Blake Mills has been a first-call guitarist, producer and songwriter for more than a decade — everyone from John Legend to Bob Dylan to Norah Jones has sought him out. Accordingly, it can sometimes feel like he's cracked the code for good.

"For somebody like me, who deals in music every day, sometimes it can feel like it loses its mystery and its luster," he tells GRAMMY.com over Zoom, the day his latest album, Jelly Road, was released.

But his whirlwind last few years have kicked up the magic anew — specifically, his performances with Joni Mitchell. After being sidelined by a brain aneurysm, the titanic singer/songwriter has miraculously returned to the stage, which Mills calls "pretty astounding."

"On a human level, that's pretty astounding," Mills says. Because a study in Mitchell's return is a study in life, music and consciousness — watching her neurons establish new pathways, and her singular musical language flow through her fingers once again.

Jelly Road is charged with this sense of mystery and awe. Throughout, its melodies come at you from consistently unexpected places; its production is commensurately comforting and alien.

The songs themselves feel unearthly, gravity-defying, logic-breaking: what is the Jelly Road, and why does it weigh heavily in the narrator's memory? Who's the eccentric character in "A Fez," pondering a rainbow of the titular headgear? Knowing's not the point; knowing would break the spell.

Even as Mills recalls his unforgettable experiences with Mitchell — as well as working with Bob Dylan on Rough and Rowdy Ways, and working on the soundtrack to "Daisy Jones and the Six" — it's easy to sense that the deeper he spelunks into music, the more mysterious it gets.

"There is something macro going on with what we do, and we don't even know how powerful it is and how powerful it can be for people," Mills recalls thinking, in the context of Mitchell. "It's a good reminder."

Read on for an in-depth interview with Mills about walking the Jelly Road, the indispensable contributions of collaborator Chris Weisman and his detour into music for TV.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

**How would you summarize the arc of your life and career since your last solo album, Mutable Set?**

If I had the world's largest bingo card, I never would've imagined putting some of the things that have happened on it.

I can't remember if, when we spoke last, the Rough and Rowdy Ways sessions had happened yet? And then, more recently, getting to work with Joni Mitchell, and working on the "Daisy Jones" TV show and meeting Chris [Weisman] and developing that relationship.

It's weird to encapsulate two or three years with the effect that the pandemic has had on time and even my memory. I struggle a little bit to create a story through it all, but I'm definitely really grateful that I had the television show to work on for so long. 

That might sound like a backhanded compliment or statement, because it was a really long time and a lot of work, but it was during a period where a lot of my colleagues were searching fervently for something to work on. Things were scary and slowed down.

That leads us to here, and the record that just came out today, and the shows that I've been doing over the last month. It's just been one of the most fruitful collaborative relationships I've probably had in my life, in my career.

Jelly Road **feels like a tilt from Mutable Set. What was the germ of the concept behind it?**

I like that you mentioned that it is a deviation from Mutable Set. I think from [2021's Pino Palladino co-led album] Notes With Attachments as well; there's a language that's starting to form over those two records in particular.

But beyond that, I don't necessarily make records with a lot of a mission statement. Other than having songs written, you're kind of going out on the lake with a fishing pole. You know there's fish there. You don't know how long it's going to take for you to catch one. You might have a day where for some reason you don't catch anything. That's what it's like to go into the studio when I'm making most things. Certainly solo records.

I think at a certain point, we just start to look at what we've gathered, and understand what the record is — what the personality of the record is. And that could be pretty deep into the process.

Did the language of the Bob sessions or tunes seep in there?

I think one of the things that I learned from working on that record was, I got to observe how it seems to me like he envisions the singer in the song. It's almost like an actor. The qualities of the music, and everything going on, are aspects of a scene.

That really changed, or added a perspective for me in the studio. When I'm producing myself or somebody else, to look at it through that angle. Instead of just as the singer, or writer, of the song, to look at it like it's a performance on camera.

Then, you have to form your own opinions about what's most effective.

Regarding Jelly Road: I've always been drawn to your tunes as much, or more than, the stuff you get the most ink for — guitar, production. Do you try to write from a place of mystery? Obscurity? A cloudy place?

Well, before coffee, everything is coming from a cloudy place for me. As a writer, I feel like it's an ephemeral medium. My favorite stuff, it's pretty mysterious for me where it comes from. My least favorite stuff, it feels a little more mappable. Direct experiences that I've had in my life.

When I say "least favorite," it doesn't necessarily mean that I don't like the song, but the electrical charge that I get when I think about it. Or, if I'm playing it, it feels smaller.

