By Kelsey Knott Photos by Matt Johnson
“I’m not here to get rich and famous in the next five years. I’m here to make music and art for the rest of my life. And if I do that, I’ll have lived a life I can be proud of.” Upon meeting Scott for the first time, he brought me in from the cold, made me a cup of tea, and talked about poetry and other subjects close to my heart. During our conversation, I learned this first impression wasn’t simply Southern hospitality–it epitomized his truth that the simple life cultivates connection.
From the rural suburbs of West Virginia, Scott T. Smith describes his musical beginnings as “pre-loaded.” He tells us, “I’ve been singing since I could sing…There’s really no start. And I don’t think there will really be an end.” In his home, music was on, his mother was singing, and his father’s music equipment and record collection were a true investment. “We didn’t go on big fancy vacations, but we had an audio vacation every night.” The cello was Smith’s first instrument, and his choir days taught him how to “stretch” his voice, allowing him to hang on to soprano ranges to this day. “I’ve never had a delicate voice–I’m still playing with it like when I was a kid. My dad used to joke that the difference between the men and the boys is breath control.” His father also emphasized the importance of performance and singing clearly to preserve the song’s message. As a child who would detect melodies in and sing the newspaper, Smith still finds inspiration everywhere. He grew up singing alt-rock, listening to death metal one minute and Sam Cooke radio the next.
On songwriting, Smith says, “The most important aspect is the integrity of the story and what you’re telling. My songbird phase has come and gone many times throughout my life. And I feel like it’s back. I am in an alchemy phase currently. I feel like I’m coming into just how powerful it can be, what I have in me can be and learning how to use that. I’ll just sing a whole song sometimes and think, ‘Whoa, might be something.’ So, I’m always recording, or ‘setting traps for magic.’ That’s what I call it.” Smith wants people to gain peace from his music, though he recognizes that in truth-telling, discomfort may come with the territory: “I want people to have a safe place at my concerts to feel whatever they need to feel.”
We discussed what makes Louisville a strong place for creators and agreed that this city is magic. Historically, Louisville has been a place where people ended up as they traversed the sea and followed the river. When he was laid off as a brick mason with $5 in his pocket, he remembers wandering and finding fun without feeling financial strain: “You know what’s crazy? I could sit and listen to some of the best jazz players in this part of the country for free every Monday in the basement of Deca. And I could buy a beer poured into a glass and a shot on a couple of ice cubes. I had a whole evening’s worth of alcohol and free music! It inspired me so much.” Smith also recounts a story of giving away the winter jacket off his back with no money to buy a new one: “I was raised around people that would have done that same thing.” Smith describes Louisville as a place where fear became blessings, prejudices were chipped away, and innocence and ignorance evolved into important lessons.
Smith feels that Louisville practices being “in the middle.” He states: “I’ve always grown up in the middle of culture, somewhere in the middle of the bell curve. People who live in smaller population zones have their coming of age later in life. Some people never really do; they just stay innocent forever. I wish people who grew up in rural suburbs or Appalachia knew that you could have a real pilgrimage here. A lot of Appalachian kids don’t know where their futures can be built right now, and they can be built in Louisville because Louisville’s not a city. It’s a whole bunch of country folk playing city.”
While making it big in the music industry seems like the dream, Smith counters that existing outside of it works: “Rather than letting the wheel get reinvented by the people that tried to turn it into a brick, we should just take that power in our own hands.” He rejects the idea that those with the most magic should be manipulated or fear-mongered into making money for those with malicious intent. His mission revolves around blazing a path for a new generation, hoping fear won’t stop them and community-first platforms like the Monarch listening room can help them feel heard and supported. He reminds us, “Your world is what you make it.”
Coming in March, follow Scott T. Smith’s Instagram and YouTube series of short-form bio docs, Good Noise, where he travels up and down Appalachia processing grief and the mask of authenticity. And hear his plea: “I don’t understand why more people don’t come to the Monarch–get in here!”