Some may call Oliver Anthony a reluctant hero, or an angry one. I believe that any kind of hero at all is the last thing he wants to be.  When the words first hit the paper and the fingers hit the strings, they were amplifying the voices of thousands – millions – of forgotten people, the “nobodies” who have been invisible for so long, they can hardly see themselves anymore. 

I won’t soon forget the sound of the entire audience, down to the five-year-old falling out of his chair behind me, shout-singing along to “Rich Men North of Richmond.”

Every last word.