Dameon Allensworth

Dameon Allensworth seemed to have everything — a law degree, an uptown office, a promising career. Then he threw it all away.
In early 2007, Allensworth left his Oklahoma City law firm, cashed in his 401(k), packed his possessions in a U-Haul trailer, and headed east on I-40. Destination: Nashville. Occupation: Singer-Songwriter. Prospects: Uncertain.
Allensworth knows what he’s up against in his pursuit of commercial song publishing and performing opportunities on Nashville’s Music Row. He’s been facing long odds most of his life.
Put up for adoption by his Cheyenne-Arapaho mother, Allensworth was raised in one of the poorest pockets of rural Oklahoma by a white couple who cut their own timber and saw no need for central heat and air. “I grew up in a house that we built from logs off our own place,” he said. “We had family hog killings in the fall. My grandma made lye soap. We milked cows. My dad still rolls his own cigarettes, and boils coffee every morning cowboy-style.”
Allensworth was surrounded by endemic poverty, limited opportunities and even lower expectations. He worked hard for the college degree that would help him escape it all. Yet he became an attorney almost by accident: On a dare from his girlfriend, he took the LSAT entrance exam and scored in the top 7% nationally. Soon he was receiving invitations from law schools across the country. After graduating, he became an associate in a fast-growing law firm. His future was secure. But his heart beckoned elsewhere.Allensworth had been writing songs and performing in Oklahoma and Texas for several years. In 2003 he formed a band, Briar Branch Road, and recorded two CDs of original work – The Pain I Deserve and Fetch My .38 – on the Sweetworth Records label. Briar Branch Road developed a devoted regional following, opening for established acts such as Jack Ingram, Charlie Robison, Cross Canadian Ragweed, Jason Boland & The Stragglers, and Chris Knight. Allensworth’s writing credits include an instrumental arrangement used as the soundtrack for the 2006 United Way campaign in Oklahoma.
His pensive lyrics and smoky vocals draw heavily on his own experiences with failure and success, hope and heartbreak. Many of his songs are based on his personal observations of the people who populated the small towns and countryside of Oklahoma’s Little Dixie region: The fellow timber-cutters who sought refuge in Shorty’s bar from unpaid bills and angry wives. The dying farmer who asked God to accept his fondness for Hank Williams and whiskey. The textile worker whose job was outsourced to Mexico, along with his favorite fighting cock.
His approach to songwriting continues a tradition shared by Woody Guthrie, Townes Van Zandt, Bruce Springsteen and Steve Earle. “There’s a lot of poverty in southeast Oklahoma. There are a lot of tragic figures down there. I was always drawn to songwriters and storytellers who were able to approach those subjects,” he said.
“I try to write a compelling song. Maybe it makes you angry. Maybe it makes you sad. Maybe it makes you glad that your life isn’t that horrible. Life involves a lot of pain along the way, and we find different ways to do deal with that. But it’s inevitable: There’s pain for everybody.”
Some of his songs are chilling examinations of the dark recesses of human nature, yet he rarely condemns the flawed and scarred characters he describes. Instead, Allensworth illuminates the complexities of human behavior, and explores the ambiguities of religion, culture, politics and morality. As a youngster, his devoutly Baptist parents and their friends advised him to keep his distance from the hard-living locals who drank too much, squandered their pay, got in fights, and sometimes landed in jail. But when he got to know some of those people, a subtler picture emerged.
“They’re just folks at the end of the day,” he said. “There are very few people who are complete demons or complete angels. Most of us are somewhere in between. And most of us have made some mistakes.”
Although he is prepared to adapt his skills to the needs of Nashville, Allensworth wants to continue telling the stories of people like his grandfather, a former moonshiner described in one of his signature songs, Back Then.
"Over yonder’s where I would plow
We scratched a livin' among these hills
We raised peanuts and we raised cows
But I made my livin' from a whiskey still
They sent a lawman when I was eighteen
I tried to run but they arrested me
I spent a year and a day in the county jail
That’s where I was when the market fell"

Yet Allensworth knows that regional acclaim does not necessarily translate into national recognition. He knows that for every Nashville success story, there are a hundred tales of heartbreak and failure.
He’s faced those odds — and told those stories — before.
“It’s one of those things where you ask yourself: ‘In five years, am I still going to be trudging up here to the office every day, sitting at this desk, waiting for the weekend when I can pick up my guitar, hoping I’ll have some spare time to write a song?’ ”
For Allensworth, the answer came easily. —Warren Vieth
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