Trey Calloway

Success in country music has a funny way of looking glamorous from a distance.

Fans see sold-out shows, tour buses, backstage passes, and artists sharing the stage with country legends.

What they don’t see are the lonely apartments.

The long drives home.

The family members living hundreds of miles away.

The self-doubt that creeps in after every missed opportunity.

Or the years spent wondering if all the sacrifices will eventually mean something.

Talking with Trey Calloway, one thing became immediately clear.

He’s finally beginning to see the payoff.

Not because he’s suddenly become an overnight success.

But because every brick he’s spent years laying is finally starting to resemble the foundation of a real career.

Every Career Changes With One Phone Call

Sometimes careers change because of a hit song.

Sometimes they change because of a chance meeting.

For Trey, it started with a fiddle player.

Jim Ed Hodges introduced him to longtime Craig Morgan tour manager Jerry Hines.

One lunch meeting turned into artist management.

Management turned into mentorship.

Mentorship turned into friendship.

And friendship opened doors that simply weren’t available before.

It’s tempting to call that luck.

It wasn’t.

Luck may have created the introduction.

Everything that followed was built on trust.

That’s an important distinction.

Relationships might open the first door.

Character determines whether anyone opens the second.

The Marathon Nobody Talks About

One of the most revealing moments during our conversation had nothing to do with music.

It centered around mindset.

Trey openly admitted something many artists are afraid to say out loud.

He’s always been incredibly hard on himself.

Every missed opportunity became personal.

Every setback became evidence that maybe he wasn’t working hard enough.

Jerry Hines, and later Craig Morgan, began changing that perspective.

Their message wasn’t complicated.

Stop trying to sprint through a marathon.

Build one brick at a time.

That’s advice that applies well beyond country music.

Most meaningful careers aren’t built in giant leaps.

They’re built through small, consistent decisions repeated over years.

Listening to Trey describe that shift, you could almost hear the weight lifting off his shoulders.

Chasing a Dream Means Living Apart

Perhaps the most difficult part of Trey’s story isn’t professional.

It’s personal.

His wife and daughter remain in South Carolina while Trey continues pursuing country music in Nashville.

It’s a reality few fans ever consider.

Every songwriter talks about sacrifice.

Very few have to define it by geography.

His wife supports the dream completely, but careers, and mortgages, don’t always cooperate with ideal circumstances.

As Trey explained, Nashville is where his career has to happen.

South Carolina is where part of his heart still lives.

That’s not a romantic version of chasing a dream.

It’s the real one.

Finding the Right Producer Changes Everything

Every artist eventually reaches a point where they stop looking for someone to simply record songs.

They start looking for someone who understands them.

For Trey, that producer is Phil O’Donnell.

Throughout our conversation, Trey spoke less about Phil’s résumé and more about his character.

A family man.

A collaborator.

Someone who listens.

Someone who welcomes ideas rather than shutting them down.

That’s an underrated quality in record production.

Great producers don’t simply capture performances.

They create environments where artists feel comfortable enough to give honest ones.

Trey believes the music they’re creating together is the strongest work of his career.

After hearing him talk about the process, it’s easy to understand why.

Some Studios Just Feel Different

As someone who’s spent years inside Nashville recording studios myself, I smiled when Trey started describing his first experience recording at Sound Stage Studios.

There’s something about that building.

It’s difficult to explain unless you’ve been there.

History seems to linger in the walls.

Trey felt it immediately.

Walking into the same rooms where countless hit records have been made gave him a sense that this wasn’t simply another recording session.

This was Music Row.

This was where dreams become records.

He also appreciated something that often gets overlooked.

The musicians.

Phil O’Donnell gave everyone in the room permission to contribute ideas.

Nobody was simply reading charts.

Everyone was making the songs better.

That’s still the magic of Nashville.

The right players can transform a good song into something unforgettable.

The First Tour Bus Is Something You Never Forget

Ask veteran touring musicians about their first bus run and you’ll usually get a smile.

Trey’s reaction was no different.

Everything felt new.

Sleeping in a bunk.

Making coffee on the bus.

Watching seasoned musicians settle into routines they’ve perfected over decades.

Playing in front of thousands of people.

Sharing the stage with Craig Morgan.

