Interview: Searching For Jesse Dayton

Searching for Jesse Dayton November 5, 2026

ACT ONE: THE SEARCH BEGINS

November 2019 was an interesting time in the music world. Genres were blending. “Old Town Road” was all over the radio. Tyler Childers had released Country Squire. The Highwomen were on Howard Stern. Brad Paisley started texting his fans. And country fans had decided to hate Garth Brooks again.

So I wasn’t particularly shocked on that fateful afternoon when a risqué, genre-bending song called “I Tried to Quit but I Just Quit Tryin'” popped up on my favorite classic country radio station.

I was hooked instantly.

The DJ explained that this was a legendary artist who’d played with Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings (ears perked), and who had recently performed a well-received set up in Asheville.

His name was Jesse Dayton.

Being the curious type, I started doing some research on this Jesse Dayton fellow. This was before the AI days, when you had to look shit up one Google search at a time.

You talk about the proverbial rabbit hole!

Cash. Jennings. Nelson. Kristofferson. X. Campbell. Haggard. Jiménez. Social Distortion. Supersuckers.

If y’all are reading this, let that sink in for a moment.

Legend after legend after legend.

How have I been a music fan all these years, a music “journalist” from time to time, and I ain’t heard of this guy?

I wanted to hear every song he’d ever written or sung. I wanted to read every article, every interview. For all intents and purposes, I was obsessed. There’s no other way to say it.

Over the next few days, that’s exactly what I did. Every album. Every song. And I followed the golden rule: if you sample something on a streaming service and you dig it, you gotta buy the physical product.

The first one that arrived was his latest release at the time, Mixtape Volume 1. All covers.
Dayton brought his own incredible, sometimes downright peculiar vibe to each track. He honky-tonked The Cars. Elton John publicly praised Jesse’s rendition of “Country Comfort.”

I couldn’t get enough.

And I was ready for the inevitable tour. I wanted to see this dude in his natural habitat, maybe shake his hand and tell him how much I admired his craft.

ACT TWO: A NEW DIRECTION

Then the world went to hell.

Within months, a mysterious respiratory virus had turned into a global pandemic. Concert venues went dark. Tours were canceled. People retreated into their homes, and my search for Jesse Dayton came to an abrupt halt.

Or so I thought.

As the new normal settled in, I, like practically everybody else, became permanently online.

People like me, see, we can’t live without the arts. If somebody was livestreaming a concert, a comedy set, or a fundraiser, odds are I was there.

What I particularly enjoyed were the events with chat rooms. It was about as close as we could get to the communal connection that comes with art, especially music.

And artists need that connection, too. Not just to sell records and feed their families, although that’s certainly part of it.

Art with no audience is like a tomato sandwich without mayonnaise and pepper. Pintos without cornbread. Pick your metaphor.

I wish I remembered the first time I tuned into the Gimme Country platform.

It was fantastic.

Americana, country, roots music, and all sorts of artists hosting their own radio shows and hanging out with listeners in the chat rooms.

I discovered so many musicians there. Vandoliers. Jaime Wyatt. Charley Crockett. Adeem the Artist. Joshua Hedley. Margo Price. The War and Treaty.

But my main jam came every Wednesday at 5 p.m. Jesse Dayton’s Badass Country Show.

This artist whose entire catalog I’d spent weeks exploring was suddenly in my ears every Wednesday. And not just in my ears. He was in the chat room, too, along with a revolving cast of characters who showed up week after week.

We listened to great music. We cracked jokes. We talked about the good, the bad, and the ugly of those strange times.

And Jesse wasn’t simply another voice in the conversation.

He was the ringleader of this peculiar band of misfits who had found a little community while the world outside was falling apart.

For a while, Wednesday afternoons became something to look forward to.

But like all good things, the show eventually came to an end.

Gimme Country closed down. The world opened back up. Musicians returned to the road. Audiences flooded back into venues.
And me? Well, I had to get back to my day job.

The Wednesday ritual was gone.

And once again, my search for Jesse Dayton seemed to have stalled.

ACT THREE: BACK ON THE SCENT

A few months ago, I started writing about music again, this time for the publication you’re reading now, Americana Highways.
A few articles were published. A few more pitches followed.

Then, right out of the blue clear sky, I received an email about Jesse Dayton and his new band, Texas Headhunters.
The group had a new album, Rise and Shine, on the way, and an advance single had just dropped.”Cut N Run.”

Holy shit.

I played it over and over, trying to identify all the musical influences swirling around inside those few minutes.
Stevie Ray Vaughan. ZZ Top. Eric Clapton. Stax Records. Freddie King.

