As singer/songwriter Blessing Offor took his seat behind a baby grand piano at a recent show surrounded by a crowd most people would fear. He leaned into the mic and said, “OK, you guys, I am totally blind, so I’m trusting you all right now.”
He needed to establish trust with the 40 or so inmates at the Metro Detention Facility waiting to hear him sing.
Clad in head-to-toe in orange, many sat uninterested, arms folded before the show. By the end, many stood, arms raised, clapping, playing air guitar and even making requests. Offor told The Tennessean when he sat down in front of the crowd, he forgot everything he’d planned to say.
“It dawned on me these are just people and they are giving me their time,” Offor said. “If I was in their position I wouldn’t want someone to come in who thinks they are better than me. I think people are used to not trusting them. I wonder what those guys would do if someone was willing to trust?”
Offor’s performance was part of Send Musicians to Prison, an organization that has been bringing live music performances into prisons for 15 years.
Musician Nathan Lee created program from experience
While this program is not the first effort to bring live music to incarcerated people, Send Musicians to Prison founder Nathan Lee might be the first person to make a career out of doing so.
A one-time musician himself, Lee was on tour in California years ago when he learned his record label had gone out of business.
“I sent the band home and went on a four-day bender,” Lee told The Tennessean. “I am laying on the floor in a hotel room thinking how my life is over when a friend came and picked me up. He took me to a prison where he would play on a chaplain’s pass. I found myself sitting with 300 gangsters separated by two speakers and a keyboard. An hour later, I was like ‘I have to do this.'”
After a few more prison gigs, Lee realized he enjoyed them more than playing clubs. It was dangerous and he loved that. Initially, Lee played the gigs himself. It wasn’t until five years in that he began soliciting other bands to play.
“Once I got out of the way, that was it,” Lee remembers. “The rest is history.”
‘Real respects real’
Send Musicians to Prison has held hundreds of performances in jails and prisons across the country including Rikers Island Correctional Facility in New York City.
Edmund Duffy is a retired warden from Rikers who is now part of Send Musicians to Prison’s advisory board. He said over the years he witnessed inmates connecting not only with the music, but the stories of redemption behind them.
“I’ve seen grown men weep just at identifying with somebody’s story of struggle,” Duffy said. “These are pretty hardened individuals. We’re talking lower custody to super max custody. Every time, there was a profound impact without exception.”
He said there’s a saying in prison that ‘real respects real’ which is the reason guys who may walk in the room angry are able to connect with a musician who is willing to tell their own personal story of struggle.
Offor, who since his prison show has been nominated for two Grammy Awards, said while losing his vision wasn’t in his control, how he dealt with it was a diligently practiced craft.
“Maybe these guys didn’t handle something in the best way and that’s why they are there,” Offor said. “I felt kinship in a lot of ways sitting in the room with these guys. I understood them in a different way. We are all victims of circumstance and products of our choices.”
Davidson County Sheriff Daron Hall agreed, saying he has never said ‘no’ to an idea that might reach someone who is incarcerated.
“If you have an idea that might help somebody come to terms with their life, then we are going to do it,” he said. “I’ve known Nathan a long time. He’s an amazing guy. This approach was different because it wasn’t just a performance. We might can reach people.”
Johnny Cash first played San Quentin prison in 1958
Many stars have played to prison audiences with Johnny Cash being one of the most noteworthy for pioneering inmate shows in the early ’60s. He even recorded “At Folsom Prison,” live in 1968 and “At San Quentin” in 1969. He would go on to perform some 30 prison shows.
Nashville-native and country musician Jelly Roll, who has been vocal about his history of incarceration has also played for inmates at prisons. In fact, he spent time in cell #223, just steps from where Offor and others played in early November.
But Lee’s program takes prison shows to another level that benefits both the artists and the inmates they play for as well as others across the country doing life behind chain link fences and razor wire.
In 2014, Lee began filming the performances to have content to distribute to other prisons and extend the program’s reach. Now, the performances, which are shot with 4K cameras, are seen by more than a million inmates a year.
