Rising Tides is an opinion column exploring all things Mobile.
Years ago, I walked into the box office of the Mobile Saenger Theatre on the night of an Indigo Girls show and witnessed a moment that quietly affirmed the power of Kristy Lee’s music.
She was stepping up to the Will Call window to pick up some passes. She gave her name, got her tickets and turned around – straight into the arms of two young women who were blown away to be meeting her face to face. One of them gushed that they’d listened to her music all the way down from Birmingham.
That has stuck with me for a long time. Tens of thousands of singer-songwriters dream of stardom for every one who makes it. Below stardom, there’s a never-ending struggle to make a viable career of it. It’s a hard road. As native son Will Kimbrough has said, there’s no good reason to try to make a career in music – unless you just have to.
Creating a catalog strong enough that people will listen to it through an hours-long road trip may not be as public a measure of success as playing the stage of the Ryman (which Lee has done), but it is evidence that you’ve made it closer to the top of the mountain than most.
The Bay Minette native’s decision to abandon a gig at the Kennedy Center, following a political power play in which supporters of President Donald Trump tacked his name on the institution, brought her a level of attention she didn’t entirely want. She was among the first of a growing slate of artists to do so – others now include “Wicked” composer Stephen Schwartz, Bluegrass legend Bela Fleck and “Hamilton” creator Lin-Manuel Miranda.
In media coverage, she usually was described simply as a folk singer, and in some cases her Alabama roots weren’t even mentioned. Let’s fix that, because they’re important here.
In 2023 I called her up to talk about the fact that her new album, “The Olive Tree,” had topped the iTunes blues chart, putting her among much bigger names such as Etta James and Joe Bonamassa. Among other things, we talked about the way her international travels and her struggle with multiple sclerosis had informed the album. While we spoke, she chopped ingredients for a pot of collard greens she was going to serve her at rehearsal later that day.
“That detail is classic Kristy Lee,” I wrote at the time. “It exemplifies the ‘dirt road soul’ label Lee has used to describe her music: As down-home as can be at its roots, but blessed with a soaring powerhouse of a voice that can surprise and shock, driven by a need to make connections that are deep and real. You don’t see Lee’s fans coming up to shake hands at a show: You see them coming in for full-clinch, how-have-you-been hugs. So of course she’s chopping collards for the band.”
She’s framed her Kennedy Center decision as a personal one, based on her gut feelings about right and wrong. She’s fielded plenty of interview requests (including mine), but she has spoken softly. She hasn’t milked the occasion for fame. She hasn’t sought out cameras, led rallies, pushed out new product or tried to turn anti-Trump sentiment into celebrity.
I had a few questions. Here are her answers:
How big a deal was it for you to be booked for a show at the Kennedy Center?
Lee: It wasn’t a dream so much as a marker on a long road. Saying no meant giving up a moment I’d earned the hard way. Art carries meaning, and that meaning has to line up with who you are. I’m a gay singer-songwriter from the South, and I have to make sure the platforms I stand on respect where I come from — and the humanity I believe in. Right now, this administration doesn’t reflect that kind of empathy.
At least one of the groups that withdrew from a show at the center has been threatened with legal action. Have you?
Lee: No. I haven’t been threatened with legal action. And I’ll say this plainly: my decision wasn’t about fear of consequences. It was about conscience. I was trying to stay in tune with myself and protect my own peace.
The response I’ve seen on local social media has been positive. You’ve got a lot of friends and diehard supporters in the Lower Alabama arts/entertainment/culture scene, in addition to your fan base. I’m sure that’s not the whole story. To what extent has backlash caused you to feel threatened?
Lee: There have been real threats over the course of my career, simply from being a gay artist with a platform, and that tension has grown sharper over the last decade. It reflects a broader climate where cruelty has been normalized and empathy has been worn thin. When leadership models bullying toward marginalized people, it seeps into everyday life and disconnects us from one another. Still, the support has far outweighed any hostility, especially here at home. Alabama has had my back — and some of my strongest allies are folks you wouldn’t expect — and you damn sure wouldn’t want to piss off.
You’re presenting a free streaming show on Facebook on Jan. 14, the date you would have played the Kennedy Center’s Millennium Stage. What are your plans for that?
Lee: The plan is simple — Show up and sing. That night is about the music and the people who want to connect through it. Just songs doing what they’ve always done: bringing people into the same room and reminding us we’re human.
Ya’ll come on in. I’ll have a good bottle of whiskey on board…
You’ve clearly been taking pains not to escalate the rhetoric. What do you want people to know about that?
Lee: I’m not trying to escalate anything or turn this into a spectacle. This was a personal decision made with care, not a call to arms. The only place I’d ask for some light footing is around intent — this wasn’t about provocation or politics as sport. It was about conscience, alignment, and staying human in a moment that feels increasingly disconnected. If the story holds onto that, I think it tells the truth without pouring gasoline on anything.
So there we are. Information on the Jan. 14 show can be found on its Facebook events page.
I’m left with something that I think will stick with me as long as that long-ago scene in the Saenger box office. (I suspect it was the 2010 show, not the 2015 one where she opened for Amy Ray and Emily Saliers.) It’s something Lee said in an Instagram post clarifying her position:
“Art carries meaning, and meaning carries responsibility.”
In the world of pop entertainment, it’s common for performers to proclaim their patriotism or their faith to adoring crowds, knowing full well it’ll get them an ovation, and for this to somehow be considered taking a stand. What Lee has done is something quieter, something that came with a cost, something that won’t sell T-shirts or tickets.
And for those of us here in her home country, those who get the meaning of “dirt road soul,” it’s something to be proud of.
Interested in writing a guest column? Or have a suggestion for a future topic? E-mail columnist Lawrence Specker at[email protected].