It’s oppressively hot as I settle in to meet the immensely talented Suzanne Santo. She glides into the restaurant wearing a flowing sundress and a large hat, her eyes shielded by sunglasses.

Over brunch, we chatted about life, love, and the current state of music. For those who may not know, Suzanne Santo is a singer-songwriter who was previously part of the band Honeyhoney. Her live performances are a wonder to behold. While playing guitar and occasionally the violin, her soulful voice and stage presence always leave the crowd electrified. But the showstopper remains her poignant lyrics, filled with longing and beauty and pain.

After several appearances on The Joe Rogan Experience and touring the world as the opening act for Hozier, she achieved a level of success that most musicians can only dream of. However, with COVID decimating the livelihoods of touring musicians, she faced the dilemma of whether staying in L.A. and chasing success was worth it.

The decision to move to Austin, TX, would change her life when she met Nic Pizzolatto. One of the greatest writers of the 21st century, Pizzolatto wrote every word of the haunting HBO crime drama True Detective and is the author of the spectacular novel Galveston. I caught up with Suzanne when I was in town for an event celebrating the ten-year anniversary of True Detective. I chatted with her about the devastating effects that the pandemic had on artists, falling in love, and welcoming a beautiful baby girl. Her effervescent joy for life was evident as she spoke about the things she loves and what she looks forward to in the future.

Courtesy of Suzanne Santo

Peter Gietl: My wife and I are fans of your music. During the middle of COVID, we hadn’t seen any live music in forever. Amy found a singer-songwriter playing at a venue, and I was just excited to see live music again. I didn’t even ask who it was. You put on this amazing show in Denver. It was packed—wasn’t it a punk rock venue?

Suzanne Santo: Yeah, I remember that show. I hadn’t played in a while, and it was such a great feeling to be back. It was such a powerful moment—to finally experience live music again.

PG: That must have been difficult for you as an artist during the lockdowns, not just financially, but emotionally as well.

SS: At the time, it was tough, but now I see it as a blessing. The road can be nonstop. The lockdown forced me to sit with myself and do a lot of healing. I had an album set to release in 2020, but I postponed it to 2021, and then everything fell apart. I wasn’t vaccinated, which might have been a factor, but either way, I lost big national tours I was really excited about.

PG: That must have been devastating.

SS: It was, but looking back, I see that 2020 was a transformative time. I started meditating and deepening my spiritual relationship with God. I realized that I wanted a family. I’ve always wanted to experience great love—it’s been a lifelong dream of mine. So, I had to really reflect on why I hadn’t found it yet, why I hadn’t met someone who felt like my twin flame, my soulmate. It was a difficult realization.

At the same time, my identity as a musician was in question. Music had always been what I did, and suddenly, I couldn’t do it. I started wondering, What if I can never do it again? But I tried to shift my perspective—I reminded myself to be grateful for everything I had achieved so far. Even if I didn’t reach all my biggest goals, I had done some pretty amazing things.

And then, in the most unexpected way, life led me to Austin. Joe Rogan actually played a role in convincing me to move. There were so many serendipitous, almost magical events that made it clear—it felt like the universe was screaming for me to be here. I didn’t even have to look for a place. It just all fell into place.

I didn’t really know anyone in Austin—just Gary Clark, Joe, and Shakey Graves—but I wasn’t about to call them all the time. I came in totally blind, but a friend of a friend had this little three-bedroom house. The rent was the same as what I had been paying for a one-bedroom apartment in L.A., but now I had a yard. I thought, I’m going to get a dog, and I started planning this whole new life.

Then, three weeks later, I met my husband. It was like a lightning bolt—something I’d never felt before. It was this higher, almost cosmic feeling, like a bell ringing, saying, Hey, you two. From there, everything moved at warp speed. We both wanted a family, we wanted to get married, and it just clicked.

PG: How did you guys meet?

SS: We met at a dinner party.

