Few emerging artists in country music have built momentum quite like Max McNown over the past 18 months. Since the release of his album ‘Night Diving' in early 2025, followed by a deluxe edition later that year, McNown has operated with a relentless creative drive, adding a 10-track EP before the year was out and already previewing his next chapter with a steady stream of new material in 2026. It’s a pace that speaks not just to work ethic, but to an artist in the middle of defining himself in real time.
Blending introspective songwriting with a modern, roots-leaning sound, McNown has steadily carved out a reputation as one of the most thoughtful young voices in the genre. His songs often balance emotional honesty with understated hooks, drawing listeners into stories that feel both personal and quietly universal. Now returning to the UK to perform at State Fayre Festival, sharing a bill with Kings of Leon, McNown arrives as an artist in full creative flow, with one eye on everything he’s built so far and the other firmly fixed on what comes next. We caught up with him to talk all about it.
You’ve just landed back in the UK, and in the middle of a heatwave, no less. How are you finding being back over here, both in terms of the travel and just settling into this run of shows?
Yeah, the jet lag has been… interesting. I think I’ve kind of just accepted it at this point. I don’t think I ever really got off it, so I’ve stopped trying to fight it. I’ll go to bed at like 4am, wake up around noon, and that’s just kind of my rhythm right now. I tried forcing it at first, but there’s nothing worse than lying in bed for hours trying to sleep when your body just isn’t ready.
And then on top of that, you’ve got the heat. It’s been wild: just constantly a little bit sweaty everywhere. (laughing) At first I was trying to find somewhere cool, trying to escape it, but eventually you just accept it as part of life for a few days. Once you do that, it becomes a lot easier to deal with.
You’re heading into State Fayre this week on a huge lineup. Does something like the heat or the scale of that show change anything about how you approach your performance?
Honestly, not really! (laughing) The heat or the size of the show doesn’t fundamentally change how I approach it. The only practical difference the heat makes is if I’m sweating so much that my hands start slipping on the guitar, but beyond that, it doesn’t alter the way I perform or what I want to give on stage.
If anything, there’s something kind of freeing about those conditions. There’s always that moment early on where you’re thinking, “I don’t want to sweat, I don’t want to feel uncomfortable,” but once you’re past that and you’re just completely drenched, you stop caring. You look out and realise everyone else is in the same situation, and it becomes this shared experience. At that point, all the self-conscious stuff goes out the window and you’re just locked into the music and the moment.
And in terms of the scale of the show, that doesn’t really change my mindset either. Whether it’s 200 people or 20,000, my job is the same: to give everything I’ve got. If anything, knowing this is the last show of this run adds something extra. We’ve got a few days off after it before heading back out in the States, so I’m going into it with that mentality of leaving absolutely everything out there.
I want it to feel like a release, like whatever energy I’ve built up over this whole run, that’s where it all goes. Rain or shine, heat or cold, big stage or small stage, I don’t really approach it differently. I just try to be as present as possible, have as much fun as possible, and give every bit of myself to that moment.
You’ve been coming back to the UK regularly now. What have you learned about audiences here, and has anything surprised you about how your music connects over here?
I don’t know if there’s been anything that’s outright surprised me, if I’m honest, and I think a lot of that comes down to the way I approach performing at this stage in my career.
Right now, my focus is very inward. I’m still so locked in on making sure I’m giving the best possible performance, vocally, musically, emotionally, that I’m not always stepping back and analysing the differences between audiences in different countries as much as maybe I will later on. That’s something I do want to grow into, having more awareness in the moment and more interaction with the crowd, but for now my job feels pretty clear: go out there, play the songs as honestly and as well as I can, and make sure I’m actually enjoying it.
What I will say is that the UK audiences have been incredible, especially at the headline shows. When people are buying tickets to come and see you specifically, there’s already this level of connection there: they know the songs, they’re invested in the stories, and you can feel that. And that never gets old, no matter where you are in the world.
I think the biggest thing I’ve learned, if anything, is that the fundamentals don’t really change. Whether I’m in the US, the UK, or anywhere else, people respond to the same thing: authenticity and energy. If you’re up there having a good time, if you’re fully present in what you’re doing, that translates. You don’t have to force it or overthink it.
So I wouldn’t say there’s been a huge difference, more just a growing appreciation for how universal that connection can be. No matter where I go, if the songs are honest and the performance is real, people meet you there.
When we last spoke, ‘Night Diving' was still front and centre. Looking back now, what did that album teach you about yourself as an artist?
That album really shifted something in me, honestly. I think going into ‘Night Diving,' I still had this idea, maybe even subconsciously, that I needed to fit into a certain lane. I came into this career pretty country-leaning, and I think there was a part of me that felt like I had to stay within that world to be taken seriously or to belong.
