Jelly Roll, a figure who shatters preconceived notions of country music stars, operates by a simple backstage rule at his concerts: photos are welcome before the show, but afterward, it’s about unwinding, not posing. This blend of business acumen and laid-back authenticity perfectly encapsulates the appeal of this Southern artist, who has transitioned from rapper to face-tattooed country sensation.
Currently riding a wave of success, Jelly Roll, age 38, is found in relaxed conversation with radio DJs and programmers instrumental in propelling his hits “Son of a Sinner” and “Need a Favor” to the pinnacle of Billboard’s Country Airplay chart. Amidst taking selfies, discussions range from Las Vegas to the fentanyl crisis, punctuated by an impromptu music history lesson connecting Bakersfield to both Buck Owens, Merle Haggard, and unexpectedly, Korn.
“The fact that they’re from the same place as Korn is awesome,” Jelly Roll remarks, eliciting chuckles from the radio personnel. “I wish 2Pac was from Bakersfield too — that’d really be a mindf—.” This comment highlights his genre-bending mindset, a key element in his crossover appeal.
Jelly Roll performing on stage
Beyond his music, which fearlessly delves into his past struggles with addiction and incarceration, Jelly Roll’s genuine connection with people is the bedrock of his 2023 breakthrough. Sold-out tours, massive streaming numbers, and multiple Country Music Association Awards nominations, including New Artist of the Year, underscore his impact. Describing himself as “an extrovert by nature,” he thrives on interaction, a trait that resonates deeply with his growing fanbase.
Backstage interactions with industry figures morph into intimate gatherings, while onstage, Jelly Roll’s performances are intensely personal. He evokes tears from audience members as he passionately delivers lyrics from his viral hit “Save Me,” a raw expression of feeling “damaged beyond repair.” His voice, both vulnerable and rugged, complements his imposing physical presence, creating a captivating stage persona.
Eric Church, a seasoned country star who invited Jelly Roll to open for him, notes, “I’ve never seen anybody who by the time he walks out there, before he’s even done anything, the crowd’s already in love with him. I think it’s the story and the honesty.” Church emphasizes the authenticity that sets Jelly Roll apart: “There’s so many people you run into — I’ve been doing this 20 years — where part of their shtick is this false humility. But he truly is grateful and astonished to be where he’s at in his life. You can feel it all over him.”
Jelly Roll’s ascent continues with Grammy buzz surrounding his first full country album, “Whitsitt Chapel,” released just months prior. He’s being considered not only in country categories but also for Best New Artist, a category historically challenging for Nashville artists. Despite a history of over 20 rap albums and mixtapes, Jason DeFord, the man behind Jelly Roll, is defying expectations.
Growing up in Antioch, Tennessee, near Nashville, his youth was marked by run-ins with the law, spending time incarcerated for robbery and drug-related offenses. Influenced by Southern hip-hop icons like UGK and Three 6 Mafia, he began rapping in 2002, building a successful independent hip-hop career. However, “Save Me,” an emotionally charged acoustic ballad born during the pandemic, signaled a shift towards the country music of his childhood, influenced by his mother’s taste for “the good stuff: Willie, Waylon, Garth.”
“I can probably sing more Garth Brooks songs than Garth Brooks can,” he jokes, acknowledging the genre’s evolution. He points to Sam Hunt’s “Break Up in a Small Town” and Keith Urban’s “Cop Car” as songs that broadened his perception of modern country. “I was like, ‘Yo, country dudes are singing about wild s— again!’” he realized, seeing a space for his own raw storytelling.
“Save Me” resonated instantly, amassing over 190 million YouTube views and another 130 million on Spotify, including a version with Lainey Wilson. Yet, Nashville’s initial response was hesitant. “Anybody in town that says they didn’t say no to me is a liar,” Jelly Roll admits. Concerns ranged from his face tattoos to his weight, with suggestions to use his birth name, Jason DeFord.
Jelly Roll resisted these pressures, grounded in his established independent success. “The YouTube channel had a billion views and was doing $2 million a year, and that’s not counting touring, merch, publishing, all that. There was no denying what was happening.” His motivation was reaching a wider audience with his impactful message, witnessed in smaller venues where fans were deeply moved by his music. “I wanted radio and I wanted publicity,” and importantly, “I wanted to play the Grand Ole Opry.”
Jon Loba, president of Broken Bow Records Nashville, recognized Jelly Roll’s unique appeal. Beyond the music itself, it was “the conversations he was having with his audience — the intensity of the conversations — that really got me,” Loba states. Signing Jelly Roll in 2021, Broken Bow released “Ballads of the Broken,” showcasing his genre-blending style. Soon after, Jelly Roll debuted at the Grand Ole Opry, introducing “Son of a Sinner” as “music for the soul, from the soul.”
“I knew that night that that was gonna be home for me,” Jelly Roll reflects on his Opry debut, predicting a long-term relationship with the iconic venue. He attributes his rapid country music success to being part of a wave of “where-they-are-in-their-life-right-now songwriters” like Zach Bryan and Oliver Anthony. He acknowledges their vocal styles are “way more gritty” compared to polished country voices, but believes this authenticity “is filling a necessary void.”
He even draws parallels with Peso Pluma, noting their shared raw energy despite language barriers. Jelly Roll’s music, while gritty, exhibits a craft honed through years in rap. “My delivery, the compound syllable rhymes — that’s something you don’t hear in country music very much,” he explains, highlighting his hip-hop-infused approach to songwriting.
As his fame escalates, Jelly Roll seeks guidance from established country artists like Eric Church. He values Church’s longevity and broad appeal, hoping to build a lasting career. He sees similarities with Zach Bryan, recognizing shared experiences of navigating restrictive environments, whether military or incarceration, fostering an ability to connect with diverse people.
Jelly Roll identifies as “not a political guy,” citing his disenfranchisement due to a past felony conviction. However, he aims to advocate for criminal justice reform, particularly concerning drug rehabilitation, hoping to meet with Tennessee officials to discuss these issues. “Why do we not have more programs focused on rehabilitation instead of discipline?” he questions, emphasizing compassion and addressing the opioid crisis.
His commitment extends beyond rhetoric. On tour, he dedicates “two to three days a week” to acts of benevolence, visiting juvenile detention centers and homeless shelters. He emphasizes the importance of “backing up” his music’s message with tangible action. “The stuff I sing about, you gotta back that s— up, man,” he concludes, reinforcing his dedication to authenticity and impact.
