The Red Clay Strays and the Complicated Joy of Discovering New Music

By LONNIE KING

I found a new band. Or maybe they found me — like everything on social media seems to these days, serving up things I didn’t know I was looking for. Their name is The Red Clay Strays, and they sound like everything you’d expect from a band steeped in Southern grit, gospel echoes, and rockabilly swagger.

But it wasn’t one of their high-energy songs that grabbed me first. It was a slow, bluesy ballad in 6/8 time called Wondering Why. The vocals ache. The melody sways. And the chorus lingers:

She keeps on lovin’ me / And I keep on wonderin’ why.

It’s not a rock anthem. It’s classic rockabilly blues. And it’s just one of those songs that feels like it knows you—like it’s not just narrating your deepest emotions, but channeling them. Very easy to get hooked on.

And, for better or worse, that’s a bit scary to me right now.

The Soundtrack of a Cautious Soul

Music has always been a big part of my life. I can’t separate the most meaningful parts of my story—love, loss, faith, doubt—from the songs that accompanied them.

Sometimes I know why a song moves me. Sometimes I don’t. It just does.

But lately, I’ve developed this habit: before I let myself fall completely for a new artist, I find myself asking:

• Who else is listening to this? And why?

Because as much as music is personal, it’s also communal. A song can be one thing when it hits your ears, but something entirely different when it becomes a crowd chant or a movement anthem.

This has been especially true for me when it comes to Southern gospel music. For years, I loved it. Still do, in many ways. The rhythm, the backbeats, the tight harmonies—and often, the message itself.

It’s this rich blend of gospel, bluegrass, and Americana that feels both familiar and foundational to me.

But in recent years, I’ve been turned off—sometimes outright disgusted—by the hateful stances and exclusionary attitudes of many of the very artists and groups who sing that style of music. People who harmonize about heaven on stage but preach division and bigotry off of it.

And that contradiction leaves a sour taste. It makes it almost unbearable to listen, even when the music itself still stirs something deep inside me. That’s the kind of caution I carry now — not just in gospel, but in anything that sounds like home yet might hide something uglier beneath the surface.

The People Who Claim the Music

It’s not always about what the artist intends. Sometimes it’s about who claims the music. And that’s where things get messy.

I’ve seen it happen too many times. A band with Southern roots, gospel flavor, or old-school sensibilities puts out a record that feels raw and real—only to wake up and realize they’ve become the de facto house band for a segment of the population they want nothing to do with.

It’s the same dynamic we see when political campaigns latch onto popular songs to stir up the base. It happens so often that it’s almost predictable:

• A politician plays a song at rallies.
• The crowd adopts it as their anthem.
• The artist — realizing their work is now the soundtrack to something they don’t endorse — issues a cease and desist, or at least a public disavowal.

Tom Petty. Bruce Springsteen. Rage Against the Machine. Dozens of others. They didn’t write songs to be rallying cries for nationalism, exclusion, or culture wars. But that didn’t stop people from trying to hijack them.

And that’s the tension I feel when I listen to bands like the Red Clay Strays.

I’m not accusing them of anything. In fact, by all accounts, they’re just a group of talented musicians singing about life, love, faith, and struggle. But I can’t help but wonder:

If I’m drawn to this music, who else is? And what does it mean if we’re not listening for the same reasons?

Listening With Open Ears (and Eyes)

I want to like this band. I really do. Their sound hits me in all the right places—the rhythm of the South, the soul of gospel, the swagger of rock and roll. But I’ve learned to listen with both my ears and my eyes.

I watch the crowd. I pay attention to who’s singing along, and what else they’re shouting when the music fades.

Maybe that’s the burden of a music lover in a polarized world. We don’t just ask “Do I like this?” We ask “What else comes with it?”

I haven’t seen any red flags with the Red Clay Strays — not yet. But I’m cautious. Because I’ve been burned before. And because music is personal, I want to be sure that when I sing along, I’m not unintentionally lending my voice to something I’d otherwise reject.

Still Wondering

I guess part of me wonders if I’m overthinking it.

Maybe I should just let myself enjoy something that speaks to me without worrying so much about who else is listening or what it might say about me.

But then again, maybe this is just part of trying to be a more responsible adult — learning to weigh not just what I enjoy, but what I align myself with, even unintentionally.

I’m not sure if that makes me more thoughtful or just more tired. Either way, I can’t help but wonder if I’m the only one who feels this way.

So in a very real sense, I do keep on wondering why.

And if that’s what the Red Clay Strays intended, then they got me!

Grace and grit to you! — LK