about the artist
Music, to me, feels less like something I found and more like something I grew up inside of.
My great-grandparents loved music, and that love made its way down through my grandpa, to my dad, and eventually to me. In a way, it feels like something I inherited, not just through family, but through memory, sound, and all the little moments I was lucky enough to grow up around.
Some of my earliest memories are tagging along with my dad and grandpa to bluegrass festivals, where people gathered in circles with their instruments and somehow everyone knew the words, the chords, and the harmonies. I remember watching my grandpa light up with his dobro or bass, and I would always find myself scooting my chair a little closer, itching to be part of it. No one in those circles had to explain why they loved it. They just did.
Up until the very end of his life, I would ask my grandpa when he planned to retire from playing shows and joining circles. His answer was always the same: “I’ll never stop playing. I just love it.”
Today, I’m proud to carry that forward too.
I just love it.
The first chords
Somewhere along the way, that love became something I wanted to figure out for myself.
When I was first learning guitar, my dad put tiny dots of nail polish on the fretboard to help me remember where my fingers went, with different colors for different chords. It made music feel a little less intimidating, like something I could learn one color at a time.
Then, at some point, I ended up at the hospital getting my forehead glued back together after “head banging like a guitar player” straight into my metal bed frame. Somehow, that didn’t scare me away.
Subtle? No. Committed? Absolutely.
I even dressed up like a rockstar for career day as a kid. Other kids wanted to be teachers, doctors, or lawyers. I showed up with a guitar and a vision, apparently already taking the role very seriously.
Career Day, 2010
Nexus Coffee & Creative: Little Rock, Arkansas
Open Mic Night
January 2020
the craft
After years of picking up instruments on and off, and getting tired of not quite being able to “join the circle,” I finally told my dad I wanted to take guitar lessons.
He and my grandpa helped me find lessons with a family friend, and before long, a new world opened up. A couple years later, I was ready to start playing out, but then the world shut down in 2020.
When everything felt paused and uncertain, music became one of the things that stayed steady, especially for a girl just trying to get through high school. I started playing online when I could, and once the world opened back up, I found myself at weekly open mic nights, tagging along to shows, opening for other musicians, eventually playing my own sets, and saying yes to more and more rooms.
Somewhere in all of that, I realized I had found the same love my grandpa had for playing.
And just like him, I didn’t want to stop.
the roots
As my love for music grew, so did the support around me.
When my mom saw how much it meant to me, she couponed her way to my first real guitar: a Taylor. Later, my parents surprised me with a Gibson J-45 for Christmas. Those guitars mean a lot to me, not because of the names on the headstocks, but because of the love behind them. They remind me that my family has always been one of the biggest pillars of my musical life.
My parents still show up for me, sitting in the crowd, cheering me on, and making each room feel a little more like home. My brother has been part of that support too, showing up for shows and reminding me that music has always been something my family carried with me.
These days, I travel around Central Arkansas with my Gibson, lovingly named “Gibby,” playing covers across genres depending on the room.
My setlist isn’t built around one perfect category. It’s built around songs that feel good to play and good to hear: personal favorites, crowd favorites, old songs, new songs, songs that are nostalgic, songs that are sad in the best way, and songs people start singing along to before they even realize they know every word.
Caitlin & Clay (Big Brother)
JJ's Grill: Conway
April, 2019
Conway Art Walk, 2024
behind the songs
To me, the magic of live music is that it meets people exactly where they are.
When I perform, I’m always paying attention to the room. I’m watching the mood, feeling out the energy, guessing what people might want to hear, and shaping the set as I go. My favorite gigs are the ones where people get to experience life together: people listening, people chatting, someone singing along from the corner while trying not to be noticed, someone recognizing a song they forgot they loved, or little girls pretending to be my backup dancers.
True story.
That’s something live music can do in a way a playlist never fully can. A playlist is chosen before the moment begins, but a live set can move with the room. I can turn down when the space needs to breathe, change direction when the energy shifts, or choose the song that suddenly feels exactly right.
That’s what I’m always chasing when I play: the right song at the right time.
why live music
Live music has a way of bringing culture to cities, energy to ordinary spaces, and connection to people who might have otherwise just passed through.
Whether I’m playing a coffee shop morning, a restaurant patio, a wedding, a local market, a private event, or a small-town stage, my hope is that people feel a little more present. A little more connected. A little more pulled into the moment.
Because music has always done that for me.
In the kitchen while I’m cleaning, in the car on the way to work, at my favorite lunch spot, or through a sad song that somehow feels exciting even when I’m not sad at all.
Music adds atmosphere to ordinary life.
And when I get to play it live, I get to help create that feeling for someone else.
King's Live Music, 2025
