For the rock journalist, there is no greater joy than a musician living up to their mythology. As the Zoom call connects, the Marty Stuart of our mind’s eye is suddenly sat opposite us in a Memphis dressing room.
Soundcheck might be an hour away, but the famously dapper country star already looks the part. Black scarf. Black jacket. Black hat. Black everything, in fact, except the stray silver hair that speaks of his 64 trips around the sun.