But making that record, and then seeing how people responded to it, really challenged that way of thinking. It made me realise that my music doesn’t actually live in one place, and more importantly, it doesn’t need to. A lot of that comes from where I’m from. Growing up in Oregon, I wasn’t surrounded by just one kind of music or identity. I’m not the stereotypical country artist, and trying to force that would’ve felt dishonest.
What ‘Night Diving' gave me was this sense of permission. It showed me that I can write from my heart without constantly asking, “Where does this fit?” or “What box does this go in?” And that’s such a freeing place to get to as a songwriter, because suddenly the possibilities open up. You’re not limiting yourself before the song even has a chance to exist.
It also taught me something really important about the life of songs. Before that album, I think I still had this idea that a record had to move in one direction or have one clear path. But watching what happened with those songs, how different ones connected in completely different parts of the world, in completely different ways, it made me realise that each song kind of has its own journey.
You look at something like ‘Better Me For You' doing really well in the US and Canada, then other songs finding audiences internationally, even in places you’d never expect, like Kenya! It takes the pressure off trying to control everything. You start to understand that your job isn’t to dictate where the music goes, it’s just to make sure it’s honest.
So I think that’s what the album ultimately taught me: if the through-line is truth, if every song is coming from a real place, then it doesn’t matter what genre it is or where it ends up. It’ll find its people. And that’s been one of the most important lessons for me so far.
You've worked with artists like Avery Anna and Cameron Whitcomb. There feels like a whole wave of artists now who exist between genres. Do you find that space liberating, or does it come with its own pressures?
I think it’s primarily liberating, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t come with its own set of pressures! (laughing)
The liberating side of it is pretty obvious. When you’re operating in that space between genres, you’re not confined by expectations in the same way. You’re not sitting there thinking, “Does this sound country enough?” or “Is this too folk?” or “Is this too pop?” You can just write what feels honest and let the song become whatever it naturally wants to be. And for me, that’s where the best music comes from, when it’s not forced into a shape before it even exists.
Being around artists like Avery Anna and Cameron Whitcomb has really reinforced that for me. They’re both great examples of people who just follow their instincts, even when that means stepping away from what people expect of them. And I think there’s something really powerful about having other artists in that same space, because it reminds you that you’re not alone in it: that there’s a whole wave of us figuring it out together.
But the pressure comes from the fact that not everyone sees it that way. There are still a lot of people, fans, critics, industry voices, who want to define you as one thing. They want to be able to say, “This is what you are, this is where you fit,” and when you move outside of that, it can make people uncomfortable. I’ve definitely seen that with some reactions to my music, where it’s like, “You’re straying too far from what you started as,” or “This isn’t what we signed up for.”
And I think the real fear there is that someone hears one song that doesn’t match their expectation and decides they’re done with you entirely, that they don’t stick around long enough to see the full picture of what you’re trying to build. So there is that tension. But at the same time, if you start making decisions based on that fear, you’re going to lose what made your music connect in the first place. You’re going to start second-guessing everything, and that’s when the honesty disappears.
For me, it always comes back to that: if I’m writing from a real place, if the songs are truthful, then I have to trust that they’ll find the people they’re meant to find. And that’s why, even with the pressures, I’d still choose this space every time: because the freedom to be yourself as an artist is worth all of it.
You’ve been incredibly prolific over the last 12 to 18 months, not just in terms of the volume of material, but the consistency of it as well. It feels like there’s been a real momentum to what you’ve been putting out, especially this year with a run of new songs that seem to lean into a bit more energy, a bit more drive, maybe even a slightly more expansive live feel.
When you listen back to those releases as a body of work, it feels like there’s a subtle shift happening sonically: perhaps towards something a little more up-tempo, a little more immediate?
Yeah, I think it’s both, honestly. That's a very astute observation! There’s definitely a conscious awareness of it, but it’s also coming from a very natural place.
On a personal level, the ballads are still where my heart tends to live. Those slower, more introspective songs, that’s always been a big part of who I am as a writer, and there’s a ballad on this next record that I genuinely think is one of my favourite songs I’ve ever written. So it’s not like I’ve abandoned that side of things at all.
But at the same time, there’s been a real shift in the environments I’m playing in, and that’s had a huge impact on the way I think about songs now. I had a conversation with my band leader a while back, and he said something that really stuck with me: that as artists grow, they start writing music for the rooms they’re filling.
And when I look back at earlier projects, you can kind of hear that. Those songs feel like they belong in 200-cap rooms, or smaller venues where it’s really intimate and stripped back. Now, I’m playing festivals in front of 10, 20, sometimes 30,000 people, I’m opening for bigger acts, I’m playing my own headline shows that are a lot larger and that energy naturally starts to feed back into the writing.
So when I’m in the room now, I’m not just thinking about the lyric or the story, I’m also thinking about how this is going to feel live. How it’s going to translate to a crowd. What it’s going to feel like when the band kicks in, when people are moving, when there’s that shared energy in the room. That’s where some of that more up-tempo, more driven material has come from. It’s not about chasing something or trying to reinvent myself, it’s just a reflection of what I’m experiencing night after night on stage.
