I’m a metal guy. I’m not who you’d expect to see at a country gig, but something about Morgan Wade pulled me in. She doesn’t play it safe. Tattooed, raw, unfiltered. Open about sobriety, mental health, all of it. She writes from the gut and performs like it still costs her something.
There were a few other metalheads there. Not loads, but enough to notice. One guy in front of me wore an Exodus shirt, so safe to say he’s more of an old school Thrasher like myself. This sort of thing doesn’t happen by accident. People who are used to cutting through the noise can tell when someone’s telling the truth. Morgan’s music has that kind of gravity—authentic and real in a way that can be felt, with just enough of that misfit energy that speaks to those of us from heavier scenes.
The setup was bare, just the essentials. Two guitars and a keyboard. No smoke, no filler, no pretending. Just songs. “Psychopath,” “Take Me Away,” and “2am in London” didn’t need anything else. While I would have loved to see a full band performance, this setup sounded like there were twice as many musicians on the stage.
Her voice holds tension, or grit, or maybe that’s the sound of someone who’s lived it. It’s clear she can open up and let it rip, but it’s the quieter moments that take you to another place. Sometimes you catch a trace of Janis Joplin, other times a classic country twang, but always a sincere delivery that makes it look effortless—and that’s where the connection happens. She’s not trying too hard; it’s just pouring out of her.
