win.

We're not just out here playing music. I still love the party songs. "West of Tulsa" is always fun to look out in the crowd, and they're having a great time. But we're not just playing music because we're here to distract people from their problems. We're lucky enough that we do get to save lives, and we get to do it through music. But it's also one of those things where I'm sitting there going, I'm a 22-year-old kid from Oklahoma, and I have this power. Am I going to use it correctly?

Now that you know that your music is so powerful to so many people, has it changed the way that you approach your songwriting?

A little bit. You know, the songs that I write are songs that I feel. I'm ADHD as all get out, so when I show up to write, it's whatever I'm feeling that day. But yeah, there's a little bit in the back of my head that says, Watch out for something like this, you don't want to say the wrong message here. 

I want to write these songs that are sad, that are very dark, and lost is kind of the feeling. Because I want people to see that I've gone through it, so that way, they can get a better understanding that they're not the only one. 

My inspiration was to be the artist that had those songs that kind of pulled me through my stuff. There's all sorts of jokes and like memes about when the song doesn't hit you hard enough the first time so you play it again, or, like, when you're sitting in a vehicle after you've already gotten home but you sit there until the song ends. That was always kind of a goal for me. I was like, I want to be that song that kind of helps them get through the next day. 

That's the way I kind of look at it when I play these shows. And I sit back and I look at the crowd, and I'm like, I get to be a part of y'all's lives every single day, and that is the coolest thing that I've ever done.

It's funny, there's always that interview question like, "What are your goals?" but it sounds like you've already accomplished the main one. 

Oh, absolutely. I've been having to find new goals because I've lived my dream. Like, if I died tomorrow, I'd hang my hat proudly. I've helped people, I've played all the venues — well, I guess I haven't played Red Rocks yet. That's coming up, though.

I'm still thinking, because it's just now finally hit me that, like, You've kind of done the damn thing. So it's like, What do you want to do now? I have all these wild ideas. I usually throw out some out of pocket s— and then I let someone else come up with if it's gonna work or not. My business manager hates me. [Laughs.]

Were you raised to be so connected with your feelings, or was it just kind of an innate thing for you?

I think I always felt out of place wherever I was. I was always kind of the weird kid. My friends hated me because I started talking about sappy s—. I'd want to have deep, meaningful conversations and sometimes they'd be like, "Would you just shut up?" [Laughs.]

But what I realized is that I'm very big on connection. At some point, not fitting in and being different kind of all changed for me. I was like, I can't change it, so I might as well be it.

Have you ever questioned how honest you're being in your music? 

For the most part, I don't try and hold back. In some ways, it is scary, but in other ways, it's kind of just telling your truth so people don't get shocked by something that you do.

For the first time, I'm writing happier songs. And I'm skeptical to see how people take that. I mean, I've had Life Lessons and stuff like that, but yeah, this is definitely a weird time in my life where I'm like, I'm writing happy songs, and I don't even know how to feel about it. Now, I'm like, How do I share happiness? How do I contain that idea, and that emotion, and put it into a song so it comes out to the listener and they feel it?

You're allowed to be happy! And with everything that's been happening for you lately, I'm not surprised you're happy.

[Fans] always say "We made the right person famous." It's been two short years of really doing this thing. And we're blessed.

I freakin' love playing live, I just had other things going on in the background that I never took time [to process]. For a while, I wanted to blame a lot of things that wasn't it. And then, I went to Onsite [Workshops, a therapy, counseling and wellness retreat center in Tennessee] for like a week and got my head back to normal. 

Playing live is what makes it all worth it. I knew that I was going to have to work for this, and I'm getting to see the fruits of my labor. I'm finally getting some time off. I'm getting to actually spend some quality time, but I at least now know how to have quality time in the healthiest way. Because for a while, I couldn't shut the other brain off. I'd come home and I was still somewhere else. 

I can't believe that I get the best of both worlds. That usually doesn't happen where you get your cake and eat it too. S—, I might go fishing later! I get to be on the road, play to thousands of people, and then I get to go fishing? I think the only thing that's missing is I don't have a boat. Man, I just might have to weld me one.  

Meet Charles Wesley Godwin, The Rising Country Singer Who's Turning "A Very Human Story" Into Stardom