We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Bryan Rader. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Bryan below.

Bryan, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. Did you always know you wanted to pursue a creative or artistic career? When did you first know?

In truth, I’ve always wanted to be a performer. From singing Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls in the shower—mimicking their rainy set on repeat—to dreaming about people connecting with my own songs, it’s always been in me. I think it takes a little bit of narcissism to be an artist, because you really do have to picture yourself in those lights and believe you deserve to be there.

The first time I felt it might actually be possible to turn that dream into reality was during a local open mic night. I stepped on stage with my pawnshop guitar, barely rehearsed, and sang an original of mine I call Depression Song.

The room went quiet. For a moment, I thought I’d lost them—but then came the applause.

Afterward, the host approached me, eyes a little glassy, and said, “I really needed that song.” That moment hit me hard. I realized I wasn’t just making noise—I was communicating, connecting, and giving people something real.

As a man dealing with mental health struggles myself, it was the first time I felt like I was giving other men a voice. And to this day, whenever I play that song, there’s almost always someone—usually a man you wouldn’t expect—who comes up afterward and quietly thanks me for it.

Bryan, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I’m a songwriter, performer, and worker based in Austin, Texas. I front a band called Rader and the River Rats.

I was adopted at 18 months and spent a lot of my life believing I wasn’t good enough. I’ve battled mental health issues to the point where I thought I was ready to give up. But I’m still here. And while I can’t promise life gets easier, I know now it’s worth sticking around for.

I feel like I got into music the loooong way. It’s usually on the back burner while I work. I’ve been fortunate enough to find jobs that not only paid the bills but gave me a sense of purpose—like transporting folks from unhoused shelters or working with unaccompanied children at the border. I’ve met people from so many different walks of life, and I’m forever grateful for those experiences. Though those jobs weren’t always easy—far from it—I’ve heard some truly soul-crushing stories from both kids and adults. I’m just glad my time with them gave them a space to feel seen, heard, and safe to share.

On my days off or after shifts, I’d hit open mics, study which songs hit home for people, show up to friends’ shows, and learn from those who were already doing it well. I wouldn’t have made it this far without the folks who believed in me and kept pushing me forward.

As for the music itself, I try to write songs that speak to the hard parts of being human—mental health, grief, self-worth, longing, and the tug-of-war between wanting to disappear and wanting to be seen. Our sound blends folk, Americana, and a bit of punk energy. At its core, the goal is always emotional honesty.

Now that my creative work and day job are finally starting to coexist more fluidly, I’ve been able to put more energy into booking shows and curating lineups with artists I love. That alone feels like another full-time job. The music industry can sometimes feel like one long side quest: shake this hand, meet that person, sacrifice your big toe, and promote-promote-promote.

But then you find your people—the ones who say, “Hey, wanna play a show in a gas station with us?” or “Come to this jam,” or “You’ve gotta meet this person—they’ll love you.” That’s the magic.

That’s what I want people to feel when they hear my music or come to a show: that they’re not alone, that connection is still possible, and that this strange life is still worth singing about.

Have you ever had to pivot?

I had just started gigging regularly in San Marcos, and for the first time, it felt like things were clicking. I was still working full-time overnight shifts at a warehouse on the weekends, but I had landed my first residency, and more opportunities were starting to come in. It felt electric—like the start of something real. So I made a bold move: I quit my job and decided to chase music full-time.
And then—I fell flat on my face.
I had the hunger… but not the gear. I didn’t realize how many gigs didnt provide sound equipment. I was showing up with a borrowed mic, hoping for the best, and quickly realized that no matter how passionate I was, I needed to be prepared. It crushed me. I had taken the leap, and suddenly I was right back at square one, feeling like maybe I’d made a huge mistake.
That was a hard pill to swallow. But instead of giving up, I pivoted. I went back to full-time work this time with a mission. I started saving every extra dollar with the goal of building my own setup: a PA system, mics, stands, cables, a better guitar—everything I needed to stop relying on chance and start booking more shows.
It was frustrating at times but also necessary. The music industry runs on traction, and taking a step back felt like I was risking everything. But i knew that if i could pull this off nothing would stand in the way of my dream.
That pivot taught me that chasing your dream doesn’t always look like flying—it looks like crawling forward when everything feels uncertain. And I’m proud of that version of me for not giving up when it got hard.

How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?

Show up for your homies! The ones out in the trenches posting gig after gig, painting after painting, print after print, poem after poem, play after play. If you can save a hundred dollars to see a multimillion-dollar tour act, you can stop in and support the artists around you—for free, or for the cost of a small door fee.
Share their posts. Drop a comment. Help them gain traction in the algorithm. These small acts of support mean the world to someone trying to make art in a world that often doesn’t make space for it.
So many artists give up—not because they weren’t good enough, but because the people closest to them never showed up. We need to normalize making art. We need to make dreaming okay again.
I can’t tell you how many times I was told that pursuing music would be a mistake, something I’d regret. And I get it—being realistic matters. But don’t shoot down a dream before it’s even had the chance to take shape. Imagine if the kid who could one day cure cancer was told his aspirations were a waste of time. Let him try. Let him fail. Let him try again.
Not every musician is going to sell out arenas. But sometimes seeing one familiar face in a crowd of three people can mean everything. That kind of support? That’s how we build a thriving creative ecosystem—one that doesn’t just consume art, but actually nurtures it.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://bryanrader.com
• Instagram: @Mr_Rader

Image Credits

Azariah Reese
Candace Rose
Abraham Musalem