Even if you can’t name one song by Lukas Nelson, chances are you’ve already heard his music.
The 36-year-old singer-songwriter (and son of country music mainstay Willie Nelson) has not only been releasing country-roots albums with his band the Promise of the Real since 2010, he and his band have been touring and recording with Neil Young since 2016. Nelson has also written for the screen: In 2020, he won a Grammy for his work on a little film called A Star Is Born, for which he wrote and co-produced several songs, as well as appeared on screen as a member of Bradley Cooper’s band.
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Despite all of these accolades and accomplishments, Nelson has a grander vision for himself. He’d love to graduate from behind-the-scenes player—let’s say your favorite country artist’s favorite country artist—into a top-billed superstar in his own right.
There’s no reason to think that he won’t meet the moment. Nelson’s debut solo album, American Romance (produced by Shooter Jennings, son of Waylon), is brimming with universal observations about love, loss, family, perseverance, and the cycle of birth and death. It’s all set against a classic American backdrop of diner counters and truck stops, East Coast turnpike exits and snow-tipped Montana mountains. Led by Nelson’s acoustic fingerpicking and aching, reedy vocals, American Romance goes down with the familiar ease of a time-worn Townes Van Zandt record while distinguishing itself enough to stand on its own in the modern-country landscape.
Ahead of his album’s release on June 20, Nelson spoke to TIME about the long road to American Romance, finding the right way to discuss his lineage, and why he’s a “disciple of Dolly Parton” when it comes to politics.
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TIME: American Romance is being positioned as your debut album, but you’ve released quite a few albums already with your band Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real. Can you walk me through that transition?
Nelson: Well, Promise of the Real was a band that I started when I was 19. I was always the songwriter, and those guys traveled with me through thick and thin. We became Neil Young’s backing band for five years. Then we’re trying to do both my songs and Neil’s songs and straddle that line. But a lot of the fans that we got were fans of Neil and, of course, my father. Eventually I realized, if I don’t establish myself as an artist right now, then I won’t be able to.
So I just decided to go out and play for my own fans and my own generation and figure out who I am. I had to just become Lukas Nelson. I stopped smoking weed, I became sober. I faced my fear of flying by becoming a pilot. And I sort of let go of a lot of the legacy ideals that I had grown up with and felt pressured by.
There’s a song on the album—it’s the first song I ever wrote, when I was 11, called “You Were It.” I wrote that before I started telling myself a story of who I was meant to be. That song came to me on a school bus. My dad liked it so much that he recorded it. Then Kris Kristofferson said, “I love that song. Are you going to be a songwriter?” I said, “I don’t know.” He said, “Well, you don’t have a choice.” That inspired me to become a musician. But now I’m trying to ask myself: What do I mean musically?
How do you feel American Romance might begin to answer that question?
I’m working with some of my favorite musicians of our time: Stephen Wilson Jr., Sierra Ferrell, Anderson East. “God Ain’t Done,” I wrote with Aaron Raitiere, who just had a hit with “You Look Like You Love Me” with Ella Langley and Riley Green. I’m writing a lot with Ernest [Keith Smith], who’s written all the number one hits on Morgan Wallen’s recent album. I’ve always believed that I could stand toe-to-toe with anyone as a songwriter. I am a songwriter first and foremost—I play good guitar, and I sing well, and I perform well, but the songs are the most important thing, what brought me to A Star is Born and what really, I think, caused Neil [Young] to take notice.
You have artists like Kacey Musgraves, Zach Bryan, Chris Stapleton, Tyler Childers—these are the artists that I respect, and I want to be part of that conversation and musical landscape. I want to have a career that lasts as long as my father’s. And when my father played, he played for his generation, and they followed him now up into his nineties. So in order to have that longevity, I have to be smart and play to my own people.
Speaking of your contemporaries, Shooter Jennings produced American Romance. You two have a lot in common, starting with the fact that you were both born to families with huge musical legacies. I’d love to learn more about your friendship and what Shooter brought to the recording process.
I’ve always known and respected [Shooter] for his musicality. I’d always wanted to work with him. I think now was the perfect moment, because he’s established himself separate from his legacy, as an incredible producer. Now I feel like the conversation is less about, “Oh, isn’t it cool that these kids are doing it and their fathers were friends?” That becomes a little bit of icing on the cake. Those who don’t know us will probably still look at it that way. And that’s something I deal with my whole life. [But] we’ve gotten past the idea that we are only just the sons of [Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings]. We have our own careers that we’ve built.
I respect [Shooter’s] work ethic. When I started playing with the band, we did 250 shows a year for a good part of 10 years, just in order to prove to myself. I knew I was going to have to work twice as hard. People who don’t know me are always going to have an opinion on whether I got anything handed to me, but I know how hard I worked, and so at the moment of my death, that’s what I’m going to look at. I can see that Shooter has the same approach.
