Over the course of my life in music, one thing has become clear to me: collaboration is where the magic happens. Sure, solo moments have their place, and I love playing on my own. But the real joy, the real growth, comes from sharing the stage—and the creative process—with other musicians.

Every artist I’ve worked with has brought something different to the table. Sometimes it was a new sound or approach, other times it was a mindset, a rhythm, or even a lesson I didn’t know I needed to learn. From jam bands to jazz cats, soul singers to folk storytellers, I’ve been lucky to play alongside people who have not only inspired me but also helped shape who I am as a musician and a person.

Early Lessons: Band Du Jour and Finding My Voice

Back in the early ‘90s, I was part of Band Du Jour, a funky, soulful Colorado-based band that gave me one of my first real tastes of life on the road. Those guys were full of energy, full of ideas, and full of heart. We weren’t afraid to mix styles—soul, rock, reggae, blues—you name it, we tried it.

We played countless gigs together, toured overseas on a DOD trip, and learned how to work as a unit. That experience taught me how to listen more deeply, how to be generous in my playing, and how to respond to what the music—and my bandmates—needed in the moment.

Playing with Band Du Jour also helped me understand that the keyboard could be a lead voice or a subtle support system depending on the song. That flexibility has stayed with me ever since.

The Derek Trucks Band: A Masterclass in Musicianship

In 1995, I joined the Derek Trucks Band as their lead singer and keyboardist, and that was a massive turning point in my musical life. Derek was young, but already on another level—his touch, his tone, and his musical instincts were just remarkable.

Touring and recording with Derek for five years was like earning a degree in soul, blues, and improvisation. We shared the stage with icons like Gregg Allman, Warren Haynes, and Col. Bruce Hampton, and every show was a lesson in presence and musical honesty.

From Derek, I learned the importance of playing from a deep emotional place. He didn’t need to show off. He played with intention, restraint, and a quiet power that always moved the room. That rubbed off on me in a big way. I learned to let the music breathe, to trust the groove, and to dig deep for every note.

Leftover Salmon: Blending Roots and Jam

Joining Leftover Salmon in 2000 brought me into the world of jamgrass—something totally new to me at the time. It was a collision of bluegrass instrumentation, rock energy, and jam band exploration. At first, I wasn’t sure how the Hammond B3 organ and piano would fit into that acoustic-heavy landscape. But the guys in Salmon welcomed me in and gave me the space to find my voice within their sound.

Over a decade with the band, I played hundreds of shows, wrote songs, and learned how to blend into a mix where mandolin, banjo, and fiddle were front and center. It made me a better listener, a more careful arranger, and a more creative player.

From Vince Herman and Drew Emmitt, I learned how to loosen up and have fun on stage, how to keep the energy high without losing focus, and how to trust in the power of the audience to carry the music further.

Family Ties: The McKay Brothers

No collaboration has been more personal—or more rewarding—than the music I make with my brother John as the McKay Brothers. John is a gifted songwriter with a real knack for storytelling, and working with him grounds me in a way no other project does.

When we play together, it’s not about the flash. It’s about honesty, melody, and connection. We pull from folk, country, and blues traditions, and there’s something timeless about that. Playing with John reminds me why I fell in love with music in the first place—to connect, to share, to express something real.

New Sounds, Old Souls

More recently, I’ve had the chance to collaborate with some fantastic musicians in bands like Steely Dead and the Very Jerry Band. These groups blend classic material from artists like Steely Dan and the Grateful Dead with fresh interpretations and fearless musicianship.

Working with Dave Hebert and the rest of the crew in these projects has been a blast. They push me creatively and give me room to bring the Hammond organ into new, unexpected spaces. It’s a reminder that even after all these years, I’m still growing, still learning, and still falling in love with music in new ways.

The Takeaway

Looking back, I can see how every collaboration—every shared solo, every backstage laugh, every jam session gone right or off the rails—has taught me something.

I’ve learned to trust others, to trust myself, and to always listen more than I speak. I’ve learned that music isn’t a competition—it’s a conversation. The best players I’ve worked with have been the ones who serve the song, support the group, and leave their egos at the door.

I’m grateful for every musician who’s crossed my path. Each one has left a mark on my sound, my spirit, and my journey. And the beautiful thing about music is that there’s always another collaboration waiting around the corner.

As long as I’m still playing, I’ll keep learning—from the people beside me on stage, from the songs we sing, and from the grooves we chase together.

The post Collaborations That Changed Me: The Musicians Who Shaped My Journey appeared first on Bill McKay.

When people think about the life of a touring musician, they often picture the stage lights, the screaming fans, the big festival moments. And don’t get me wrong—those are incredible parts of the job. But for those of us who’ve lived it day in and day out, touring is so much more. It’s a rhythm, a lifestyle, a test of patience, and a deep well of stories—some hilarious, some humbling, and all unforgettable.

