Ansel Brown’s “The Whiskey Makes Her Miss Me” — “It’s that late-night ache, that quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, she still thinks about you when the bottle’s half gone.”
Born in Greenville, South Carolina. First musical memories include your grandmother’s piano playing and mother singing lullabies. How has your family influenced your music career?
Music was like oxygen in our household. My grandmother played piano with this soft, soulful elegance that somehow carried both joy and sorrow. My mother, a schoolteacher, would sing lullabies with a voice that made even the roughest days feel safe. That emotional depth stayed with me. They weren’t performers — just deeply human storytellers through sound. That’s what I strive for now in my music: authenticity, vulnerability, and something that feels like home, even when it hurts.
Raised in a Navy family in Northern Virginia, Norfolk, and Pearl Harbor. Singing in the Hawaiian Children’s Choir and being influenced by ’80s music. How did these early experiences shape your sound?
Growing up in a Navy family taught me how to adapt, listen, and appreciate different cultures and people. Singing in the Hawaiian Children’s Choir on Oahu gave me my first real stage and taught me discipline. We sang in different languages and harmonies — it gave me a foundation I still rely on. And then the ‘80s… man, it was a golden era of melody. I soaked up everything from Alabama and Ronnie Milsap to Bryan Adams and Journey. My sound now? It’s rooted in country storytelling, but it carries all those early echoes.
While living in Hawaii, your mother, a high school science teacher, was brutally attacked in her classroom by a masked intruder. Her survival taught you about the will to fight, live, and forgive. Faith clearly plays a powerful role in your music. How has your spiritual journey influenced your songwriting?
Watching my mom survive something that dark — and choose to forgive — was the kind of faith that doesn’t come from a pulpit. It comes from love, from trauma, from choosing light. My songs often come from that place: the middle of the storm, the hard road back, the little miracles we miss. Faith doesn’t mean everything’s okay. It means you believe it can be. That’s where I write from.
Your career took off in the early 2000’s with the release of You’re Just Smoke with its breakout single, “Mine’s Bigger.” Then you took time away from music, learning to live with chronic AFib, going through a divorce, and standing by your son as he faced difficult circumstances. “It nearly broke me.” Staying grounded in the music industry can be challenging. What keeps you focused and true to yourself?
I’ve learned that survival is a choice you make every single day. When life took me off the road, it also stripped me down to what really mattered. Faith. Family. Purpose. I run a business now. I show up for my wife, daughter, and sons. I go to sleep knowing I gave the best of myself to someone that day. That’s what keeps me grounded. The music? It’s a gift I get to unwrap again now — but I know who I am with or without a stage.
Dedication to honoring America’s military and veterans. “Our Country,” a moving tribute to service members and their families, was brought to life by the iconic narration of Peter Cullen, the voice of Optimus Prime. Your music unites audiences through shared values of patriotism, sacrifice, and hope. Is there one performance that stands out as especially meaningful?
One that will always stay with me was performing “Our Country” at Richard’s Coffee Shop in Mooresville — a place run by veterans, for veterans. The first time I sang it live there, a retired soldier put his hand on my shoulder, teary-eyed, and said, “That song told my story.” Add to that the incredible blessing of Peter Cullen lending his voice to it — and suddenly, it wasn’t just a song. It became a mission. That’s the moment I knew music could do more than entertain. It could heal.
Collaborated with NASA to write and perform at events. Wrote “Flying” with NASA songwriting contest winner Moranda Rasmussen. Could you share how the collaboration impacted you?
NASA reached out to me to help with a national songwriting contest, and that led to meeting Moranda — a high school student with dreams bigger than gravity. The moment we connected, I learned she had Cerebral Palsy — which made our collaboration all the more meaningful. It felt like all the work I had done with children’s hospitals throughout my career had led me to that moment. We co-wrote the song “Flying,” and then I got to perform it for astronauts and engineers. What hit me the hardest was how music and science collided in that moment — a reminder that creativity and logic aren’t opposites. They’re partners. That experience reshaped how I think about inspiration. It reminded me how far a song can travel.
You’ve acted in indie films, written music for youth football programs, and championed children’s hospitals and faith-based causes. Created content with your daughter, Sophia, on the YouTube channel, Seriously Sophia. How do you see social media impacting your connection with fans and the broader country music landscape?
Social media has changed the game. You can reach hearts in real time. It lets me share the deeper side of what I do — not just polished music videos but behind-the-scenes moments with my daughter, real stories about veterans, live acoustic takes, and reminders that artists are human. The channel I run with Sophia, Seriously Sophia, is one of my favorite projects because it shows the joy behind the grind. And in a world that’s increasingly filtered, real connection is what breaks through.
Upcoming single, “The Whiskey Makes Her Miss Me.” The track is the first from the upcoming album, Gravity (which will be split into two EPs titled, The Rise and Falling Into Place). What was the inspiration behind this song?
“The Whiskey Makes Her Miss Me” is a heartbreak song, but it’s not bitter. It’s that late-night ache, that quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, she still thinks about you when the bottle’s half gone. It came from a place of reflection — and honestly, it’s got just enough swagger to balance the vulnerability. It sets the tone for Gravity because the whole album wrestles with weight: of love, loss, regret, and redemption. And this song? It’s the spark that lights it.
What’s ahead?
I’m stepping back into music with both boots on the ground. The first EP, The Rise, drops this summer, followed by Falling Into Place in the fall. I’m playing shows across the Southeast, headlining Mooresville’s Race City Festival and Pittsburgh’s Fourth of July Bash. We’re working on collaborations, building momentum with sponsors, and planning for national radio impact. But more than anything, I’m staying rooted. I’ve lived a lot of life since the last chapter. Now, it’s time to sing it.