The excitement practically jumped through the conversation.

What stood out most, however, wasn’t the size of the audience.

It was the sense of belonging.

Craig’s band.

The crew.

The production team.

Everyone welcomed him.

For a young artist trying to break into one of the toughest businesses in entertainment, that’s invaluable.

Because confidence often grows fastest when it’s borrowed from people who’ve already been there.

Opportunity Isn’t the Same as Arrival

One weekend on a tour bus doesn’t make someone a headliner.

Trey knows that.

In fact, he described himself as a baseball player briefly getting called up to the majors.

He’s still hungry.

Still learning.

Still fighting.

That’s exactly where he should be.

The danger for many young artists is believing one opportunity means they’ve arrived.

Trey doesn’t see it that way.

He sees it as proof he’s moving in the right direction.

That’s a healthier mindset, and probably a more sustainable one.

Teams Win Championships

One recurring theme surfaced throughout our conversation.

Nobody succeeds alone.

Jim Ed Hodges.

Jerry Hines.

Phil O’Donnell.

Craig Morgan.

The musicians.

The engineers.

Friends who encourage him when self-doubt creeps in.

Every one of them has become part of the foundation supporting his career.

Country music has always been filled with stories about individual stars.

The reality is much less glamorous.

Behind every successful artist stands an entire team quietly helping them become who audiences eventually see.

Trey understands that.

He talks about those people with genuine gratitude.

That’s a good sign.

Hungry Beats Comfortable

Late in our conversation, Trey stated.

Right now, he isn’t focused on fame.

He’s focused on the love of the game.

He knows he’s still climbing.

Still proving himself.

Still earning every opportunity.

That hunger may be his greatest advantage.

Comfort has ended more promising careers than failure ever has.

Hungry artists continue learning.

Hungry artists continue writing.

Hungry artists continue improving.

Trey still sounds hungry.

That’s exactly where you want a young artist to be.

The Best Chapters Are Usually Written Slowly

When people eventually look back on Trey Calloway’s career, they may point to a hit record.

A sold-out venue.

A major award.

Or some defining performance that suddenly changed everything.

But after spending time talking with him, I suspect those moments won’t have appeared out of nowhere.

They’ll simply be the visible result of years spent doing invisible work.

Missing family.

Writing songs.

Driving endless miles.

Building relationships.

Learning from mentors.

Showing up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Country music has always rewarded authenticity.

Not immediately.

But eventually.

Listening to Trey Calloway today feels a lot like watching someone pour the concrete before the house is built.

The walls aren’t all standing yet.

The roof isn’t finished.

There’s still plenty of work ahead.

But the foundation?

That looks stronger than ever.

And as Jerry Hines reminded him…

You build something worthwhile one brick at a time.

David Chatfield, Founder of Harmony Records

Spend enough time around the music industry, and you’ll eventually meet someone who insists they have all the answers.

David Chatfield isn’t one of them.

In fact, after more than four decades running record labels, developing artists, negotiating contracts, producing records, and watching the industry reinvent itself countless times, he’s still learning.

That’s probably why he’s still here.

As founder and CEO of Harmony Records, Chatfield has witnessed nearly every major shift the business has thrown at artists, from the dominance of vinyl to CDs, MTV, Napster, streaming, social media, and now artificial intelligence.

Most people who’ve survived that many changes become nostalgic.

Chatfield became adaptable.

And perhaps more importantly, he never lost sight of one simple belief:

The song still matters more than the technology delivering it.

Before Harmony Records, There Was Homework

When people talk about starting a record label, they often imagine passion, ambition, and a little luck.

David started with something less glamorous.

Homework.

Long before Harmony Records officially opened its doors, he immersed himself in every corner of the business.

Legal studies.

Artist management.

Radio programming.

Promotion.

Industry seminars.

Mentorships.

He studied under respected music attorney Don Passman, attended management classes taught by executives connected to The Jacksons, and learned promotion from some of the industry’s most experienced professionals.

Then he discovered something every successful music executive eventually learns.

Education prepares you.

Experience humbles you.

“No class,” he admitted, “could prepare you for what actually happens in the music business.”

That might be the most honest statement anyone has made about this industry.

Success Has Always Belonged to the Prepared

One of the things that stood out during our conversation was how methodical Chatfield’s early career really was.

