Country Music Has Bills to Pay! | Riley Kerns of Low Water

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There's a moment in every musician's life when the glamour wears thin. When the van breaks down on I-95, when the day job takes priority over rehearsal, when you're calculating whether you can afford both petrol and food before the next gig. Riley Kerns, drummer and all-round linchpin of Low Water, knows this moment intimately. He's lived it, survived it, and somehow managed to keep making music through it all.

In a refreshingly honest conversation, Kerns pulls back the curtain on what it actually takes to keep a country band alive in 2024. He's painted houses to pay rent. He's hauled his drums through countless sweaty tour vans. He's played through equipment failures that would make lesser drummers walk away. And yet, Low Water continues to forge ahead, with a peculiar determination that defines the independent country scene in Britain and beyond.

Kerns' path to the kit wasn't the traditional one. Hailing from small-town Virginia, his musical education came through unexpected channels—reggae bands, of all things, before finding his way into the country and Americana world that now defines Low Water's sound. That eclecticism matters. It's there in how the band approaches rhythm, in the way they layer influences without ever losing sight of their roots-driven core. Sublime sits comfortably alongside The Beatles in his musical pantheon, and you can hear both in the band's work.

What's striking about Kerns' perspective is his unflinching honesty about the reality of touring life. The "less glamorous side of chasing the honky-tonk dream," as the podcast notes, isn't some distant hardship—it's part of his daily calculus. There are drum keys to keep, wipes to manage, three shirts to rotate through long stretches on the road. These aren't complaints, though; they're the technical realities of making it work when you're operating without a safety net. There's something almost meditative about how he discusses these practical concerns, a acceptance that this is simply what the job demands.

The onstage challenges present a different kind of test. Playing live as a drummer who also contributes vocals adds a layer of complexity that goes beyond keeping time. There's the physical demand, sure, but also the mental discipline required to serve two roles simultaneously. One misstep, one lost focus, and the whole thing threatens to unravel. Kerns speaks to this with the weariness of someone who's learned these lessons the hard way, but also with the quiet pride of someone who's mastered the craft anyway.

What emerges most powerfully from the conversation is the philosophy required to sustain this life. It's not starry-eyed optimism—Kerns is far too experienced for that. It's something more grounded: a commitment to the work itself, to the people in the band, to figuring out what comes next when the gigs dry up. He speaks openly about what new bands need to know, wisdom earned through trial and considerable error. There's mentorship here, a willingness to pass along hard-won knowledge.

Perhaps most intriguingly, Low Water has something cooking. Twenty new songs in six months. That's not the output of a band treading water or simply grinding through the circuit. That's the work of artists genuinely driven by creative urgency, people who've found something worth fighting for beyond the paycheck. In a landscape where so many bands fracture under the weight of touring's demands and financial precarity, that kind of prolific momentum suggests something special is developing.

Kerns' story is the story of the modern independent musician in miniature—the paint-stained hands, the late-night rehearsals, the unwavering belief that the music matters enough to justify the sacrifice. It's not a story the mainstream media often tells, which is precisely why it deserves your attention. The full episode goes deeper into his journey, the philosophy that keeps him going, and what Low Water plans to do with those twenty new songs.