A lot of the stuff on Jelly Road feels like it's written from a place just beyond my reach of total comprehension. Not to say I don't know what the songs are all about, but that what they're about has more to do with feelings than events sometimes.

It seems like you're playing with tropes, or formats, of what songs are. You ask, "What can make a song unsingable?" The last song is called "Without an Ending." In its specificity, "Press My Luck" feels like a wink; it feels like a big personal moment, but I question whether it is.

In "Press My Luck," there's a little bit of a slice-of-life perspective, where it might feel like a big jump to go from the day-to-day personal to something that's a little bit more universal.

But really, when you think about what day-to-day life is, it's inundated with information about the world. It comes at you in a moment where, just prior, you might be thinking about something happening in your own life, or your own head.

I think that jump is actually pretty familiar for people psychologically. It might stand out in a situation where you're listening to a song, or looking at a painting, or reading something, and really trying to understand something about the artist or the work.

Then, it might be like, Well, this is interesting. It makes this big leap here. But I think in everyday life, it's probably a pretty mundane thing for our brains to do.

That's a fairly meta conception. I know you worked on Randy Newman's Dark Matter. At the time, you said, "There's movie music, and then there's movie-music."

He's a master at the meta form now, and that record is a really good example of it.

I've never done anything that's even remotely close to that, but it's comfortable for me to dabble with one foot in something that's a little more mysterious to me and just write about it with a little bit of wonder. Then, maybe write things that I've got a little bit of a firmer grasp on — or I think I have a little firmer grasp on, only to be proven wrong about it years later.

I've got to play that song again, thinking, Oh, man. I was such an idiot when I was 24 and writing this song. I've been writing songs and putting them on records since I was 20 — 19, maybe, even. Or younger, if you count Simon Dawes.

The things that you aspire to stylistically at that age — if you're still aspiring to them when you're in your 30s, I don't know. I don't even want to go there, but it's definitely not where I am today. So, there's also that to deal with.

Hopefully, these songs, and everything I'm doing now, is a natural evolution from some things that I've done before.

Some tunes have a freewheeling quality, like you're digging through your bag of tricks in real time. Does that bely something else? Do you fussily labor in the studio? Or do you kind of charge ahead?

Chris Weisman noted something about being in [the studio with me], because it was his first time around me in an environment like that. He was surprised by how unceremonial a lot of aspects of recording are. Because he's a big fan of — in particular — Mutable Set and Notes With Attachments.

I think to his ear, the mental image of what's going on in those records is a lot of tweaking and precision. I guess in reality, there are some things — like vocals or guitar solos or stuff like that — that happen very quickly and without a lot of fuss.

Then, there's other things. I might be sitting at the computer for a long time. That could be something like the bass performance. Or what instrument will live on the bottom end, if it's not a bass.

I guess I will say: yes, I do tweak, but it's maybe not on the things that people might [think]. If they're making a hierarchy of what's important on an album, it might not be on the things at the top of that pyramid.

What did you learn from working on "Daisy Jones & the Six"? It seems like during the pandemic, when work was uncertain, that could have been a meditative outlet.

It was not a meditative experience. It was an intense amount of work. When all was said and done, I think it was 30 songs or something.

It's tricky. It's not my typical process, writing on assignment like that and creating a fictionalized version of a band that I would've listened to from the '70s, and working with the actors to try to get the vocal performances to come to life.

It was just all new, and it was intense. I think I knew from asking colleagues, "What's it like working in film, working in TV, on music? Everybody — even the people who have successful careers at it — get a little flash of death in their eyes. It's intense work.

I never felt like it was a place where I could go to turn off the trauma of what was going on in the world around it. But what I was referring to earlier was in many ways more from a creative standpoint — to have something to work on, to have a goal.

Yeah, I think that's what I meant. To have a goal.

Yeah, through that time. Also, an economic standpoint: the studio is so expensive to keep going to have something that utilizes the recording studio.

Because for all of those songs, I had to make pretty fleshed out demos. There's a lot of ears that are going on those songs to say yes or no: "We like this." Or maybe, "Take another crack at it."

Those ears are not used to listening to iPhone recordings of a voice and a guitar or a piano. They kind of need to hear the whole thing. So the gamble on each one — the dice roll on each one — was a pretty elaborate recording.

I think maybe to the thing you were illustrating, I did have a place to go in terms of my own studio. I did shut out a lot of the chaos outside when I was in there working on that stuff.

That sounds terrifying to me. Building this mansion of toothpicks knowing that somebody might knock it down once it's completed.