He didn’t wait for the perfect opportunity.

He created one.

Every lesson he learned became an action item.

Find an artist.

Sign a band.

Book live shows.

Raise funding.

Record music.

Release records.

Repeat.

That disciplined approach eventually helped build nationally distributed independent labels, land artists on MTV, and produce Billboard success long before independent labels were expected to compete with the majors.

Listening to him describe those early years, it became clear that preparation wasn’t simply part of his strategy.

It was the strategy.

Technology Changes. Great Records Don’t.

The most fascinating part of our conversation wasn’t hearing about the past.

It was hearing how little his philosophy has actually changed.

Yes, recording budgets have shrunk dramatically.

A project that once required well over $100,000 can now be produced for a fraction of that.

Studios have changed.

Distribution has changed.

Marketing has changed.

But Chatfield believes the fundamentals remain remarkably familiar.

Find the right song.

Develop the artist.

Build a team.

Tell a compelling story.

Everything else is simply delivery.

That’s an important reminder in an era where many artists spend more time worrying about algorithms than arrangements.

The Streaming Revolution Came at a Cost

Ask almost anyone in today’s music business about streaming, and you’ll get a complicated answer.

Chatfield’s perspective carries extra weight because he watched it happen from the inside.

He attended international conferences where industry leaders quietly acknowledged that streaming would fundamentally reshape music consumption long before most artists realized what was coming.

He watched executives leave established companies for unknown startups like Spotify.

He watched record labels shift focus.

He watched physical media disappear.

And while he appreciates the accessibility streaming created, he also believes something important was lost.

The experience.

Albums became playlists.

Stories became singles.

Artists became background noise.

Instead of living with a record, listeners began skipping through one song after another.

For someone who grew up believing music should become “the soundtrack of your life,” that’s a difficult tradeoff to accept.

Why Physical Music Still Matters

One of Chatfield’s most intriguing ideas centers around something many people have already written off.

Physical media.

Not because he believes vinyl or CDs are inherently better sounding.

Because they’re more engaging.

He described elaborate booklets filled with handwritten lyrics, studio photographs, liner notes, and behind-the-scenes stories.

Not collectibles for collectors’ sake.

Conversation pieces.

Something listeners can hold.

Read.

Experience.

His vision isn’t simply about selling records.

It’s about slowing people down long enough to actually connect with the music.

That’s a refreshing concept in a world where songs often disappear before the chorus is over.

Development Isn’t Dead. It’s Just Different.

Record labels once spent years developing artists.

Today’s industry rarely has that luxury.

Chatfield understands that reality, but he hasn’t abandoned artist development.

He’s simply compressed the timeline.

Instead of waiting years to prepare an artist, his team focuses on intensive songwriting, arrangement, rehearsal, recording, and strategic releases.

Singles.

Streaming.

Touring.

Repeat.

What struck me wasn’t the process itself.

It was the emphasis on teaching.

Hooks.

Song structure.

Performance.

Finding your own artistic identity.

Development hasn’t disappeared.

It’s simply moved from corporate boardrooms to independent labels willing to invest the time.

Great Managers Still Solve Problems

Throughout our conversation, I found myself returning to one recurring theme.

Connection.

Managers connect artists with producers.

Producers connect songs with audiences.

Labels connect music with listeners.

Everything begins, and ends, with relationships.

That philosophy extends to Chatfield’s own leadership style.

Rather than trying to become the smartest person in every room, he intentionally surrounds himself with experienced professionals.

Former executives.

Veteran producers.

Radio specialists.

Writers.

Publicists.

Artists.

Every successful project becomes a collaboration.

Not a one-man operation.

That’s another lesson today’s independent artists sometimes overlook.

You don’t build a career by doing everything yourself.

You build it by knowing when to invite the right people into the process.

Legacy Artists Deserve New Audiences

Perhaps the most compelling part of our discussion focused on artists whose biggest hits happened decades ago.

Chatfield isn’t interested in preserving nostalgia.

He’s interested in creating relevance.

Instead of allowing classic recordings to quietly fade into history, he revisits them.

Remasters them.

Reimagines them.

Introduces them to listeners who never experienced them the first time around.