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I can imagine you having so many different internal conversations with yourself. Like on one hand, when Kris Kristofferson tells you that you were born to be a songwriter, that’s amazing. At the same time, like with any family business, did you feel like there was ever even a choice?
I’m so grateful that he gave me that inspiration because it lit a fire. And I had the confidence to say, “OK, put my head down, ignore everything anyone else is saying and just work, and I think I have some sort of innate understanding of this songwriting thing that I can actually nurture.” I’m really grateful to that 11-year-old boy who understood that the time that he put in then would pay off now. And it has.
It was about just closing my ears to any of the chatter and playing guitar eight hours a day and through the night, much to the chagrin of my mother, and just obsessing over songwriting, not giving a crap about parties in high school. I never had one sip of a beer until I was in college. I just focused. The greatest part about being the son of my father, and of my mother [Annie D’Angelo] too, was the inspiration and support. Like Colonel Tom Parker seeing Elvis and saying, “I’m going to focus all of my efforts on that man,” he invested and made him a star. So somebody has to champion you, and I was lucky to have that growing up.
Yeah, it’s a double-edged sword. Say you have no industry connections and want to make it as an artist, you’re going to need someone to take a chance on you. Meanwhile, as you’ve described, say you do come from a family with every connection—someone will still have to personally vouch for you, because people will make assumptions.
Now I’ve gotten to this place where I think I’m clear-headed enough to understand how to talk about it. I didn’t really know how to describe what I was feeling. I was in my Beatles Hamburg days—just playing show after show after show. And when people would ask me [about my father], I’d be like, “I don’t even have time to answer that. Ask me about my record.” You know what I mean?
I love my dad and he’s a good man, and I love my mom and she’s a good woman. And my brother and sisters. It’s a good family. I’m lucky. Not because he’s a successful musician, because he’s a good person and a kind person and is in touch with his empathy. That’s what I’m most grateful for.
How did you end up settling on the album name American Romance?
The title came from the song, [which is] like a portrait. This whole album is a bunch of different chapters, kind of in a John Steinbeck Travels With Charley, memoir-like [way] about different moments that shaped me growing up in this country that raised me. The loves and the losses and the heartache, and then the elation. There were moments where I’ve spent Thanksgiving dinners at a truck stop having the turkey special, and then having the kindly waitress feel bad for me, although she was working too. It’s the Walmart parking lots. It’s the sirens at night, the rendezvous in the night. There’s a thousand different stories I have in hundreds of hours of travel, but I tried to just put it into an album of 13 songs.
At the same time, it’s an album about the future. I’ve got a song called “Pretty Much” that talks about how I envision the hour of my death and what I hope is in store for me in terms of love and relationships. I’d love to be surrounded by my family and them desperately wanting all the information about how I met the love of my life, who’s right there beside me, and telling all the different stories about when I fell in love. It’s about the future and the past and the present.
You split your time between Nashville and Hawaii now, and between Hawaii and Texas when you were growing up. When people ask, where do you say you’re from?
I was raised by America, by the United States. The roads raised me. I may have been born in Texas, and I spent some time there. I spent some time in Hawaii. But most of my life was spent on the road growing up from Walmart parking lot to motel, to hotel to diner to stage. It’s easier almost to say the greater United States than it is to say anywhere in specific.
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Country music has such a legacy of storytelling about America, encapsulating the good, the bad, the mundane. But 2025 is such a unique time to release a body of work about the country, seeing as the country itself has rarely been more divided. As someone who has traveled it so extensively, what are some commonalities that you think everybody living in the U.S. still shares?
That’s a great question. I believe that we all share the heart. There’s a song I have called “Turn Off the News (Build a Garden).” “I believe that every heart is kind, some are just a little underused” is the first line. I think that when we can connect with our hearts, we can open up empathy inside of ourselves. Now, there are exceptions to the rule. Obviously some people are sociopathic. So barring that, I feel like music has the power to cut through the mind and reach the heart. What we can all relate to is suffering in love and relationships and heartbreak. Those things are really universal.
My belief is that I can change people’s minds more by doing what I do than by standing and making statements. I can put it in my music. I believe that strongly, and I’ve seen it work. There’s a guy named Daryl Davis who is a Black musician, and he has converted over 200 Klansmen, to the point where they give him their hoods because he sat there and talked to them. This guy has some balls. He somehow reached their hearts.
I think the only way to change people’s minds, if they have hatred, is to try and reach their hearts. I don’t think calling them a monster will do it. Some people are beyond changing, I understand that. But music has the power to open up hearts. I know I’m good at one thing, and I do it. I am not a politician. I have friends that span the aisles, as they say. But kindness and compassion are where I try to live from. I look at someone who’s suffering, and I always believe in helping that person out. I’m a disciple of Dolly Parton, let’s just say.