A New Chapter Begins
When I joined Leftover Salmon in 2000, I didn’t fully realize I was stepping into something that would shape the next ten years of my life—and change how I thought about music. I’d already spent time with bands like Band Du Jour and the Derek Trucks Band, exploring soul, rock, and blues, but Salmon brought me into a whole new world: jamgrass.
Leftover Salmon wasn’t just a band. It was a movement, a vibe, and a traveling family that mixed bluegrass roots with rock-and-roll energy, Cajun rhythms, and jam-band freedom. I was stepping into something unique and alive, and I couldn’t wait to add my voice to the mix.
Learning the Language of Jamgrass
As a keyboard player, entering a bluegrass-heavy world was an adjustment. Traditional bluegrass doesn’t usually include keys—so I had to learn how to make space for instruments like banjo, mandolin, and acoustic guitar while still contributing something meaningful. It forced me to think differently, to play with more sensitivity and precision, and to find my spot without stepping on toes.
At the same time, Leftover Salmon wasn’t bound by tradition. That’s what made them so exciting. We could go from a driving bluegrass tune to a zydeco groove to a psychedelic jam in one set. That flexibility was right in my wheelhouse. I love blending styles and bringing different musical elements together, and Salmon gave me the room to do just that.
The Energy of the Road
Touring with Leftover Salmon was a wild ride. We played everywhere—from big festivals like Telluride and High Sierra to tiny clubs in small towns across the country. Every night was different. Every crowd brought a different kind of energy. And every show had the potential to go off the rails in the best possible way.
We didn’t just play songs—we stretched them, bent them, jammed them out, and let the moment shape the music. That’s what jamgrass was all about: honoring the structure of bluegrass while opening it up to the unknown. We’d take a simple melody and turn it into a ten-minute journey, full of twists, turns, and spontaneous magic.
Being part of that kind of musical adventure night after night was addictive. There’s nothing like being locked in with your bandmates, feeling the crowd respond, and knowing you’re creating something completely in the moment.
Making Records, Making Memories
During my decade with Leftover Salmon, we made some great records and captured some of that live energy in the studio. But it was the performances that really defined what we were about. We were a band built on experience—on what happened between us and the audience in real time.
I brought some of my own songwriting into the mix, which was a real honor. Getting to contribute original material to a band with such a strong identity was a big moment for me. It pushed me to write in new ways and to keep learning from the talented musicians around me.
We also shared the stage with a ton of great artists—too many to name. That’s one of the perks of being part of the jam and festival scene: constant collaboration, cross-pollination, and musical community. You never knew who might sit in for a song or where the night would take you.
Building Friendships and Finding Family
Beyond the music, Leftover Salmon gave me lifelong friendships. The band and crew were more than coworkers—we were a road family. Living out of vans, buses, and hotels for weeks at a time creates a bond that goes deeper than just music. We laughed, argued, celebrated, and weathered the ups and downs of life on the road together.
Some of my favorite memories aren’t from the stage—they’re from the moments in between. The late-night diner meals, the soundchecks that turned into jams, the roadside breakdowns that turned into adventures. All of that was part of the journey, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Moving On, Carrying It Forward
In 2010, after ten amazing years, I decided it was time to move on. It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the right one. I wanted to explore new musical paths, focus more on my own projects, and spend a little less time living out of a suitcase.
But even after leaving the band, the spirit of Leftover Salmon stayed with me. The lessons I learned, the musicianship I witnessed, and the risks we took together all shaped who I am as a player and a person. It taught me that genre doesn’t matter as much as energy and intention—that what you bring to the music matters more than the label it wears.
Grateful for the Ride
Looking back, my time with Leftover Salmon was one of the richest periods of my musical life. It challenged me, inspired me, and gave me a front-row seat to a movement that helped reshape the jam and bluegrass scenes. I’m proud of what we created together and grateful for every fan, every festival, and every moment we shared.
Jamgrass may have started as a quirky term, but it grew into something real and powerful. It broke down barriers and brought people together through joy, rhythm, and raw musical spirit. I’m thankful I got to be in the mix—and I’ll always carry that groove with me.