“The fact that these performances are videoed allows them to be a lasting program and a recurring opportunity for us,” Hall said. “My hope is we are able to reach someone in our own system, but maybe someone in a prison in Louisiana via video.”
Also, as part of Lee’s agreement with the musicians he carefully selects to perform in prisons, the artists own the content.
“Everybody gets the same user agreement,” Lee said. “We give them all the files. But the artist donation is a big deal. The artist pays the people they bring. I pay the people I am bringing, the prison gives us the space and everyone has skin in the game. At the end of the day, the artists get a live prison record.”
Other musicians who have played Send Musicians to Prison gigs include Michael Tait, Steven Curtis Chapman, The War and Treaty, Walker Hayes, Pillbox Patti, Bones Owens and Waylon Payne.
‘I want to be in the room with the crips, bloods and everyone’
Send Musicians to Prison is based in Nashville and produces between 16 and 24 live prison events per year. The organization is a 501(c)3 that is fully funded by donations and governed by a board of directors. Lee is the only full-time employee, with film, audio and stage crews working as contractors.
“We do a lot of fundraising,” Lee said. “We have a lot of boutique dinners and rely on donations.”
While a faith-based organization whose motto is “More hope, more love,” Lee’s group doesn’t gain access to prisoners through a facility’s religious services arm. They start with the program director.
“I want to get to the back of the building,” Lee said. “I want to be in the room with the white supremacy groups, the crips, bloods, everyone. Our goal is to honor everyone in the room. If someone asks you to pray, that’s cool. But we don’t do any alter calls. We love prison fellowship, but that’s not what we do.”
Christian Singer Cory Asbury played a recent prison show in Rutherford County and Lee said he did a great job of reading the room. “He wanted to say a prayer, but he asked them first. He did it right. He told them they didn’t have to live their lives thinking God was mad at them. It was beautiful.”
Asbury said going into the gig he didn’t know what to expect, adding that while most of his shows he plays to fans of his music, this one would be “guys could care less who I am.”
“Getting to connect with a bunch of dudes who are actually in prison was incredible,” Asbury said. “I come from a fairly broken past from my parents to what I was like as a young person. I very well could have ended up the same way those guys did. To connect with these guys who I felt have a similar story to mine and be able to play songs that have a message of brokenness and healing was amazing.”
Life-changing experience for some inmates — and musicians
During his recent Metro Detention Center performance, Offor shared a story of a time when he lived in New York City and fell asleep on the subway. While he was asleep, someone stole his backpack which housed his laptop, his money and his food.
During that difficult time, he wrote the song “Waiting on the Sun” which he sang for the inmates. The chorus says, “Show me how to sing in the rain, while I’m waiting on the sun.”
Not only did some of the inmates pick up on the simple melody with the impactful message of hope and sing it back to Offor — at the end of his set, one prisoner asked him something he’ll never forget.
“One guy said to me, ‘play me that song again about the sun,'” Offor said. “These guys started singing that thing. Unprompted. With all their hearts. I would imagine for these guys it felt like some kind of prayer. A real sentiment to them in where they find themselves. It moved me.”
Asbury had a similar experience and said he could see several of the inmates with tears in their eyes.
“That was encouraging,” Asbury said. “These are a bunch of guys who are intense. It doesn’t matter whether they think I’m cool or not. It’s about loving these dudes and showing them there’s hope and healing.”
Melonee Hurt covers music and music business at The Tennessean, part of the USA TODAY NETWORK — Tennessee. Reach Melonee at mhurt@tennessean.com or on X @HurtMelonee.
Additional information
Correctional facilities interested in content, visit: contact@sendmusicianstoprison.com
Artists who would like to be involved, visit: sendmusicianstoprison.com/contact
To support Send Musicians to Prison, visit: sendmusicianstoprison.com/support
To see additional videos of prison performances, visit: sendmusicianstoprison.com/video
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