FEATURE: Leon Majcen Live From The Old Saloon

Running Man Press Vol. 2 No. 3

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Leon Majcen and his band took the stage at the Old Saloon in Emigrant, MT for Majcen's Road Dog Express Kinda World Tour and absolutely delivered.

Before the show, I caught up with Majcen for a chat at a picnic table in the middle of the venue as the doors opened and the place slowly filled in. Over the next hour, our conversation drifted between songwriting, fishing, his recent move to Montana and the road that shaped where he’s landed today–with a steady stream of people stopping by to say hello.

In Leon’s words: “Majcen, pronounced might sin… might not, but probably will.”

For someone who’s only recently traded Tennessee for Montana, the Old Saloon felt like a pretty appropriate place to land. By the end of the set, it was hard to find anyone who wasn’t along for the ride.

It took about thirty seconds to realize that most roads in Leon Majcen’s life eventually lead back to fishing. The music came first, sure. But somewhere along the way, fishing started quietly steering the ship. It influenced where he toured, where he lived and, as it turns out, even who he lived with.

Majcen spent four and a half years in Nashville before eventually getting, as he put it, “Nashvilled out.” There are plenty of good people there, he said. The fishing just wasn’t doing it for him. So he moved to Montana.

His introduction to the state wasn’t exactly conventional. The first time he came through Montana, he and his buddy Noah were in town to play a show at Bozeman Taproom when they were hit by a drunk driver. Not ideal.

What happened next probably explains why he ended up moving here in the first place: Instead of a tour-ending disaster, strangers stepped in without a second thought–someone loaned them a spare Tahoe with a cracked windshield. They went fishing the next day anyway, and somewhere in the middle of all that, Leon accidentally met the people who would become some of his closest friends.

“I trauma-bonded with this place,” he laughed.

That wasn’t even the story of how he found a place to live. Naturally, that one starts with fishing too.

His roommate Boone wasn’t an old college buddy or someone he’d known for years; they met while tarpon fishing in Costa Rica after ending up as bunkmates at the same lodge. They hit it off almost immediately, floated Montana’s Smith River together this spring and, when Leon’s lease happened to end around the same time Boone’s roommates were moving out, the two shook hands and decided they may as well live together. As roommate origin stories go, it’s pretty tough to beat.

If fishing quietly shaped where Leon ended up, it also had a hand in how he got there. When he first started touring, it wasn’t just about getting in front of people. It was about all the rivers in between.

The first few years were just Leon, a guitar, a harmonica, his truck and whatever parking lot made sense that night. He’d play the show, crawl into the back seat and do it all again the next day. Ironically, he still prefers that over most motels.

The road has changed a little since then.

These days he’s booked solid through November before heading overseas for a run of solo dates across Europe. He’s traded the back seat for tour vans more often than not, but his outlook hasn’t changed much.

“I love this shit,” he said and laughed. “Even when I’m like, ‘I fucking hate this shit.’… I love this shit.” It was probably the most honest description of touring I’ve heard in a while.

Sure, there are long drives and enough hours staring through a windshield to make anyone reconsider their life choices. But as Leon put it, the best parts are better than worst parts.

He told me he’d been wondering if maybe he should spend a little more time at home now that he’d finally landed in Montana. Then his mom reminded him of something he’d forgotten: He’s happiest when he’s on the road and things are going well.

Fortunately, he isn’t doing it alone anymore. This tour has been the first where everything has really clicked. They’ve got it dialed, and it shows.

It helps that the whole band is stacked with talent. With Doug South on guitar, Jacob Grandy on drums and Lee Matthew Williams on bass, they’re one seriously wicked crew. It also helps that they’re total certified sweeties, which isn’t an official industry term, but maybe it should be.

For someone who spends as much time driving as Leon does, he doesn’t seem to have much trouble finding things to write about. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

He told me he finds inspiration in the ordinary. Pulling the good shit out of the mundane is where it’s at.

He’s currently sitting on two finished records, with The Leaving Kind dropping on September 4. The album artwork was shot by his buddy Gill while floating the Smith River.

Again, fishing.

He wants to release two or three albums a year, which somehow doesn’t sound entirely unrealistic. He also mentioned he’s even considering recording an album of old folk songs at some point.

I’d listen to that.

Talking to Leon, music never felt separate from the rest of his life. It sat alongside fishing, rivers, old stories and the places that have shaped him. If music hadn’t worked out, there wasn’t much hesitation–he’d be a fishing guide.

His bucket-list trip isn’t Alaska or Patagonia either. It’s the Una River in northern Bosnia, where his family is from.

Asked what song he wishes he’d written, he answered “Poncho and Lefty.”

Then, after a beat—“Happy Birthday.” One’s a masterpiece. The other probably pays a little better.

Looking back, we’d somehow spent the better part of an hour talking about songwriting, touring, rivers, Bosnia, cracked windshields, Costa Rica, how surprisingly livable the back of a truck can be and, somehow, “Happy Birthday.”

By the time the band took the stage later that evening, it all made a little more sense.

Maybe that’s why Leon’s songs land the way they do. Nothing about them feels forced. His stories aren’t polished into perfect anecdotes, his songs aren’t trying too hard to prove anything and neither is he.

And if the conversation had drifted back toward fishing before too long…

I wouldn’t have been surprised.

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