Every time I listened, I heard something else.

Naturally, I fired up the Google machine and discovered the band was touring and promoting the record.

They weren’t coming anywhere particularly close to me, but maybe I could score a quick phone interview with Jesse.

Sure, he was promoting Texas Headhunters. But perhaps he’d be willing to reminisce about those Gimme Country days, too.
Long story short, I learned that Jesse was somewhere out on the road in California but might have time for a conversation.

And a little while later, there we were, talking about old times.

I started with the obvious question.

Americana Highways: I think the last time we really connected was during the Gimme Country days. What are your memories of that time?

Jesse Dayton: “Oh, yeah, I mean, let me tell you about the Gimme Country thing, man.”

Jesse explained that the platform began as an offshoot of Gimme Metal, an internet radio operation featuring artists like Megadeth’s Dave Mustaine. Jesse and Chuck Prophet were among the first hired for the country operation.

And the whole thing grew far beyond what he initially expected.

His show eventually landed on iHeartRadio, expanding its audience dramatically.

“It was a big deal for me,” he recalled, “and it sucked when it was over, because I felt like I was really good at it, and I enjoyed it.”
He still has dozens of interviews from those broadcasts that he’d like to release someday.

AH: Has the show given you something beyond simply building an audience?

Jesse: “I approached my show different than all the other DJs. My show was more like a podcast that played music.”
He’d begin with his thoughts about whatever was happening in the world, then build a show around a theme or a guest. Billy Gibbons. Rodney Crowell. Duff McKagan. Ryan Bingham.

“Yeah, man, it was great. I loved it. I was sad that it went under.”

I understood that feeling.

But Jesse Dayton certainly hadn’t spent the intervening years sitting around reminiscing about internet radio.
Among his more notable adventures was a collaboration with blues guitarist Samantha Fish that produced the critically acclaimed album Death Wish Blues, a Grammy nomination, and an extensive touring schedule.

I wanted to know how that partnership came together so successfully, so quickly.

AH: The Samantha Fish collaboration came out so strong, so fast. It was like y’all found whatever it is. The voodoo, the magic, whatever. At what point did you realize you had something special?

Jesse: “We kind of knew it right off the bat.”

He explained that Samantha was an artist on the rise, while he brought years of experience and credibility to the partnership.
It was the right combination at the right time.

“But we worked our faces off. We literally had a tour every month for 18 months.”

The Grammy nomination provided one of the more entertaining stories of our conversation.

Jesse and Samantha were aboard the New Orleans Blues Cruise when the nominations were announced. With little or no phone reception at sea, they were apparently among the last people to learn the news.

When they finally reconnected, Jesse discovered hundreds of messages waiting on his phone.

He found Samantha, and the two shared their disbelief and excitement.

“It was nice to be able to share that with Samantha,” he told me.

But it was the new Texas Headhunters project that had brought us together again, and I had plenty of questions.

The band features three formidable guitar players: Dayton, Ian Moore, and Johnny Moeller.

Their music is a sprawling collection of Texas blues, rock, gospel, soul, and whatever else happens to find its way into the mix.
I told Jesse that “Cut N Run” had absolutely floored me.

AH: I had to keep listening because there were so many things happening. Is this Freddie King? B.B. King? Billy Gibbons? Bo Diddley? Stax?

Jesse: “All the influences are mostly Texas influences, but we all love Stax, and, you know, we’re just music nerds.”

He explained that although he’s considered the country guy in Texas Headhunters, he relishes the chance to explore other musical territory.

And then he said something that stuck with me. “For a guitar player, it’s so much fun, dude. That’s the whole thing, is we’re all three guitar players, so we just sit up there and talk to each other on our instruments.”

That kind of musical conversation requires more than technical skill. It requires chemistry, confidence, and a willingness to challenge one another.

Jesse described the group as one of the easiest gigs of his career. No drama. No one person carrying the burden of writing an entire record. Just three accomplished musicians having a hell of a time together.

But that doesn’t mean there’s no competition.

“We still have that friendly competition where we’re trying to, like, put it on each other’s ass every night,” he laughed.
Naturally, I had to ask the hackiest question imaginable.

AH: Of the three of you, who’s the best guitar player?

Jesse: “Oh, shit. I mean, it’s funny, because me and Ian think it’s Johnny. You know what I mean? We’re just so incredibly different.”

And that difference, he explained, is part of what pushes them all to be better.