Yeah. All I could do at the end of the day — and what my job ultimately was — was to make something that pleases me. Try to represent myself and my tastes as something that the show could lean on.

I also want to say that to the credit of Amazon and [Reese Witherspoon-founded media company] Hello Sunshine, I think that the amount of freedom that I experienced creatively is unusual in that world. It did not turn into the thing that I was most afraid of, which was that I was essentially collaborating with a studio on music.

The studio was very deferential to its music team in terms of what is accurate and believable for that time — what is impressive. If we're trying to tell the story that this band was one of the biggest bands and best bands in their time and in their community, what does that mean? What can they do that's so special?

They really did go with us on that. They also did not flinch when I said, "OK, I'll take the gig, but I want to work with anybody in the world that I choose. And the first person I'm going to call is Chris Weisman." They were not afraid, and I think that is unusual.

I want to ask about working with Joni. Even today, I think we've only scratched the surface of her artistry and language; it's fathoms deep. What did you learn working with her?

I would say that my time so far has revealed something more interesting to me than the proximity to what she's been capable of as an artist. And that is actually witnessing somebody's recovery from something that frankly should have wiped them out.

She's somebody who has learned how to walk in her life one, two… I think three times. Let's see. Once when she was a baby. She had polio; she had to relearn how to walk. And then, she had this aneurysm and had to relearn how to walk and talk and sing and now play guitar.

It's these things that are returning to somebody in this time at this age [79]. She's regaining these abilities almost a decade after having an aneurysm. A lot of people, after a brain injury — if it doesn't come back in the first two years, I don't think it usually comes back.

So, on a human level, that's pretty astounding. And then, you tie in the stuff that you're referring to: her language that is unique.

If you just look at the guitar side of it — which is very fun for me, by the way, to be this close to — her right-hand technique on guitar is so unusual and unique and her own. And it's improvisatory. Every time she plays a song, she plays it in a different way.

There's no book to refer back to, to say, "Well, this is how you do Joni Mitchell." When she had her aneurysm and couldn't play, really, that language left the world. Even though she was still alive, a lot of the things that only she can do as a musician left the planet.

Somehow, we're all lucky enough to wake up and enjoy the reality that some of these things have returned to us, for who knows how long.

She is also — by her own words, it seems — at the happiest point in her life. A lot of the negativity of being a woman in the entertainment industry and everything else has been wiped away and has not returned.

I'm so grateful that the time in which my path has crossed hers has been at this moment in her life, because it's really incredible and inspiring. I realize how extremely lucky I am to get to be there for it.

Let's end it on Jelly Road. When you listen back, what moments, or Easter eggs, are you drawn to?

I'm in New York. Right before midnight last night, I took a walk to get a slice, but really what I was doing was listening to the record one more time before it came out. Just to have one last spin to myself. That was the first time I'd listened to it in a minute.

The perspective was a little fresher than it's been. I'm trying to think of moments that stood out. I really enjoy hearing Chris's Venova gestures on the song "Jelly Road."

The Venova is the thing that kind of sounds like a straight soprano saxophone on that song. It's this little plastic recorder that has a saxophone mouthpiece on it. It's molded to have some characteristics physically of a saxophone, so it's like a toy version of a straight sax.

Chris, during the pandemic, discovered this instrument and decided, "I'm going to be one of the probably 12 people in the world who have one of these and play it, but I'm going to try to be the best at it in the world."

It's like being a professional and riding a children's bicycle with training wheels on it or something. Being able to do ridiculous BMX tricks, and he did it.

I think he might be the best Venova-ist on the planet at the moment, but we're putting the instrument on the map and just going to sit back and watch prices skyrocket.

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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.

Watch: Jon Batiste Delivers A Heartfelt Performance Of “Ain’t No Sunshine” & “Lean On Me” | 2024 GRAMMYs Performance

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

After establishing herself as a global pop star, Brazilian singer Anitta is bringing the music of her country to the forefront. On the just-released Funk Generation, the Latin GRAMMY nominee puts a spotlight on funk carioca — Brazilian funk.

On the 15-track album, Anitta sings in Portuguese, Spanish, and English over funk carioca beats, which are Brazil’s aggressive and hyper spin on genres like hip-hop and Miami bass. As with her previous releases, Funk Generation has elements of EDM, reggaeton, and pop, but the rhythms also known as baile funk are the star. The album represents a new era for Anitta, which she first kicked off in June with "Funk Rave," a single and video that captures the spirit of Brazil's favelas where funk carioca was born. 

