An Interview with David sickman of the Hackensaw Boys

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Angie: Y’all started out in Charlottesville before heading to Lynchburg in '99. How did that Virginia roots scene shape your sound early on?

 David: To be honest with you, I wasn’t really aware that there was a Virginia roots scene at that point. There’s always been an old-time community here—Galax and different fiddle conventions, I guess—but for us, it was more just a couple of guys with a shared interest in bluegrass and gospel bluegrass. At the same time, we were all playing rock and roll too. But there was something about the excitement and vibe of Appalachian music that really got to us. I’ve got deep Appalachian roots—my mom’s from the coalfields on the Tug Fork in southeast West Virginia. My grandfather was a coal miner, and I still have relatives working in the mines. So I kind of came by it honestly. I grew up hearing this music. Later on, friends introduced me to old recordings of traditional music. Around that time, Old Crow Medicine Show was getting started up in Harrisonburg, which is where I met some of the guys who later became part of the Hackensaw Boys. We were friends before the band even existed. So yeah, it just happened organically. My family’s from down below Bluefield. My mom was born in Welch. I just came from there, actually—we do this annual “June Meeting,” kind of like a decoration day where we go to the family cemetery. Growing up, I heard that old line singing where someone sings the first line and everyone repeats it. I’ve got some cool recordings from last week—really ancient singing like I remember from childhood. So yeah, going back to your first question, I really feel like I came by it honestly. That kind of intense old hymn singing just stays with you.

Angie: The Charismo has really become part of your identity. Did making music with cans and metal objects change how you think about rhythm?

David: I don’t know if it changed how I think about rhythm, but it definitely changed how I think about art. I see it as a kind of functional sculpture, you know? It made me realize you can make music with anything. So yeah, in that sense, it shifted my perspective. And yeah, even with all the lineup changes, since our first tour, there’s always been someone playing The Charismo. It's a unique part of what we do.

Angie: You’re known for mixing bluegrass, indie, and punk. Was that always the plan, or did it evolve along the way? 

David: It just evolved. When the band started, we were four songwriters. Within a year, we had 12 people in the band—which was tricky. But each songwriter brought their own style. The “punk” part probably comes from the fast and intense energy. It wasn’t like we sat down and said, “Let’s sound like this.” It just happened naturally. Songs came in, and then they got put through the Hackensaw juicer.

Angie: Your recent records have this raw, folk-punk energy with real bluegrass chops. What sparked that direction musically or emotionally?

David: Emotionally, the last record came out during my divorce, and I think you can hear that in some of the lyrics. But honestly, songs just kind of dictate themselves. Even when you labor over them, you end up following their lead. So again, it was organic. And lyrics are tough—good ones, I mean. People say good art comes from pain, and that’s true, but it also comes from joy. I’m trying to explore that more now. You can be happy and still write a sad song.

Angie: After the pandemic, you put out A Fireproof House of Sunshine, and then Hackensaw Boys in 2022. How did that break from touring affect your creative process?

David: Well, it shut the band down, of course. I didn’t like that COVID was killing people, or the politics around it. But I did like that the world stopped. The music industry is super competitive, and it’s easy to compare yourself to others—who’s getting breaks, who’s moving up. That comparison stuff, especially on social media, is really bad for creativity. During COVID, I let go of all that and just took a break. We tried livestreams for a while, which were fun, but hard to maintain. And I don’t think the industry’s really recovered. At my level, a lot of clubs are still struggling. Festivals do okay—they pack talent into one place—but regular shows? Attendance is still way down. People got used to staying home and streaming everything. I think the pandemic permanently shifted how audiences engage with live music.

Angie: You began making the record as a band, but things shifted mid-process. Can you talk about what happened during that time?

David: Yeah, the band started the record with me, but kind of bailed midway through. It was a tough stretch, honestly. I ended up taking the reins and kept it going myself. That’s why the album title Love What You Do feels a little ironic—and maybe perfect. It was a really trying time for us, but in the end, I think we made a strong record. Now, playing those songs live every night, I’m kind of amazed. For a while, I didn’t even touch those songs. But revisiting them now, I’m like, “Wow, these are really good.” There’s a lot of pride in that. People often describe us as a good live band—which I think is true—but what I’m really proud of is the songs. Whether it’s one of mine or someone else’s, the Hackensaw Boys have a body of work I stand by. Good songs are good songs, and we’ve got them.

Angie: Fans call your shows “rock and roll hoedowns.” What still gives you that electric feeling on stage?