“We all have to be on, and we’re all trying to think outside the box,” he said. “We have to show up with our A game, or the other guys are just gonna blow us off the stage.”

I’d also become particularly fond of another Headhunters track, “Dogs of Laredo.”

There was something about the opening that reminded me of the Allman Brothers’ “Whipping Post,” and the song carried a powerful message.

Jesse told me Eddie Trunk had compared it to early ZZ Top and Thin Lizzy.

Toward the end of our conversation, I remembered something I’d noticed on his upcoming schedule.

AH: So, I think you’re about to go on a solo tour with Tab Benoit?

Jesse: “Tab and I have been friends since the ’90s. We’ve already done two of these tours, so it’s gonna be awesome, dude.”

AH: I’m gonna try and catch the first show in Charlotte.

Jesse: “Hit me up as it gets closer, and I’ll come down and find you, and we’ll hang for a bit before the show.”
Well, hell.

After nearly seven years, maybe I was finally going to find Jesse Dayton.

ACT FOUR: THE CULMINATION

November 5, 2026.
Neighborhood Theatre. Charlotte, North Carolina.

I arrived at my hotel around 3 p.m. and was almost immediately overcome with anxiety.
“Never meet your heroes.”

I’d heard that old adage a thousand times, and suddenly it seemed considerably less abstract.

So I started pre-gaming in the hotel room.

Pretty hard.

Too hard. Too early.

By the time I climbed into my Uber, I was bobble-headed and somehow even more anxious than before.
If you consume large quantities of alcohol and are still on the verge of a panic attack, an evening has the potential to go off the rails rather quickly.

Nevertheless, I made it to the theatre.

I explained that I was on Jesse’s guest list, and his tour manager came out to greet me.

He was also running the merchandise table and needed to get back to work, so he gestured vaguely toward the back of the building.

“Jesse’s right up there. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Simple enough.

Or so you’d think.

I started walking toward what I assumed was “up there.”

Through one doorway. Around a corner. Past a security checkpoint.

“I’m looking for Jesse Dayton,” I told somebody.

They pointed me in another direction.

“I’m looking for Jesse Dayton,” I told somebody else.
Another direction.

I wandered around the theatre, following various instructions that all seemed to lead somewhere other than Jesse Dayton.

Finally, I reached what appeared to be the end of the line.

“I’m looking for Jesse.”

A gentleman pointed toward the venue’s soundboard operator.

His name was Jesse, too.

I’d spent nearly seven years searching for Jesse Dayton, traveled to Charlotte, secured backstage access, and somehow managed to find the wrong Jesse.

The search continues.

Eventually, the tour manager rescued me from my predicament and pointed me toward the green room.

And there he was.

Living, breathing, in-the-flesh Jesse Dayton.

He was eating pizza and listening to something through his earbuds. When he saw me, he stood up, recognized me, and greeted me with a hug.

We chatted briefly. He asked about my drive and whether we needed to do any interview business.

Nope.

I’d come to say hello, just as he’d invited me to do.

We agreed to meet at the bar after his set, and I left him to prepare for the show.

Finally, it was time to see what the man actually did for a living.

And holy shit.

Over the course of a relatively brief set, Jesse tore through songs including “Daddy Was a Badass,” “Ballad of Boyd Elder,” “May Have to Do It,” and “Mineola.”

I’d intended to pay close attention to the entire performance, but somewhere along the way I became completely absorbed in his guitar playing.

Now, I can’t sit here and give you some sophisticated technical explanation of everything Jesse was doing on that guitar.
I don’t play the instrument. At least not yet.

But I’ve spent a lifetime watching great guitarists.

Dickey Betts. Warren Haynes. Slash. Eric Clapton. Billy Gibbons.

And I know what it looks and sounds like when a musician is so completely at home with an instrument that it becomes an extension of his body. Almost a third arm.

That’s what I saw in Jesse Dayton.

I’d listened to the records. I’d heard the solos. I’d studied his history and his influences. I’d spent countless Wednesday afternoons hearing him talk about music.

But somehow, after all those years, I hadn’t fully appreciated just how extraordinary a guitar player this man is.
I was mesmerized.

After the set, I found Jesse at the bar, just as we’d planned.

We had a couple of drinks—as if I needed any more—and talked about the old times.

No formal interview. No recording equipment. No particular agenda.

Just a couple of guys shooting the shit.

Eventually, Jesse needed to head backstage.

And as we made our way back toward the merchandise table, something caught my eye.

A beautiful black guitar.

I’d always wanted to learn to play guitar. Never quite got around to it. One of those things you keep telling yourself you’ll do someday.