Just to give you a little background on where I’ve been, I was very much on the left. I read Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates and similar books that really played on my sympathies.

By the time I moved from LA, my opinions had started to shift. But being there, especially during the riots, was terrifying. It was happening right outside my door. I was literally chasing people out of my yard with a baseball bat. I lived alone—just me and my cats.

I wanted to attend the George Floyd march to see for myself what was happening. When I got there, I realized it wasn’t what I expected. It felt like a sea of lost people. I’ve never been to Burning Man, but it seemed similar—people were on drugs, out of their minds. I immediately thought, Get me out of here. I want no part of this. I realized the story you hear on the news isn’t always the full picture. The more I researched, the more I started forming my own opinions, free from external agendas.

At the same time, I had also believed things like bodies are piling up in the streets in Texas because people are going outside. I was told terrible things about Republicans.

Then, I was invited to a dinner party—all couples, except for me. Everyone there was conservative, and to my surprise, they were some of the nicest, happiest people I’d met in a long time. I’m still good friends with some of them. That night was like my first real night out after everything.

I was talking to the host of the party, and I said something like, Yeah, I’m just so happy not having any men in my life right now. I’m really focused. And right then, Nic walks up and says, “Hi, I’m Nic.” We shook hands for like ten seconds, just staring at each other. Steve kept looking between us, and I was like, “Well, I guess what I just said is kind of moot now.”

It’s a sweet story. For the next couple of hours, I was always aware of where he was—whether inside or outside. We were all smoking and drinking. I used to smoke back then, just sitting outside.

Anyway, I kept watching him. The whole thing was so intense, but I was really guarded at that point. I didn’t want to date a Hollywood guy—it felt like such a gamble. Of course, I respect his work, but that’s not why I’d date someone. At one point, we just had this almost psychic connection, like we were completely aware of each other the whole time.

It was getting late, so I said, “I’m going to head home. It was really great meeting everyone.”

Then he came up to me and asked, “Why are you leaving?”

I said, “Because it’s late.”

And he goes, “What are we going to do about this? What do you want to do about this? Will you just take a walk with me for a second?”

I agreed, and as we started walking, we immediately held hands.

Then he said, “I really want to kiss you.”

I told him, “Well, I’m not dating anyone right now.”

And he replied, “I didn’t say I wanted to date you," and we both laughed.

We ended up talking until five in the morning—fully clothed, everyone behaved—but in between making out, we just stared into each other’s eyes in complete silence for an uncomfortably long time on the couch.

After that, everything felt wild. It was like my body couldn’t keep up with all this love. I couldn’t eat or sleep for three weeks. I kept thinking, What am I supposed to do? This was not part of the plan. But it was also really beautiful.

Courtesy of Suzanne Santo

PG: I’m curious. You mentioned that you felt you needed to get spiritually right with yourself and the world. Can you talk about what that involved and why you felt that way?

SS: Yeah, that’s interesting. I’ve always felt divinely guided in my life. That bigger voice has always been there. Sometimes, I’ve turned it off, and those have been the most difficult times. It’s like being connected to your soul. When you stray from yourself—whether out of fear or poor decisions—there’s a price to pay. You feel disconnected from your spirit. And I believe we all have one.

For me, so much of my identity was wrapped up in my career. So when I felt like that was a sinking ship, I had to figure out what happiness really is at its core and stay there. I couldn’t fake it. I just don’t have that in me.

It became a necessity to reconnect with what truly matters. As much as I love my career and recognize my talents as God-given gifts, it takes a lot to shape, mold, and expand on them. Anyone can be talented in a hobby, and that’s great, but if you want to torture yourself, try being a starving artist. It’s brutal.

PG: Now, I’m not a music journalist, but from an outsider’s perspective, the economics of the industry seem incredibly difficult. If you’re not in the top tier of artists, making a sustainable living feels nearly impossible. And this struggle started even before 2020.

You get everything I've got, and then I step off the stage and go take care of my kids.