The goal isn’t simply preserving history.

It’s extending it.

That’s a subtle but significant difference.

A legacy artist doesn’t need another tribute.

They need another audience.

The Song Is Still King

Toward the end of our conversation, I asked what advice he’d give a brand-new artist.

His answer wasn’t about TikTok.

Or Instagram.

Or playlists.

It wasn’t even about record labels.

It was about writing.

Write.

Write more.

Write again.

Because everything begins with the song.

Technology will continue changing.

Platforms will come and go.

Business models will evolve.

But a truly great song has a way of surviving every technological revolution thrown at it.

History has already proven that.

Optimism Is Its Own Competitive Advantage

One of the qualities I appreciated most about David Chatfield wasn’t his résumé.

It was his attitude.

After four decades in one of the most unpredictable industries imaginable, he’s still convinced the next great artist is out there.

Still convinced physical music has a future.

Still convinced authentic musicianship will outlast shortcuts.

Still convinced people want real connections.

That’s optimism.

Not naïveté.

There’s a difference.

Optimism ignores obstacles.

Experience acknowledges them, and keeps moving anyway.

By the end of our conversation, I wasn’t thinking about Billboard covers, platinum records, or MTV milestones.

I kept thinking about his closing observation.

Music is the soundtrack to people’s lives.

The technology delivering it may change.

The packaging may change.

Even the business will continue reinventing itself.

But as long as great songs continue finding great listeners, there will always be room for people willing to play the long game.

David Chatfield has been doing exactly that for more than forty years.

And somehow, he still sounds like he’s just getting started.

Rex Larkman (Tropidelic)

Ask someone to describe Tropidelic, and you’ll probably hear the usual buzzwords.

Reggae rock.

Hip-hop.

Funk.

Beach vibes.

Good times.

They’re all accurate… but they don’t tell you why people keep coming back.

After sitting down with drummer Rex Larkman, it became clear that Tropidelic isn’t just another band blending genres. They’re building something that’s become increasingly rare in today’s music scene: a community that extends far beyond the stage.

That community cleans highways together.

Travels across state lines just to spend a few hours picking up trash.

Shows up year after year because the band has created something bigger than a concert.

In a music industry obsessed with streaming numbers and social media algorithms, Tropidelic somehow found a different path.

And that’s a story worth telling.

A Highway Named Tropidelic

Every band has merchandise.

Some have signature beers.

A lucky few get their own festival.

Tropidelic?

They adopted a highway.

What started as a joke quickly turned into something much more meaningful.

Several times each year, the band gathers with fans to clean a stretch of Interstate 77 outside Cleveland.

No VIP passes.

No backstage laminate.

Just musicians and fans spending a morning making their city a little better.

That’s about as “Tropidelic” as it gets.

Larkman laughed while telling stories about the odd things they’ve discovered along the roadside, everything from discarded X-rays to random pieces of school equipment, but underneath the humor is something that says a lot about the band’s culture.

Most artists ask fans to support them.

Tropidelic invites fans to work alongside them.

That’s a different kind of relationship.

The Sound of Cleveland… Without Sounding Like Cleveland

Cleveland has produced plenty of legendary music.

Rock.

Metal.

Hip-hop.

Punk.

Hardcore.

Tropidelic doesn’t neatly fit into any of those boxes.

Larkman openly admits they’re something of an outlier.

Yet the city still shapes everything they do.

The beaches along Lake Erie, the gray winters, the working-class mentality, and Cleveland’s fiercely loyal music community all find their way into the band’s DNA.

He jokingly calls Lake Erie “the Cleveland Ocean,” but there’s truth behind the joke.

Their songs may sound like they belong on a beach hundreds of miles away, but they’re unmistakably products of Northeast Ohio.

Sometimes the most tropical music comes from the coldest places.

Live Music Isn’t About Perfection

One of the most fascinating parts of our conversation centered on something most audiences never think about.

Tracks.

Clicks.

In-ear monitors.

Synchronization.

For today’s touring bands, live performance isn’t just six musicians plugging into amplifiers anymore.

Modern productions require additional keyboard layers, ambient textures, production elements, and synchronized lighting.

The challenge is knowing where technology should help, and where it shouldn’t.

Larkman is refreshingly honest about that balance.

