Charley Crockett’s Big Fat Mouth
Part cow and part man, he’s heir to the outlaw-country tradition
He complains: As talented as many Nashville songwriters are, none of them know any fucking songs
It’s the latest installment in the Battle of Waylon & Willie vs. The Machine
Walking through a backstage maze of tour buses, Charley Crockett looks out at the Atlantic and takes a big sip of air. “This tastes like home. I was born on this here Gulf Coast, way down in South Texas.” It’s the third time he’s mentioned his roots to me, and when he takes the stage a little later, he lets the crowd know, too. “Hello, my name is Charley Crockett. That’s Charley with an ‘E-Y’ — like Pride — and Crockett with two ‘Ts’ — like Davy. I’m from a little town in the Rio Grande Valley called San Benito.” We’re in Clearwater, Florida, on the seventeenth stop of his joint tour with soul singer Leon Bridges, a tour they’ve aptly dubbed “The Crooner & The Cowboy.” It’s certainly hot, but the humidity is merciful. Crockett is wearing a brown ten-gallon hat with scuffed boots, a short-sleeve button-up, and bootcut jeans exclaimed by a big shiny buckle. A large silver necklace depicting an Egyptian Horus falcon pokes out of his shirt. In Egyptian mythology, it’s thought to …
