EPK.

The long version

The full story.

by Tom Johnson // Goldflakepaint

Nathan K. is a Midwesterner from Michigan, now living in Nashville, TN. His simple acoustic folk songs put life under a microscope to illuminate the overlooked: the strange nature of grief, the sad parts of funny moments.

His musical journey began as a teenager, teaching himself guitar and performing at church before joining the Saline Fiddlers in high school. With the group, he toured nationally, recorded in a professional studio, and discovered a lifelong calling in music. He later attended Belmont University in Nashville, where he won the ASCAP Songwriter’s Showcase and performed in the university’s Best of the Best Showcase.

After graduating in 2008, Nathan returned to Michigan and became an active part of Ypsilanti’s acclaimed alt-folk community, sharing stages with artists such as Fred Thomas, Chris Bathgate, Frontier Ruckus, and Breathe Owl Breathe. He released his debut album, Newspapers & Prayers, in 2010, followed by years of touring and a stint with indie-pop band Stepdad, who would go on to have songs featured in FIFA 13, as well as TV shows such as Weeds, and The Mindy Project.

While continuing to tour extensively, he released the albums Dishes (2012) and Methodist Girls (2014). Following Stepdad’s hiatus, Nathan relocated to Nashville in 2015, touring with Advance Base, 100 Watt Horse, and Terror Pigeon, while expanding his sound on the EPs Silver Beach Boys (2016) and Bridges (2018). Since then, he has remained a fixture in the Nashville music scene, performing both solo and with a full band. He was also a 4th Place Finalist in the 2026 Telluride Troubadour Contest, and a Top 20 Finalist in both the 2025 and 2026 Rocky Mountain Songwriting contests.

More recently, he’s leaned into introspection, performing in intimate venues alongside his wife, Sara Beth Go, who adds Omnichord sparkles, tight harmonies, and a gentle nudge when his on-stage stories start to wander.

Nathan’s relationship with music runs deep, and is shaped by a series of formative moments that seem to live just under the surface of his songwriting. “One of my earliest musical memories,” Nathan recalls, “was being on the swing set in our backyard, making up a song as I was outside, and feeling very puzzled by the idea of how anyone ever remembers songs, and how they make it from someone’s brain into the world.” That curiosity bloomed early. At age five, a visit to a friend’s violin lesson led to Suzuki method classes at the University of Michigan’s School of Music. “The teacher opened a window and said, ‘If you play with enough heart, maybe Dr. Suzuki will hear you all the way in Japan and it will make him smile.’ That really blew my mind.”

Raised by music lovers, his mother’s passion left a lasting mark. “She was never a good singer, but her love of music was infectious,” Nathan says. “Some of my favorite memories were driving in the car with her blasting 90s Top 40 hits and singing at the top of our lungs.” His father, a bassist, played on stage during church services while Nathan watched from his mother’s arms. It was in those little in-between moments that music began to feel like a language to be learned.

Over the years, songwriting became both an outlet and an obsession. Something clicked in January 2020, however, when he joined a small collective of songwriters to practice weekly production. “We called it Social Hitmaking,” Nathan says. “We met in person once, and then the world shut down.” What started as a collaborative accountability group quickly became something more personal. The five other writers became his audience and pushed Nathan to take risks and chase rabbit holes he might not have otherwise.

After four years of writing and recording one song per week, Nathan shifted to a daily songwriting practice in January 2024, which saw him write and record a brand-new song every weekday after returning from his full-time office job. He released 11 of these songs as singles across 2025, with much more to follow in 2026. What began as a two-week experiment has turned into a transformative, near-spiritual routine. “At first I didn’t think I could do it… but the opposite happened. Every day I take a crack at a new layer and dig deeper. I explore parts of myself I didn’t even know were there.”

Instead of draining him, the tight deadlines and consistent practice gave Nathan a new lens through which to see himself and his songwriting. The practice has also helped him shed an old internal conflict. “I used to do music full-time, but then had to take a job to pay off student loans. I carried some shame about that, especially living in Nashville where it feels like everyone is ‘doing it.’ But I’ve realized I’m making more, and better, music than I ever did before. The routine my job forced me into became something I’m grateful for.”

Nathan’s songwriting process has evolved alongside his schedule. Where he once wrote everything simultaneously into a voice memo, the constraints of daily writing shifted his approach. Now, he often writes and records guitar parts first, then develops melody and lyrics with fresh ears. The result is guitar parts that are more melodic, lyrics that are more intentional, and even the occasional foray into spoken word.

Though prolific, Nathan isn’t hoarding. He’s begun releasing one song per month, with mixing and mastering handled by longtime collaborator Darin Rajabian. Album plans are in the works but Nathan’s practice has reframed the way he sees his work and he’s conscious of not derailing the momentum that has become such a huge part of his life.

Still, ideas are bubbling. Some albums are already mentally organized by theme. Others may be curated by those closest to him: Sara Beth has produced a handful of her favorites, and a friend in the songwriting group chat might get a crack at curating, too. Whether or not the songs become albums, or whether they’re released all at once as a sprawling archive, Nathan remains grounded in the process itself.

Song by song, he’s mining something real: quiet truths, raw humor, memories that won’t let go.

“It blows me away how much is inside each of us,” Nathan says. “Sometimes I don’t even think I’ve scratched the surface.”