Good Art: Jelly Roll

I love him and I'd love to tell you why.

In the wake of the horrible flooding and tragedy on the Guadalupe River this month, writing about anything seems a bit silly. When kids die, everything else fades from view. Then I learned yesterday that my childhood home, the open country which made me who I am, is under Level 3 evacuation orders due to the Elk Fire. Families of ranching and farming people, the people of my upbringing, including my folks, are herding cattle up the highway out of harm’s way and using farm machinery to push up dirt barriers and fire lines around homes and outbuildings.

And of course, these are just the tragedies closest to me: my in-laws have a place on the Guadalupe River and my hometown is threatened by a wildfire. But the world is full of natural disasters, not to mention manmade pain and awfulness. What sort of world is this for a writer? What can I possibly say in the face of so much fear and heartbreak and destruction?

I was having a pity party for myself, considering that I chose poorly in my vocation, that I should have been a wildland firefighter or rescue diver or some other hero, that this clacking away on a keyboard is lame and pointless. That might be true, in fairness. But it occurs to me that one of the most constant truths about us fallible, frail, heartbroken humans is that we are always trying to make meaning. Tragedies lead us to question, discern and awaken in new ways; humans are storytellers, singers, dreamers, we yearn for the world to be made right, for the good to outweigh the bad.

And so, I’m going to regale you today with a review of an artist I adore, who is a champion meaning-maker. Good Art reminds us of what we’re fighting for and why it matters. It helps us grieve, celebrate and pray.

If you like Good Art, and if you deem my work worthy of such a title, would you consider upgrading your subscription today? I try to make as much writing free as I can, and paid subscriptions help me do that, as well as buying my kids the mile-long school supply list which recently overtook my inbox. Thank you as always for reading, sharing and supporting my work, in whatever way you can.

You, my readers, are Good Art.

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If you know me, you know this, but I love Jelly Roll.

I first heard of him because he opened for Eric Church on his “Outsiders” tour, a tour which gave stage time to another of my rock-country faves, Cody Jinks.

Jelly Roll?! Who is this guy?

I did a deep dive into his music and I was immediately hooked. I told my friends that I was listening nonstop to a pudgy, face-tattooed hip-hop/country artist from Nashville and they laughed. I asked multiple people to go with me to his headline show at the amphitheater in Bend and no one was interested. I bought a ticket and went by myself, (paid subscribers can read that story here) and my burgeoning fandom became a full-blown obsession.

A friend sent me this meme the other day:

It’s only funny because it’s true. At the most recent show we attended, a woman in front of us, with multiple tattoos of baby feet on her back, complained that the long line into the stadium was killing her buzz. We all laughed, this is a place where people are who they are, warts and all. It’s a crowd of outsiders, desperate loners, addicts and debtors, people looking for a savior at a show.

What appeals to me about Jelly Roll (and his audience) is the unwavering honesty. When one hits rock-bottom there’s no pretense, no posing, no hypocrisy. At this point, the choice is either redemption or death, and this crowd has chosen redemption, against all odds.

“No One is Too Far Gone” - the number of people shouting this and wearing t-shirts with this saying will bring tears to your eyes.

My family lived in an RV for a while when I was young. During that time, an older gentleman (I’m sure with the best of intentions) chided my parents for letting us wear jeans to church. Talk about missing the message. This is unfortunately a not-uncommon experience, I was recently scolded for carrying my fussing toddler out of mass during the Gospel reading. We like our holy places to stay that way. We are very fond of perfection, chasing it even though we know, in our heart of hearts, that it’s not something we will ever achieve. And that’s not an altogether bad impulse - a little reverence is good for the soul. But reverence comes with the knowledge that something powerful and beyond our ken is bigger than us, not that we are the ones to revere.

Jesus hung out with sinners and whores, cheats and frauds. I bet his crew had some face tattoos and custody woes. The religious leaders of the day were scandalized, and it’s easy to roll our eyes at them and their goody-goody ways. But we’re all guilty of judging one another by the smell of shame, the class system we all live in, the unwritten rules of who’s in and who’s out. Spend five minutes on a playground or in a bar and you immediately know who’s who.

Regardless, to God, we should come, as we are, with our pain and our grief and our intensity, with our messy stories and our bad habits. But if we aren’t careful, those of us with fewer visible mistakes think we’ve earned our place in this squeaky-clean company, that God likes us better because we’re good at scrubbing up.

The older I get, the more I realize that my efforts are not enough. I cannot make myself better. The other night I yelled “STOP YELLING AT ME” at my toddler, which amazingly enough did not work. (I think I read that in a parenting book somewhere?) I cannot will myself to not get frustrated. Of course - I can do the mature adult things: be rested, go to therapy, breathe deeply, take a walk, remember to eat - but even with all of that, my ugly side still comes out now and then. I still roll my eyes, I still get annoyed with the out-of-town drivers, I still stop listening to my kid halfway through a 30-minute story, I still lose my temper.

And this is what I love about Jelly Roll. He does not pretend to have it together. He does not pretend that his own willpower turned him from a crack addict and jailbird into a father and husband and K-Love Award winner (yeah crazy right?) In the middle of his show, he stops and and says that if grace is big enough for him, it’s big enough for anybody. He practically gives an old-school altar call. But then he shouts, “who wants to see a fat man ride a pony?!” and begins the most absolutely unhinged horsey dance, at which this wild crowd joins in with giddy joy, the joy of people who have been set free.

It’s the best time. It’s what would happen if the fun of a frat party was about something bigger than hedonism, if all of the drinking and smoking was a celebration of light instead of a descent into darkness. He has the tenor of a backwoods preacher, the lived experience of the least of these.

I’m pretty close to his people, I know the poor American story, the forgotten man, I have lived in these places. I have adopted kids and I have walked into some stories you wouldn’t believe.

So I have been to three live Jelly Roll shows and cried every time. Because we’re all looking for somebody to save us from ourselves, but the crowd at a Jelly show is bold enough to not care who knows it. When he sings “I hope that heaven has a smoking section”, along with several thousand rough-around-the-edges fans, you realize that all of us should hope that. Because none of us are walking through those pearly gates in our own righteousness, and the smoking section is where the party’s at anyway.

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GOOD ART: Jelly Roll’s music, particularly his nearly-perfect Whitsett Chapel album. Give a listen.

I've wrestled with the darkness
But I'm tryin' to reach for the light
Yeah, the struggle keeps me honest
And it breaks down the walls of my pride

'Cause faith isn't proven like gold
'Til it's been through the fire,
My head, heart, and hands are feeling heavy
But that's when I lift them just a little higher

I'll bring my hard-fought, heartfelt
Been-through-hell hallelujah

-Jelly Roll and Brandon Lake, Hard-Fought Hallelujah