By: Brandon Carman
Behind every compelling song is a vestige of the muse who inspired it—sometimes it's a famous face radiating from the big screen, other times it's someone whose story often goes unseen. In this blog, we’re exploring the people who linger between the lyrics: the stars who inspire from afar, and the everyday muses who linger in the quiet moments of everyday life. Whether it's Alex Blue writing to Gillian Anderson, Ruthie Collins tracing Emmylou Harris and Gram Parsons through the desert, or Mary Gauthier gathering the voices of veterans, these artists show us that inspiration can come from anywhere—and anyone. Sometimes it wears red carpet glamour beckoning for our attention; other times, it shows up quietly in combat boots waiting to be found.
Image by Andrew Freedom Parry
Last friday Alex Blue released “Gillian,” a dreamy, slow-burn track named after actress Gillian Anderson. But the song is about more than a celebrity crush—it’s a quiet anthem for queer kids who once fixated on the teacher, the character, the distant someone who felt like safety and longing all at once.
For Blue, who has spoken openly about her journey from internalized homophobia to embracing herself as a lesbian, “Gillian” becomes a kind of reclamation: of adolescence, of desire, of the awkward and formative ways queer identity takes shape. In this song, Anderson, a recurring queer icon for many, becomes a muse not through closeness, but through the allure of the unreachable—a reminder of how distant figures can shape our most intimate inner narratives.
To listen to “Gillian” and find other ways to stay connected with Alex, click here!
Image by Cal Quinn and Aly Fae
In her song “Joshua Tree,” Ruthie Collins writes in her own words that the song “is kind of like a lucky charm, like a rabbits foot, or a worry stone that you carry around in your pocket. It seems to have some kind of energy that has brought some really interesting and magical things into my life. I’ve never written a song like that before.”
She originally wrote the song about two of her heroes, Emmylou Harris and Gram Parsons, and their tragic love story and the story of how he discovered her and brought her on the road. She writes, “the story I heard was that there were feelings and chemistry there but they had never given in to it. But then the time came that Emmylou decided she was finally going to tell Gram that she was in love with him. She didn’t want to tell him over the phone though and they were about to go back out on the road in a few weeks, so she decided to wait until she could say the words face to face.”
Tragically, Gram Parson’s overdosed and passed away before she got the chance. He died in Joshua Tree in 1973. She thought it might be the saddest thing she had ever heard—and as a self-proclaimed lover and writer of sad songs, she felt compelled to take on the story. She brought the idea to her friend Luke Sheets, and together they finished the song. It became the final addition to her record, written just days before heading into the studio.
Now, the song carries many meanings. It's not only a snapshot of a great love story that almost was, but also a meditation on the idea that love is never truly gone—because love cannot die. No matter where you are in the world or in time, love always exists. To her, the song is like a message in a bottle, filled with that great love and cast into the Universe. What happens next is anyone’s guess.
Listen to “Joshua Tree” and watch the video and all the things right here!!!
Album Art by Joe Verschoyle
Rifles & Rosary Beads is more than an album—it’s a powerful act of witness.
Created by Mary Gauthier in collaboration with wounded veterans and their spouses through the nonprofit Songwriting With: Soldiers, the album gives voice to those whose stories are too often left untold. Instead of imagining what war feels like, Gauthier sat down with these men and women—not to interview them in the traditional sense, but to listen, heart open, pen in hand. Together, they shaped raw experience into song.
Each track on Rifles & Rosary Beads is co-written with a veteran or military family member, and the results are astonishing in their honesty. From the quiet ache of “Soldiering On” to the tear-soaked resilience in “The War After the War,” these songs don’t preach or politicize—they reveal.
What emerges is a body of work that is unflinching, humane, and deeply moving. Gauthier doesn’t sing for these soldiers; she sings with them, and that distinction is everything.
The album isn’t just a collection of songs. It’s a sacred collaboration. A healing project. A reminder that music can hold space for pain and transformation. Rifles & Rosary Beads offers no easy answers, only hard-won truth—and in doing so, it becomes one of the most meaningful records in recent American music.
To listen to Rifles & Rosary Beads, click here!
Image by Jim Cherewick
Nathan K’s “Bob Seger” is a quiet anthem of hope and honesty, rooted in small-town struggle. By turning to Seger—a symbol of escape and resilience—the Nathan finds a kind of nightly reassurance that making it out is possible. The lyrics reflect a tension between emotional restraint and the desire to be heard: even if the speaker isn't polished or performative, their raw truth should still matter. It’s a song about believing in something bigger while staying grounded in who you are.
To listen to more of Nathan K.’s music, click here!
Cover Art by Jessica Sayeg
Allison Asarch’s “Taylor Made” is a playful, heartfelt nod to the impact of growing up with Taylor Swift’s music. Through clever wordplay and lyrical callbacks, the song blends admiration with self-discovery, showing how an artist’s voice can shape someone’s own. It’s both a thank-you letter and a coming-of-age anthem, capturing the magic of finding your story reflected in someone else's songs—until, one day, you’re ready to write your own.
To listen to more of Allison Asarch’s music, click here!
Whether it’s a rock legend from your hometown, a queer icon on a TV screen, a country hero who never got the ending she deserved, or the quiet courage of someone who’s lived through war—muses come in many forms. These songs remind us that inspiration isn’t reserved for the famous or the flawless. It lives in the people we admire from afar, the memories we carry, and the truths we’re brave enough to tell. In the hands of artists like Alex Blue, Ruthie Collins, Mary Gauthier, Nathan K., and Allison Asarch, those influences are transformed into something more: songs that let us see ourselves—and each other—more clearly.