Anitta later introduced Brazil's melodic funk subgenre to her global audience with the dreamy "Mil Veces." Now Anitta is expanding her funky world by bringing artists like Sam Smith, Brray, and Bad Gyal into her funky world.

"I'm going to accomplish making a lot of artists and people like funk," Anitta tells GRAMMY.com, adding that she hopes listeners "start embracing this rhythm that's very good, that invites you to dance, and that has an energy that's very unique to Brazil."

Funk Generation follows Anitta's rise to international stardom. Following a decade of making her mark in Brazil and later Latin America, Anitta went fully international with her 2022 album Versions of Me and the viral hit "Envolver." The album helped Anitta garner a GRAMMY nomination for Best New Artist in 2023 and a Latin GRAMMY nomination for Record Of The Year. She later told GRAMMY.com that "dreamed" of putting out a Brazilian funk album.

Anitta has made that dream come true with Funk Generation. Here are five takeaways from her genre-bending album, including insight from the Brazilian superstar herself.   

Anitta Said Making A Funk Carioca Album Was A "Challenge"

In March 2023, Anitta revealed that she was trying to get out of her contract with Warner Music, alleging a lack of support from the label. After parting ways with Warner in April, she signed a new deal with Republic Records and Universal Latin shortly after. It seems that her new label home offered the support she was looking for: She released "Funk Rave" in June 2023. 

"This funk album has been a challenge for me because it's not a rhythm that people are doing out there," she says. "It's something that’s very new that I'm going to introduce to people so they like it, listen to it, and try to do it as well."

She Wants to Continue To Breaking The Divide Between Latin America & Brazil

While Brazil is a part of Latin America, there still exists a bit of a cultural divide with Spanish-speaking Latin American countries because of language differences. On Funk Generation, Anitta aims to bridge that gap by featuring Latin music acts who embrace her  Brazilian funk vibes. 

On the sultry "Double Team," she is joined by Puerto Rican singer and rapper Brray and Barcelona-based artist Bad Gyal, who performed with Anitta for the first time at awards ceremony Premio Lo Nuestro in February. They get into the groove in Spanish with no problem alongside Anitta.

"It's been many years since Brazil has gotten to this international level, that a lot of people are listening to Brazilian songs, and I know I've worked a lot for this to happen," Anitta says. "More Latin artists coming to Brazil, who are curious and interested in making a career there.

"It's been very important for me to create this cultural exchange because the Latino countries and Brazil are side-by-side, but it's like there's a big barrier between them because of language," she continues. "With music, we can break through."

Sam Smith Embraces Funk Carioca For The First Time 

It’s not only Latin music acts who are getting in on funk carioca with Anitta. British superstar Sam Smith joins Anitta for the freaky "Ahi," and Smith's soulful voice soars over the sleek Brazilian funk rhythms. The collaboration shows how determined Anitta is to push the music of her country into the mainstream with Smith being one of most prominent pop artists from the UK to embrace the genre. 

The song also marks an important moment for LGBTQIA+ representation with Anitta, who is bisexual, teaming up with the non-binary GRAMMY winner.

Funk Generation Spotlights Brazilian Talent 

Anitta shares her platform with more Brazilian acts in the alluring "Joga Pra Lua," an EDM-infused funk banger that invites the listener to a block party where they get lost in the music. 

Translated to "play for the moon," the track is produced by fellow Brazilian DENNIS (who recently scored a global hit with the remix of "Tá OK" featuring Kevin o Chris, Karol G, and Maluma). Anitta is also joined on the track by Brazilian hitmaker Pedro Sampaio, who sings in Portuguese.

Anitta Is Looking Toward The Future Of Funk Carioca

Despite the few features, Funk Generation is an album where Anitta largely shines solo. She not only puts a spotlight on the Brazilian genre with this LP, but pushes it to new places. One of the standouts is the frenetic "Grip" where Anitta blends Brazilian funk with elements of Miami bass music that’s reminiscent of the ‘90s. She sings in Portuguese, English and Spanish throughout the song.

Whereas funk carioca played second fiddle to many other genres in her previous album, now the tables are turned in Funk Generation. She seamlessly blends pop with funk carioca in the fully English track "Love in Common" that could sneak those rhythms onto Top 40 radio. Anitta also finds a common thread between Brazilian funk, reggaeton, and Afrobeat in the multicultural banger "Aceita."

 The future of baile funk looks bright in Anitta’s hands.

Meet The First-Time GRAMMY Nominee: Anitta On The "Insane" Success Of "Envolver," Representing Brazil & Reshaping Global Pop