About Bayker Blankenship

Nineteen-year old Bayker Blankenship from Livingston, Tennessee has had one heck of a few months, going from playing his first home town gigs to signing his first record deal and going viral with his first hit “Maxed Out” in a short amount of time. “Maxed Out” is hitting new peaks at such an incredible speed- to name a few, it reached #2 on the Spotify Viral charts, #43 on Apple Country, and has over 100k creates on TikTok. Bayker has garnered over 40M+ streams in just a few months. “Maxed Out” highlights Bayker as one of Country’s rising stars, with fans falling for his bright personality and warm heart along the way. Bayker’s debut EP “Younger Years” released in July 2024, hitting over 4M+ streams the first week and making it obvious he is far from a one-hit wonder.

About Pony Bradshaw

Pony Bradshaw didn’t know he could sing because he’d never tried. His dad was a military man turned Elvis impersonator whom a young Pony helped keep stocked with scarves on stage for admirers. Pony had always listened to music, but he’d never made it. He played baseball. He joined––and got kicked out of––the Air Force. It was about five years ago when Pony discovered not only that he could make music, but that he should.

“It was a little open mic in Chattanooga,” Pony says of his first time to perform in public. “I was scared to death. It was a competition––and I never liked competition, but for some reason, I wanted to go show my tunes. I played the first song I’d written at that open mic.” He pauses, then sighs and laughs a little at the same time. “It worked out good, you know? I won that competition. It made me believe what I was doing was okay.”

On his debut album Sudden Opera, 38-year-old Pony offers a convincing argument in favor of art made by adults who have had time to live, screw up, try again, and find their voice. The record’s title is an apt description: its sound hits abruptly then steadily, like a flood––swells of moody strings, thundering low ends, and dramatic keys, led by Pony’s swinging soul vocals yearning, consoling, and questioning. “I’m a big questioner, for sure,” Pony says. “Flannery O’Connor said she doesn’t know what she believes until she writes it. It’s a way of figuring out your own belief system, there for everybody to see as you work through it. Writing tells me about myself.” He pauses. “It helps a lot.”

These days, Pony reads novels and poetry more than he listens to songs, although heroes such as Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark still loom large. The 19th century French authors, poets, and painters have a hold on him, especially Flaubert. He’s interested in the creative process––that grind that conditions the brain to know how to recognize inspiration and run with it. “I ask myself every day why I want to be good at this,” he says. “It’s hard. I wrestle with the ego, and this whole thing. But I just know that writing, singing, and playing makes me happy, so I continue to do it.”

Pony––born James Bradshaw––moved around a lot as a kid. A military brat born in Mississippi, he logged time around the country. Today, he’s settled in Georgia. It’s where his young children live, and more than anywhere else has ever been, it’s home. After the Air Force showed him the door at 21 years old, he drifted, until the music he found more than a decade later became his anchor.

NPR and others tapped Pony as one to watch a couple of years ago. He has since taken his time, determined to accurately capture the art he’d only recently realized he was incubating. Sudden Opera is the rewarding result. Pony wrote all of the songs alone.