November 2025: Thankful for the Troubadour Reminders

We hit the road north to Celina yesterday with heavy hearts. Life things. Todd Snider. Just a heavy vibe. I was determined to set it all aside and let the music heal me like it has so many times before. It helps when you have friends there too.

Moments and days like this have a way of sneaking up on you. You roll in expecting cold beer, tasty BBQ, and a long day of Texas tunes...and you end up getting your soul rearranged instead.

Yesterday at Troubadour Fest was one of those days.

A day built on gratitude.

A day that reminded me why this whole crazy music life is still worth the late nights and long drives. A day that stitched together the past, the present, and the promise.

Cody Canada took the stage carrying more than just a guitar. He carried the weight of Todd Snider’s spirit. You could feel it in the cracks between the songs, in the little pauses where memory meets emotion. He started with a Todd Snider song. He ended with two. He went over his time and dared the promoters to fine him.

"I lost my hero yesterday. And I know you love him. I want you to do one thing today. Listen to one song by Todd Snider. Then listen to two. And realize that you missed out on the last 35 years if you didn't know him. Because he speaks the truth. Nowadays people are afraid to talk about their feelings in music. All they want to do is sell a record. But once upon a time what people wanted to do was touch a heart and soul. That's what Todd Snider did." His reverence wasn’t performative, it was simply honest. When Todd left, he took a piece of this music community with him, but Cody Canada channeled the hurt into a fitting memorial. A reminder that the songs matter. The storytellers matter. And the people who keep their flame alive matter most of all.

Clay Walker was something else entirely. Inspirational doesn’t even cover it. To be honest, I wasn't the most jazzed about seeing Clay. I loved his music as a kid and have seen him many times before. But something about him closing out a show that started with Presley Haile and Silverada just seemed round peg, square hole. But, I was up for the moment.

As the son of a mother with MS, there's a personal element to watching Clay fight through every moment on that stage, never losing that grin, never letting the struggle overshadow the joy, that always hits me in the chest like a freight train. My initial reluctance at enjoying the Clay show is a subconscious reaction to thinking of my mom's own MS battle. Just too close to home. In my kitchen. But, once again, the music proved me wrong. Clay's guitar strap says Cowboy, and I can’t think of a more fitting word. Because a cowboy doesn’t quit. A cowboy shows up. A cowboy makes you believe you can keep going too. Clay did that yesterday. For me. For thousands.

Then there’s Presley Haile. The kid who jumps on every opportunity like it’s a trampoline. The youthful energy, the wid open optimism and the voice that keeps getting better every month. You can feel her ride to stardom gaining velocity. Every performance adds more believers. Yesterday was no different. She lifted the crowd with that rare combination of charm and conviction that can’t be faked. Her zest for people, for moments, for connection is infectious. The kind of thing this scene needs.

If you ever need to remember what unfiltered joy looks like, just step into a Silverada set. It’s equal parts chaos, communion, and Miller Lite tinted euphoria. No band bottles reckless joy quite like them. It’s a dive bar party that somehow feels like home. And for a few minutes there in the middle of that youth soccer complex in Celina, all the world’s problems felt a thousand miles away.

Randall King brought his traditional country sound that reminds you of the music we all grew up on, yet he’s not a museum piece. He pushes the tradition forward with purpose and swagger. Yesterday he felt like the heartbeat of the festival. Sandwiched in the middle of the lineup and grabbing folks on both sides of the divide. Familiar and comforting, but new enough to pull you along for the ride.

And then there was Braxton Keith, one of the young guns along side acts like Hudson Westbrook and Ty Myers that has reshaped Texas Music in 2025. Shades of CoJo’s high-octane country, but make no mistake: the sound, the attitude, the fire… it’s all Keith’s own. He’s got the songs. He’s got the band. He’s got the crowd swelling behind him like a rising tide.

The music. The weather. The BBQ. Texas. The friends. The memories. The legends. The newcomers. The ones we’ve lost. The ones we’re blessed to still hear sing. We live for the songs, but we stay for the people. Troubadour Fest reminded me of that. Again.

In this season of Thanksgiving, it feels right to take stock. Of the hurt from losing Todd Snider. Of the gratitude for Cody carrying his torch. Of the inspiration Clay Walker gave every single one of us. Of the promise in Presley and Braxton. Of the affirmation that legends still walk among us. Of the rowdy, messy, beautiful road we all travel on a daily basis.

Yesterday wasn’t just a festival. It was a reminder. A reminder that this music still heals. This community still loves. And there is still so much to be grateful for on this long, winding road of Texas Music.

Thankful to still be along for the ride.