SS: In the industry, I’m what Spotify refers to as a “torso artist”—not at the bottom, but certainly not at the top. If I’m constantly hustling, I can make a living, but there’s also this lottery element. If you land the right exposure or get placed on the right playlist, it can change everything. But that’s so unpredictable and tough to navigate.

For example, I played with Hozier from 2018 to 2019, touring with him for about a year. It was an amazing experience—a wild ride. I was only home for 55 days that entire year, but it was great for my career. Financially, it was the most money I’d ever made, and for the first time, I felt a real sense of comfort. It was an unprecedented time for me, realizing, “Wow, I’m actually comfortable.”

After that, I did my own solo touring and earned a lot. Around that time, things had already started shifting in ways I hadn’t experienced before. The algorithmic aspect of promoting shows changed drastically. I couldn’t just post on social media to let people know I was coming to their town—I had to pay for geo-targeting, which I didn’t even know was a thing. I used to sell out shows regularly, but suddenly, I was playing to a fraction of the audience, especially after COVID. There were all kinds of contributing factors, but the shift was undeniable.

I’m not bitter about it anymore, but it did break my heart. You can’t just make music—you have to be owned by someone, or backed in a way that ensures visibility.

Here’s an example: My song Blood on Your Knees had 35,000 plays, and I earned $5.02. That’s the reality for so many artists today. You have to be savvy about touring physically, but I also care about my band. I’m not going to ask them to come out for nothing. And I’m definitely not going to make everyone stay in the same hotel room—that’s just inappropriate.

So, everyone gets their own rooms, everyone gets paid well. Then you have gas, car rentals (if it’s a fly-out), and all these costs add up. You almost always come back with very little, sometimes nothing.

And after 2020, things got even weirder. First, they were checking vaccine cards at the door—let’s not forget that happened and what that did to people. I refused to get a fake one. I wouldn’t do it because I had to stand up for myself.

And now, when I get to play, you’re going to get the best fucking show you’ve ever seen, because it’s all I care about in that moment. You get everything I’ve got, and then I step off the stage and go take care of my kids. I feel really grateful when I get to play because it’s so few and far between. And it’s not the most important thing, you know? I’m not chasing this dragon on the road, coming back totally defeated.

PG: I actually met you briefly in Denver when you were very pregnant, and you put on a spectacular show.

SS: That was one of my best shows. It was incredible.

PG: Yeah, I remember thinking, “How is she doing this?”

SS: That week was full of the best shows I’ve ever played. I was nine months pregnant. My doctor literally told me, “September 1st, you cannot leave.” My last show was on September 1st, and I was home on the 2nd. But those two weeks of shows were magical—the best I’ve ever played in my whole life.

PG: Artistically, how has falling in love and becoming a mother influenced you?

SS: Becoming a mother is a different kind of hurt. It’s not just the hormones and postpartum—that’s a whole other thing. It’s about loving someone so much that it makes you vulnerable. It’s like having your heart outside your body, and that’s painful in a way I never expected.

I have to remind myself to calm down throughout the day because I love her so much. And then you start thinking— what if something happens to her? What if she gets hurt? It’s an intense connection, a level of vulnerability that I’ve never felt before. And I love my cats, I love my husband, I love my family—but this is different. I love so hard it hurts. It’s a really strange feeling.

Prioritizing things like marriage and family became more important to me. When Nic and I first met, we had a big conversation about it. I told him, “I want to be with you, and I don’t want to be in a relationship where we’re apart all the time.” That meant making a decision—to step back from the road for a while. Not to stop touring altogether, but to tour differently.

And now, it’s so different. I love it. I’m a lot smarter about how I tour, and I actually see some return on it. Nothing huge, but enough to make it worthwhile. At least I’m not paying to be out there, which is just… such a bummer. But yeah, touring did let me see so much of the country. So many incredible experiences and memories.

Peter Gietl is the managing editor of Frontier and Return. He lives in Texas.