Audiences and Executives Agree: Jelly Roll
The “In Memoriam” segment at the 2024 Emmys began with the usual aesthetic hallmarks: mournful strings, somber lighting, a tasteful purple backdrop. Then an announcer introduced the segment over a PA, and many were taken aback: “Now, joining us in tribute to the memories of our television family we’ve lost: Jelly Roll.” The sight of Jelly Roll, center stage, with his signature face tattoos, did little to quell the tonal whiplash; some commenters on X made jokes. But then he introduced his song, “I Am Not Okay,” with the cadence of a southern preacher: “I hope that this song can act as a healing moment for those mourning the storytellers we’ve lost this year. If you’re feeling lost or alone tonight, I want you to know that it’s okay to not always be okay.” His heartfelt performance served as a fitting backdrop for the tribute. The artist has an uncanny ability to soothe skepticism.
You may have noticed he’s everywhere right now. That includes commercials (Uber Eats and Amazon Web Services), TV shows (Taylor Sheridan’s Tulsa King), and brand tie-ins (his song “Get By” was selected as ESPN’s 2024 college-football season anthem). In May, months before the Emmys, he debuted “I Am Not Okay” on the season finale of The Voice. On September 28, he’ll be the musical guest on yet another big platform: SNL’s season-50 premiere. With his heavily anticipated album Beautifully Broken out October 11, smart money says he’ll play this single again.
This type of thing happens periodically. Mainstream corporate America gloms onto a new artist with an improbable rise and anoints them their marketing cheat code of the moment. It can happen at lightning speed — so quickly that much of America is still playing catch-up when the opportunities start to pour in. Cardi B experienced a similar ascension after the success of her 2017 song “Bodak Yellow.” By then, she was well known to fans of Love & Hip Hop, but soon she was everywhere: Super Bowl commercials, awards-show stages, late-night TV, the movie Hustlers. Jelly Roll is similar in that he didn’t spring up overnight, but in some ways, his sudden ubiquity feels even more palpable.
To those in the know, Jelly Roll’s story is the stuff of legend: After his first arrest at age 14, the Nashville artist spent years in and out of the local prison system struggling with addiction, nurturing a talent for rap, and getting the first of his many face tattoos. In 2008, after missing the birth of his daughter because he was incarcerated, he vowed to get his life on track. Over the next 12 years, he was released from prison, kicked his dependency on hard drugs, and began releasing music — mostly rap, but some rock and country — at a prolific clip with little to no mainstream success. In 2015, he met his wife, BunnieXO, while he was living nomadically out of a van.
Everything changed for the artist, born Jason Bradley DeFord, with the release of his viral 2020 ballad “Save Me.” The song’s lyrics, about the relationship between addiction and hopelessness, resonated with a pandemic-addled country-music audience he hadn’t reached previously. His anthemic follow-up singles, “Dead Man Walking,” “Son of a Sinner,” and “Need a Favor” — all of which reached No. 1 on Billboard’s U.S. Mainstream Rock chart, Billboard’s Country Airplay chart, or both — were similar exercises in accessible, soul-baring confessionalism. Soon, he wasn’t just sharing his backstory in song lyrics; he was sharing it onstage at churchlike arena concerts, in interviews on massive platforms, in the 2023 Hulu documentary Save Me, and during a 2024 Senate hearing advocating for the passing of a robust anti-fentanyl bill. “I have no political alliance,” Jelly Roll said during his testimony. “I am neither Democratic nor Republican. In fact, because of my past, my right to vote has been restricted; thus, I have never paid attention to a political race in my life. Ironically, I think that makes me the perfect person to speak about this, because fentanyl transcends partisanship and ideology.”
There’s a charismatic authenticity at the heart of all of Jelly Roll’s appearances. He’s as eager to crack a self-deprecating joke or let out a boisterous laugh as he is to relitigate his difficult past. In a June appearance on Jimmy Kimmel Live!, guest host Martin Short tells Jelly Roll that he’d mentioned his upcoming appearance to Steve Martin, and the artist, agape, cuts him off mid-sentence: “Steve Martin knows I’m a human?” Elsewhere, he freestyles for the host and gamely answers facile questions about his face tattoos. He’s not putting on a calculated charm offensive so much as genuinely grateful to be there and willing to play ball.
And that willingness hasn’t gone unnoticed by brands and networks currently trying to profit off his Chicken Soup for the Soul–like energy. Consider his commercial for Amazon Web Services’ new generative AI product Q, which sees Jelly Roll playing with his image by getting the company’s logo tattooed on his face. In booking the artist, the company’s executives got a distinctive-looking, apolitical spokesperson who instantly telegraphed affability, sincerity, and emotional gravitas. Plus, they got the knee-jerk reaction that comes with the name “Jelly Roll.” This combination of personality and joke fodder is the perfect match for the world’s biggest brands — even better when they’re advertising a polarizing new technology.
Seeing Jelly Roll perform on the Emmys stage, the significance of his long, struggle-filled journey to this moment comes into focus. He’s long from his days in prison or living out of a van, but his infectious authenticity has never wavered. “Thousand miles of gravel, I’ve been walking with no shoes / No matter how far I come, I can’t outrun my roots,” he croons on “Get By.” Given how central those roots are not just to his likability but his marketability, there’s now an entire Jelly Roll industrial complex counting on that.
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