Louisville or bust!
Three months after Milwaukee — months of interviews, research, and immersion deep into the culture — I packed my gear and drove to Louisville. Same ritual. But I wasn’t the same person anymore.
Milwaukee was curiosity; Louisville was commitment.
The Bourbon Bar Shakedown — Where the Scene Reveals Itself
I barely had time to check into my hotel before heading to a Shakedown-style pop-up at a bourbon bar near the venue — a warm, crowded, creative microcosm of the Billy Strings universe. It was buzzing. Vendors lined the space, tables overflowing with art, patches, shirts, jewelry, and the unmistakable spirit of a traveling community that rebuilds itself city after city.
I talked with everyone I could — including one of the Train Songz artists, which felt like a perfect bit of narrative symmetry. I bought a shirt from him, and his work might be the single best example of how wildly cross-genre and inventive this scene is: a design inspired by Dopesmoker by Sleep, the legendary doom-metal album. Except here, the iconic cover art was reimagined with Billy and his band as the wandering figures, the text replaced with a heavy-metal-style “Strings.”
Bluegrass by way of stoner metal. A perfect collision of worlds. Only in this scene.
After a few hours of conversations, card-handing, and picking up gear, I jogged everything back to the hotel — because it was already time to jump in the GA line.
The GA Line — A Pilgrimage Within a Pilgrimage
One thing I’ve learned: the GA line is its own ecosystem. Part anticipation, part ritual, part storytelling circle.
While waiting, I met a father and son who had flown in from San Francisco — the son’s gift to his dad, an initiation into the phenomenon he’d fallen in love with. A first-timer and a seasoned traveler, standing side-by-side in the cold, both buzzing with the same excitement.
These are the moments where the why begins to reveal itself.
Inside the Pit — Immersed in the Hardcore
Once inside, I posted up just behind the rail — close enough to feel the electricity but not so close that I’d disrupt the world of the rail riders themselves. It’s a unique vantage point: half participant, half anthropologist.
I made fast friends with a truck driver who had driven in solo and had seen Billy more than 20 times. From the first three notes of every song he knew exactly what was coming. Watching him anticipate the set in real time felt like watching someone read prophecy.
Everything I’d studied about rail culture came to life:
the territorial intensity
the unspoken codes
the camaraderie and tension
the self-appointed mayors and gesture-leaders
the mix of transcendence and chaos
It’s the front-row sociology of a scene that both polices and celebrates itself.
The Show — A Dream Set, A Psychedelic Journey, and a Bill Monroe Revival
And then Billy came out, and the night took off. This ended up becoming my favorite Billy Strings show to date — a setlist that somehow managed to be psychedelic, precise, emotional, and historically reverent all at once. I’ve found it to be a familiar thing — one’s favorite Billy show is almost certainly the last.
Among my highlights were catching “All Fall Down,” “Away From the Mire,” and a ferocious, sprawling “Meet Me at the Creek” that stretched to nearly 15 minutes.
And then came a moment that felt almost supernatural:
Billy brought out Michael Cleveland, the legendary Kentucky fiddler, whose presence turned “Creek” into something mythic. Cleveland’s fiddle lines carved open the whole arena — a blast of old-time brilliance layered on top of Billy’s cosmic improvisation.
What struck me most wasn’t just the playing.
It was the crowd.
The entire arena would blast off into psychedelic ecstasy during the jams, and then absolutely erupt when Billy said he was going to play a Bill Monroe tune.
A foot in the future, a foot in the past.
A culture surfing two timelines at once.
After the Show — A Group Photo and a Daze
At the end of the night, a rail rider and superfan rounded everyone up for the traditional “end of show” group photo — a ritual I’d only seen online until then. I joined the group, smiling, dazed, drenched in adrenaline, suddenly aware of how deeply I’d drifted into this world.
Walking back to my hotel, I felt something shift.
This wasn’t just a great show.
This felt like confirmation.
The questions I came with had turned into a map.
The map had turned into a story.
And the story was beginning to tell itself.
I drove back to Chicago the next morning, tired and buzzing, more inspired
than ever.
Louisville as the End of Chapter One
Milwaukee was the spark.
The research, podcasts and projects like Train Songz was the compass.
Louisville was the moment the compass pointed toward a destination.
The project had shape now.
Themes were emerging, characters were sharpening, and the story was getting clearer, louder, more insistent.
Asheville on the Horizon
Next up: a full week in Asheville with cameras rolling, a studio build, and Clint as my local collaborator — the beginning of the film’s true production phase.
Louisville was the bookend of my initiation into this world.
Now comes the real work.