And I think there’s also just a natural evolution that happens as an artist. The music you’re listening to changes, your life changes, your perspective changes. If I was making the exact same record over and over again, I think that would probably mean I wasn’t growing, or that there were too many external voices shaping what I was doing.
For me, it’s always been about following the instinct and keeping things varied. I don’t want someone to listen to one song and then hear another and feel like it’s the same thing repeated. I think variety is one of the most beautiful parts of music, and I want my records to feel like a journey: something that reflects different sides of who I am at that moment in time.
So yeah, it’s conscious in the sense that I’m aware of where I’m at and what I’m building towards, but it’s also completely organic. It’s just the natural result of playing bigger stages, feeling that energy, and wanting to meet it without losing the honesty at the core of the songs.
And you’ve obviously had a huge personal milestone recently as well — getting married — so congratulations on that. I’m interested in how that’s affected things for you, because your career is really starting to ramp up at the same time. Has that changed the way you look at your music, your priorities, or even just how you handle everything that comes with this job?
Yeah, it’s changed everything, honestly, probably more than I even expected it would! (laughing)
I think one of the biggest things for me was that it gave me a sense of stability at a time when everything else in my life is starting to become a lot more chaotic. You know, I can see where this career is going: the travel, the opportunities, the pressure, the temptations, all of it. And I’m not naive to that. I know how unpredictable this life can be.
So for me, getting married when I did was a very intentional decision. It was like, “I want to build something solid in my personal life before everything else really takes off.” I wanted that foundation, someone at home who knows me, who doesn’t care about any of this stuff in terms of success or numbers or perception, who just loves me for me.
And that’s been a massive shift in how I approach everything. There’s just less pressure now. I don’t feel like my identity is tied up in how a song performs or how a show goes. If something doesn’t land the way I hoped, it doesn’t shake me in the same way, because I’ve got something real to come back to. Creatively, I think it’s made me more myself. I feel more comfortable being honest, being open, even in interviews like this: just saying what’s on my mind without overthinking it. And I think that carries over into the songwriting too. When you feel secure in your personal life, you don’t feel like you have to prove as much through your work.
It’s also just brought a lot of gratitude into everything I’m doing. I don’t feel like I’m chasing validation in the same way. I feel like I’m building something, both personally and professionally, at the same time.
And then there’s the simple side of it too: coming home to someone, having that consistency, having a dog now, having a life that exists outside of music. That balance is huge. Because this career can take over everything if you let it.
Finally, you’ve always struck me as someone who uses songwriting to figure life out. With everything that’s happened, the success, the growth, the momentum, what’s something success still hasn’t solved for you?
That’s a really tough question… and I don’t even know if I’ve fully figured out the answer myself yet.
I think the biggest thing success hasn’t solved for me is this feeling of deserving to be here. That hasn’t caught up with everything that’s happened on paper. There’s still a part of me that feels like I’m slightly out of place in all of it, like I’m still trying to earn my seat at the table, even when I’m already sitting there.
A good example of that was playing a festival like Pinkpop recently. You’ve got someone like Tom Morello on before you, the crowd is going crazy, and then I’m walking out to play songs that aren’t designed to hit like that: they’re quieter, more introspective, more story-driven. And in that moment, there’s a voice in my head going, “I don’t know if I belong in this slot. I don’t know if they’re going to feel this the way they should.”
And that feeling doesn’t really go away, no matter what happens. Whether it’s songs connecting, shows getting bigger, opportunities coming in, there’s still that underlying sense of, “I’m not quite there yet.” I think part of that is just imposter syndrome, and I know a lot of artists deal with it. But there’s also a part of me that doesn’t entirely hate it, because it keeps me grounded. It keeps me grateful. It stops me from ever feeling entitled to any of this.
At the same time, I do think there’s a balance I’m still trying to find. I’d like to get to a place where I can fully appreciate what’s happening without questioning whether I deserve it. Where I can stand on a stage like that and feel confident in the fact that I’ve earned my way there. Because right now, if I’m being completely honest, I still look at other artists, whether they’re bigger than me or even smaller than me, and I see them as somehow more established, more deserving, more “there” than I am. And I know logically that probably isn’t true, but it’s still how it feels.
So I think that’s the thing success hasn’t given me yet: that internal confidence, that peace of mind that says, “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” Maybe that comes with time? Maybe it comes with more experience, more shows, more life> But for now, I think I’m still in that place of figuring it out: and in a weird way, that’s probably what keeps me writing, too.
Catch Max McNown at the State Fayre festival this weekend and check out the five new songs he's released in 2026 already in all the usual places. From ‘World Change Me' to his newest release, ‘First Born Daughter' – these are the songs driving the next part of his career and they are bloody great!!!