Yes, Tropidelic uses backing tracks.

No, they’re not replacing the performance.

The vocals remain live.

The energy remains live.

The musicianship remains live.

The technology simply allows six musicians to recreate an album that may have dozens of recorded layers.

That’s an important distinction, and one too often misunderstood by concertgoers.

Perhaps the most revealing moment came when Larkman admitted that if something ever goes wrong with the tracks, he’d rather shut everything off than fake it.

The band knows the songs.

The show goes on.

That’s confidence you can’t program into a laptop.

Playing for the Song

Like many drummers, Larkman’s influences range from Neil Peart and Phil Collins to Joey Jordison, Dave Matthews Band’s Carter Beauford, Green Day’s Tré Cool, and the late Rev from Avenged Sevenfold.

Given that list, you’d expect a whirlwind of flashy fills.

Instead, his philosophy echoes something shared by many great session musicians.

Play for the song.

In the studio, restraint wins.

Live?

That’s when the metal drummer comes out.

He laughs about it, but you can hear the excitement in his voice.

The audience feeds the performance.

The heavier playing.

The added energy.

The freedom to let loose.

That’s one of those subtle truths about live music that recordings can never fully capture.

Songs evolve the moment they’re performed in front of people.

Built for the Road

Warped Tour.

Red Rocks.

The Caverns.

House of Blues.

Florida beach festivals.

Legend Valley.

If you ask musicians about memorable venues, you’ll usually get a list.

Ask Rex Larkman, and you’ll get stories.

Like hauling merchandise a mile across Warped Tour grounds in the Florida heat before the gates even opened.

Or watching torrential rain flood festival grounds moments before showtime.

Or standing backstage at Red Rocks, staring into what he described as a “tsunami of people.”

Then there’s The Caverns in Tennessee.

While Red Rocks might be one of America’s most iconic outdoor venues, Larkman jokingly calls The Caverns “the basement of Red Rocks.”

It’s an apt description.

One venue opens to endless sky.

The other disappears beneath the earth.

Both leave unforgettable impressions.

The common thread isn’t the scenery.

It’s the audience.

Whether the crowd is packed into a cave or spread across a Colorado mountainside, Tropidelic approaches every show the same way:

Give people a reason to remember the night.

The Other Half of Being in a Band

Larkman wears more hats than most fans realize.

He’s the drummer.

He’s heavily involved in running the band’s backing tracks.

He shoots video.

Directs music videos.

Edits social media content.

Produces promotional reels.

Studies camera angles.

Plans drone shots.

Scouts filming locations.

It’s a reminder that today’s musicians spend almost as much time creating content as they do creating music.

His description of filming the band’s “Out There” video on a farm in West Virginia perfectly captures that mindset.

The location wasn’t chosen because it was convenient.

It was chosen because it told the story the song deserved.

That’s becoming increasingly important in modern music.

Songs don’t just need to sound good anymore.

They need to look good, too.

Success Is a Team Sport

One answer stood above the rest.

When asked to recognize an unsung hero, Larkman didn’t name a famous producer or influential musician.

He named the crew.

Tour manager.

Front-of-house engineers.

Merchandise staff.

Bus driver.

Manager.

The people audiences rarely see.

It’s easy to forget that a successful tour is essentially a traveling small business.

Someone has to solve bus problems at three in the morning.

Someone has to sell T-shirts.

Someone has to load equipment.

Someone has to make sure everyone gets to the next city.

Bands may stand in the spotlight.

Entire teams keep that spotlight turned on.

Larkman understands that better than most.

More Than a Summer Soundtrack

Tropidelic often gets labeled as “feel-good music.”

There’s certainly plenty of that.

But after talking with Rex Larkman, it feels like an incomplete description.

The positivity isn’t manufactured.

It starts with how the band treats its fans.

Its crew.

Its hometown.

Even its adopted highway.

That’s difficult to fake.

And maybe that’s why Tropidelic continues to grow while so many bands struggle to build lasting communities.

People don’t just come back for the songs.

They come back because, for a couple of hours, they feel like they’re part of something.

In the end, that might be the band’s greatest achievement.

Not writing the perfect summer anthem.

Creating a place where everyone feels welcome when the lights come up and the music starts.