“I played music as a kid, but spent more time in the woods. We’d run off in the creeks, disappearing into the trees from sunup to sundown. Squirrel hunting. Fishing. Trapping. Country-boy-out-in-the-woods stuff. And music was always there, running alongside it. 

My dad played guitar, but his brother was in Nashville playing a lot more. My uncle played BayFest when I was a kid and would set up the whole band at my grandparents’ house. I never forgot the feeling of watching grown men build a whole sound system out of nothing but cases, cords, and confidence. My uncle turned down a development deal in 2001. Those family stories stick with me. 

I learned a few guitar chords from my dad, and my grandfather listened to country music: Willie, Ray Charles, Merle Haggard, and Hank Williams. Those voices and stories got under my skin early. I couldn’t learn other people’s songs that well, so I did my own thing and started writing songs pretty young. 

There were other influences. A lot of us were into Christian screamo rock and the Christian music scene in West Mobile. I played guitar in a youth group. A little later, I met Charlie Muncaster of Muscadine Bloodline in the men’s chorus at St. Paul’s Episcopal School in Mobile.  We learned to sing harmony and did sight-reading competitions; we could sing any part in the piece of music. We also played guitar together, mashing Hank Jr. and sad acoustic songs. 

I went into the Marines after high school. Both of my grandfathers served, so I always knew I would. I was in the plebe program in high school, but had long hair. Charlie shaved my head the summer going into our senior year. He was like, ‘They’re going to shave it anyway. Why don’t you just let me do it?’ His friends convinced me, so Charlie shaved me bald.

From the Marines, I joined the Army to go special forces. I went all over: the Middle East, Europe, and Asia. I learned in the military that life goes on, even when crazy things happen. You get used to picking up your ruck and keep going. 

I’ve been a warrior. I’ve fought in war and know violence. I learned this truth: when you use violence, you create more enemies. You kill someone, his brother is coming to get you. It’s like the old Hatfields and McCoys: you’re never going to get even, no matter how many times you kill or stab somebody. But worlds go on simultaneously, and humanity also has the gift of music. This became what  I gave my attention to. Now my battlefield is on a guitar fretboard. 

Mobile shaped me, too. The demand for live music is what makes this scene. There’s not the same demand for local music in most other places. I love our music community. It’s been a huge part of my growth.

I started gigging and waiting tables in 2014. I was playing seven nights a week, loading my speaker and guitar in and out of Boo Radley’s, Brickyard, Saddle Up Saloon, Grand Central, and O’Daly’s. Charlie and I played a bunch at Shenanigans Ultra Lounge. Back in the day, when I was dating Hannah McFarland, we recorded covers for 95 KSJs ‘Under the Covers,’ and the radio station put them on the air. That’s  when I knew I wanted to play music as a career, but there were many ups and downs. 

I met Jacob Hall when his brother John brought him down, and Jacob played with me at the Saddle Up Saloon, barefoot. Jacob said his first instrument was piano, not guitar. I told him to bring his piano the next night to the Flora-Bama dome, and the rest was history. We played hundreds of gigs together. Jacob died in 2020. Suicide is something I experienced more than I like to admit in the military. It became part of my mental health mission to bring awareness and help to folks in need. I owe a lot of that to Jacob.

My son was born in 2021. I named him after Jacob, but I lost them both. My son was almost two when he died. My song ‘Little Jake’ is about him–it’s how I take him to each show with me. 

I was touring with Whitey Morgan when COVID happened. They wanted us to go out to Oregon and Washington. That was pretty far, and some of my band members quit. I couldn’t afford it, so I quit, too. Quit the whole music business. But this is a bug, and I’ve invested so much into it. After a month or two, I was gigging again at the Flora-Bama. I’ve been over the mountain, over the mountain, over the mountain, and down the valley a bunch of times.

My tattoo says, ‘Not yet begun to fight.’ It’s a John Paul Jones quote from the American Revolution, reminding me I can always dig deeper and fight harder. So the question becomes can you wear all the hats? Are you going to put yourself out there, no matter what it takes, at whatever cost? I’ve seen a lot of business opportunities through the years, and some I just slithered my way through the snakes. 

But Charlie Muncaster and I have evolved from our St. Paul Days. Both of our bands played at Red Rocks earlier this year, opening for the Red Clay Strays. It was one of those moments that makes you stop and realize time is moving whether you’re ready or not.

One of the hardest parts of playing music is getting to the show. We get paid to drive, mechanic, set up our gear, and haul everything in and out and in and out. The music is the relaxing time.

My band tours in a 1968 Eagle Flyer bus I named ‘Little Jake.’ Bands used to tour in these, and I had to have one. We are learning how to fix everything as we go because we can’t find mechanics who know what to do with it. People see us at truck stops and start asking questions right out the gate, wanting to see inside. The bus makes touring so much easier.  The merch, PA, and gear are here, along with beds and a generator. When we break down on the side of the road, the others can eat, sleep, watch TV, and play video games while we work on the problem. I want another bus just like it to take our families with us. 

I’m getting back into horses and broke my filly myself, so I can ride and play guitar on her bareback. My mom has always had horses, so I’ve been around them my whole life. A trainer used me as a rider to train them. That takes bravery, and you fall a lot. I’ve been ripped open pretty good when I got thrown into barbed wire. I’ve got a scar on my forearm that looks like a mountain lion. I’m a product of my family; I just take it to extremes. 

I’m still out here with a guitar always within arm’s reach. I write little ditties a couple times a week, then grow them into songs by playing them over and over with the band. We’re building songs that sound like us with the road in them. 

Music also feels like the best way I can change the future for my children. People put up walls and say, ‘You’ll never understand my problems.’ But music is the missile that breaks through walls and reaches people where they are, making them feel less alone. 

I know slow and steady with my music wins the race. Willie and Waylon came back to Nashville from Austin after they built something different and signed deals that let them do the outlaw thing. I hope that’s where I’m at.”

Justin Jeansonne

(Justin is playing in Fairhope on Friday, Dec. 19 at the Live at Five Jacob Hall Memorial Jam.)

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Bonus story

“I started playing violin in sixth grade for the string orchestra–that’s when I started taking music more seriously. I quit playing in high school, but I still write violin stuff and play it on demos. One day, I’ll put some fiddle in a song.  

I spend a lot of hours driving our bus, and my new favorite artists pull from the same well. I’m a Sturgill Simpson fan. I like Colter Wall, Charlie Crockeet, Ryan Bingham, and Sierra Ferrell. That whole lane of music has dust on it, but it’s alive.”

Here’s several of Justin’s songs.

“Where has Country Gone”

“Snake in the Grass”

“Fly This Eagle”