We sip smoothies under the Tennessee sun, strolling in and out of the shade of the small trees and construction of Wedgewood-Houston. Stopping to talk with everyone he knows (and a few he doesn’t), Gable Price feels like a Nashville native. A bushy mustache below blue eyes like the ocean rolling into foam; he keeps a stream of questions that allows you to forget this is a first meeting and not a catch-up with an old friend.
A man with seemingly no reservations, he immediately lets us into his world. Between sips of smoothie, he jokes about Instagram basketball games he’s hosted, casually inviting fans to come shoot around. “It’s always a good time,” he says with a grin. He’s the kind of person who seems to collect community wherever he goes. Light, easy to be around, quick with a laugh. When I ask him his favorite LaCroix, he doesn’t even pause: “Limoncello. No question.”
But there’s more than goofiness and charm. Tucked behind the jokes and waves to passersby is someone who thinks deeply about what he makes and why he makes it. As we walk, the frontman of Gable Price and Friends talks about the moving target of music trends, about the futility of chasing what works instead of building something lasting.
“If you listened to what worked in 2017 versus now: it’s a moving target,” he says. “If you’re chasing what works, you’re already too late. But if you make something that you cared about in the moment, you can always see the beauty in it.” It’s clear that he’s not in it for formulas. His joy is in writing songs that feel true. It’s the same approach that’s taken him from pulling espresso shots to touring with John Mark McMillan and Fitz and the Tantrums to writing alongside friends Jon Foreman and Colony House. His songs feel honest, tough, and tender at once, always circling back to hope.
As the conversation drifts, he grows more reflective. The same guy who cracks jokes doesn’t shy away from heavier notes. Gable talks openly about anxiety, during his time at Bethel, and the season when antidepressants became necessary. “I got pushback from people around me,” he says, his voice steady but thoughtful. ‘Why are you taking that?’ And I just remember thinking, I’m taking this thing to get back on my feet and into rhythms that sustain me while I walk through what feels like hellish.” There’s no heaviness in how he says it, though. If anything, he carries the story with a kind of contentment. Today, he’s sober, something he talks about with the same ease he talks about songwriting or favorite records. No grand declarations, just a simple choice that’s given him peace.
His world spills over into little projects and passions. In 2022, he worked with a roaster on Dreamboat Blend, a coffee named after the van where he lived and wrote much of Gable Price and Friends' early music. When the new record came out, Jungle in the City, he marked the moment with another roast.
By the time our cups are empty, we’ve circled back to where we started. He waves to another passerby, cracks another joke, and then turns back with the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’ve known him for years. Lighthearted and funny, but deeply human; someone who takes joy seriously, who lives in the moment and thinks deeply when it matters.
You can find Gable on tour, buy him a LaCroix, and tell him Willie sent ya.