After decades on the road with bands like Band Du Jour, the Derek Trucks Band, Leftover Salmon, Coral Creek, and now Steely Dead and the Very Jerry Band, I’ve played hundreds of shows and traveled thousands of miles. Each tour has been a ride of its own, and looking back, it’s the in-between moments—the roadside diners, the broken-down vans, the unexpected friendships—that often stick with me just as much as the music.

The Festival Spirit

Festivals hold a special place in my heart. There’s nothing like the energy of a festival crowd—people coming together to celebrate music, camp under the stars, and lose themselves in the groove. Whether it’s Telluride, High Sierra, or some off-the-beaten-path gathering in a Colorado meadow, festivals are where musicians and audiences meet on equal ground.

With Leftover Salmon, festivals were our playground. We’d hit the stage ready to go anywhere musically, and often did. Sometimes we had a setlist. Sometimes we just followed the vibe. That freedom is what jam music is all about—improvising not just on stage, but in spirit.

One year at a festival in West Virginia, we lost power mid-set. Instead of panicking, we unplugged, gathered at the front of the stage, and played an acoustic set by lantern light. The crowd came closer, everyone quieted down, and something magical happened. That night reminded me that the connection with the audience doesn’t depend on volume or lights—it comes from heart.

Van Life and Late Nights

Touring means living out of vans, buses, and hotel rooms for weeks or months at a time. It means loading gear at 2 a.m., eating gas station snacks for dinner, and getting to know your bandmates better than you ever thought possible.

In the early days with Band Du Jour, we crammed five guys and all our gear into one van. We played shows wherever we could—college bars, dive clubs, military bases overseas. Once, during a DOD tour in Japan, we played a show on an army base, then got invited to a local karaoke bar where we ended up singing with the soldiers until sunrise. We may have butchered some Elvis songs, but nobody cared. It was pure joy.

With the Derek Trucks Band, the touring schedule was relentless—but the music made it worth it. I remember one show in Atlanta where we were joined onstage by Gregg Allman and Warren Haynes. Standing there behind my B3, trading grooves with those legends, I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself.

Brotherhood on the Road

Being on tour turns a band into a family. You celebrate birthdays in hotel lobbies, share headphones on long drives, and learn to give each other space when the miles start to wear you down. There are tough days, no doubt. But there’s also a deep sense of camaraderie that only comes from the road.

Some of my closest friendships were born in green rooms and parking lots. We’ve laughed until we cried, argued over directions, and picked each other up after rough shows or long nights. That bond is what keeps the wheels turning—literally and figuratively.

One time, driving through a blizzard in the Rockies on our way to a festival, our van slid off the road and got stuck. We thought we’d miss the gig for sure. But a farmer came by on a snowmobile, helped us dig out, and even brought us coffee. We made it to the stage with ten minutes to spare—and played one of the most energized sets of the tour.

The Soul of the Road

Touring isn’t glamorous, but it’s deeply rewarding. You learn to appreciate the little things—a clean hotel room, a great meal, a moment of quiet before soundcheck. You also learn that no two shows are ever the same. The crowd changes. The venue changes. Your own energy shifts. But the music always finds a way through.

And then there are the moments that stop you in your tracks: watching a crowd of strangers come together on a single chorus, seeing a kid in the front row light up when you hit a solo, hearing people sing your lyrics back to you. Those are the moments that make the long drives and sleepless nights worthwhile.

Still Rolling

Even after all these years, I still get excited to hit the road. With Steely Dead and the Very Jerry Band, I’ve found new inspiration in the music of legends, alongside musicians who bring passion and skill to every note. Whether it’s a massive festival stage or a small-town theater, I try to bring the same energy, the same gratitude, and the same willingness to follow the moment wherever it leads.

Touring has given me stories, friendships, and a lifetime of music. It’s shaped me not just as a musician, but as a human being. And while the road can be tough, it also offers something rare—a chance to live fully in the present, night after night, note after note.

So here’s to the long drives, the festival sunrises, the off-key harmonies in the van, and the never-ending journey. As long as there’s a stage to play and a road to travel, I’ll keep going. Because this life—crazy, beautiful, and unpredictable as it is—is home.

The post Festival Vibes and Road Tales: Stories From a Life on Tour appeared first on Bill McKay.

A Life in Music

I’ve been a professional musician my entire life, and it’s been one long, winding, beautiful ride. Music has taken me across the country and around the world. It’s introduced me to lifelong friends, taught me how to listen deeply, and pushed me to grow, adapt, and keep evolving. Looking back, each band, each collaboration, and each stage I’ve played on has been a stepping stone on a journey that’s still going strong.