David: It’s the crowd. Always the crowd. And it doesn’t have to be a huge one. I mean, sure, I’d love to play to packed houses every night, but sometimes it’s just a handful of people in a room. What matters is their energy. You can play to 100 people who are chatting at the bar and feel invisible—or to 10 people who are locked in and giving it back to you. I’ll take the 10 any day. Without that connection, it’s just... performance without purpose. I’ll even say to a crowd sometimes, “This is only fun because you’re here.” And I mean it. The people bring the electricity. The folk in folk music—that’s where the magic is.

Angie: How does playing in a small Appalachian town like Cumberland compare to bigger cities or even overseas gigs?

David: Well, I haven’t played Cumberland proper yet—this will actually be my first show in town. I’ve played Delfest, and of course, that’s in the area. There’s a lot of history in that Pennsylvania-Maryland-Virginia triangle—seriously good players, deep bluegrass roots. People often think bluegrass means Tennessee, but Del McCoury’s from Pennsylvania, right? And Delfest is right in Cumberland. So I’m hopeful that folks who go to Delfest might come out to our show. That said, it doesn’t matter if it’s a packed house or a modest crowd—I give the same show. But I’ll be honest, as a performer, I do feel pressure when the turnout’s light. I know what promoters put into these shows, and I want it to succeed for everyone. I've even had promoters come to me after a show and ask for a cut back on the fee—and I’ve done it. More than once. I've also had folks say, “Nope, that’s on us,” even when the turnout was low. So I’ve seen both sides. We’re all in it together. Whatever the crowd size, it’s going to be a good time.

Angie: You’ve shared the stage with Del McCoury, Pavement, the Avett Brothers—artists from totally different corners of music. What did you take away from those experiences?

David: What I’ve learned is this: no matter who you’re on the bill with, you’ve got to get up there and give it everything. You might be having a bad day, or feel totally spent—but once you start playing, something shifts. That energy comes back. I’ve gone on stage thinking, “I don’t want to do this tonight,” and five minutes later I’m completely in it. You remember the audience showed up. They worked all day. Maybe they bought a ticket they couldn’t really afford. You owe it to them to give it everything. That’s something I’ve learned from watching great artists. We played Hardly Strictly Bluegrass in San Francisco once—Willie Nelson was there, Emmylou Harris, Steve Earle. And after his set, Willie stood there signing autographs for two hours. He could’ve gone straight to his bus, but he didn’t. That taught me something. He respected the people who came out. That stuck with me.

Angie: Your vibe stays grounded, even when you're traveling the world or playing major venues. How do you stay so down to earth?

David: Because I never flew away. I’m still a carpenter. I still do carpentry to help support the music, because honestly, I haven’t figured out how to make a living just playing music. And Hackensaw Boys has always been a working man’s band—carpenters, mechanics, dishwashers. Just normal people. I also don’t like pretense or acting fake. Everyone has a story, and nobody’s better than anyone else. That’s how I was raised. And frankly, we’re living in a time where a lot of people have forgotten that. The rhetoric around immigrants or "illegals" or whatever—it's just dehumanizing. These are people trying to survive. So staying grounded, for me, comes from seeing every person as worthy of dignity. And when you travel the country—or the world—with a band and you don’t make time to hang out with people and learn from them, then why go at all?

Angie: That’s powerful. And musicians often get told to “shut up and play.” What’s your take?

David: Oh yeah. I’ve been heckled for speaking up. We opened for Del McCoury at the Ryman on New Year’s Eve during the Iraq War. I said something onstage about needing to stop the wars, and someone in the crowd yelled, No politics! You can hear it on archive.org. I just said, “This is America, I can say what I want.” Charlie Crockett said something similar recently—how people always tell musicians to shut up and just play. But think about it: who’s better qualified to speak on the state of the world than someone who meets all kinds of people from all walks of life? Music is a bridge. Musicians see the country up close—red states, blue states, factory towns, farm towns. We carry those stories with us. So no, don’t tell your musicians to shut up. Ask them what they’ve seen. Ask them what they’ve learned. I’ve met people I completely disagree with politically, but we’ve still parted as friends. Because that’s how you plant seeds. Otherwise, nothing ever changes.

Angie: Absolutely. So, last question: after five-plus years on the road, is there any tour tradition—whether it’s gear, a ritual, or just a vibe—you always stick to?

David: Be on time. Be nice. That’s it. Honestly, those are the only rules I follow. We don’t really have elaborate rituals or anything. Just show up on time and do your job. The rest takes care of itself.