From the early days with Band Du Jour to my current projects with Steely Dead and the Very Jerry Band, my path has never followed one straight line. Instead, it’s been a constant mix of styles, sounds, and scenes—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

College and the Circle: Opening My Ears

In 1987, I moved to Colorado to attend Colorado College, where I studied political science by day and dove headfirst into music every other waking moment. I joined The Circle, a band that helped me find my stage voice, and also began studying world music—everything from Indian ragas to African rhythms and Native American chants.

That time was a turning point for me. Working with the dance department, composing music for modern choreography, and absorbing the global language of music opened my ears and broadened my perspective. I began to understand that music didn’t have to fit in a box—it could be fluid, spiritual, and collaborative.

Band Du Jour: Soul, Groove, and the Open Road

After college, I moved to Boulder and joined Band Du Jour, a high-energy Soul ’n’ Roll outfit that would come to define my early career. We toured hard between 1990 and 1995 and even landed a two-month Department of Defense tour across South Korea, Japan, and Okinawa.

Du Jour was all about energy, vibe, and connection. We played with some of the big names of the early jam scene—Blues Traveler, The Samples, Phish, Aquarium Rescue Unit—and we held our own. As a keyboard player and singer, I learned how to drive the band one minute and lay back the next. That balance has stayed with me ever since.

The Derek Trucks Years: A Master Class in Musicianship

In 1995, I got the call to join the Derek Trucks Band as lead singer and keyboardist. I packed up and moved to Atlanta, where I’d spend the next five years in a whole new musical environment. Derek was still young, but he was already tapped into a deep well of blues, jazz, and soul. Playing with him was like getting a master class in feel and nuance.

We toured constantly and shared the stage with legends—Gregg Allman, Warren Haynes, Col. Bruce Hampton, Phil Lesh, and many others. It was humbling and inspiring to be part of that world. I soaked up everything I could and learned how to improvise with more purpose and intention. It was also during this time that I fell even deeper in love with the Hammond B3 organ and what it could do inside a song.

Leftover Salmon: Jamgrass and the Colorado Sound

By 2000, I felt the pull back to Colorado. That’s when I joined Leftover Salmon—a band that blended bluegrass, Cajun, rock, and jam into something completely its own. I spent ten years with them, recording, touring, and pushing musical boundaries.

Jamgrass was new to me, and adding keyboards to that acoustic-driven sound was a challenge. But it forced me to grow. I learned how to weave piano and organ around instruments like mandolin and banjo, adding color without overpowering the mix. Salmon also gave me space to contribute as a songwriter and arranger, and the fans were some of the most loyal and energetic people I’ve ever played for.

The McKay Brothers and Musical Roots

Throughout all of this, I kept a steady thread going with my brother John. As the McKay Brothers, we’ve recorded and toured with a mix of our own originals and deep cuts from folk, blues, and country traditions. There’s something grounding about playing music with your sibling—something that always brings you back to who you are.

The McKay Brothers project has been close to my heart because it keeps me connected to the roots, to storytelling, and to music that feels like home.

Coral Creek, Brother’s Keeper, and Beyond

After Salmon, I kept busy with solo piano gigs, freelance work, and new collaborations. I spent six years with Chris Thompson’s band Coral Creek, touring the U.S. and Virgin Islands, and recording albums like Coral Creek and Free Dog. I also formed the Bill McKay Band and played with groups like Brother’s Keeper and True Blue Band—projects that kept me learning and experimenting.

No matter the lineup, my goal has always been the same: to serve the song, follow the groove, and bring heart to every note.

Steely Dead, Very Jerry, and the Grateful Spirit

These days, I’m proud to play with Steely Dead—a project that merges the music of Steely Dan and the Grateful Dead—and the Very Jerry Band, which celebrates the legacy of the Jerry Garcia Band. Both bands are led by my friend Dave Hebert, and playing this music is both a joy and a challenge.

There’s so much depth and soul in these songs. They require respect, but they also invite exploration. It’s a sweet spot for me—honoring the spirit of the music while still making it my own.

Still Evolving, Still Grateful

Looking back, I’ve been lucky to play with some amazing people and be part of some truly unique bands. From Band Du Jour to the Derek Trucks Band, from Leftover Salmon to Steely Dead, each chapter has taught me something new.

My musical journey isn’t over. In fact, I feel like I’m still evolving. There’s always a new groove to find, a new song to write, a new band to push forward. Music has been my lifelong companion, and I’m still excited for where it’ll take me next.

The post From Du Jour to Dead: The Evolution of My Musical Journey By Bill McKay appeared first on Bill McKay.

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.

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