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Jamey Johnson is alive and well. That is more than evident on Midnight Gasoline, the acclaimed singer-songwriter’s first new solo studio album in 14 years, out Nov. 8.

However, the 10-time Grammy nominee is the first to admit he was guided by the spirits of those who have passed while making the set. There’s Toby Keith, whose death spurred him to return to the studio. Then there’s Tony Joe White, who he was writing “Saturday Night in New Orleans” with when the “Poke Salad Annie” writer died (he finished the song years later with Chris Stapleton). Then Johnson recorded the album at Cash Cabin, Johnny and June Cash’s former studio now run by their son, musician/producer John Carter Cash.

Earlier this year, Johnson recorded 30 songs over three weeks at Cash Cabin, so dedicated to the effort that he slept outside the studio in his bus. The 12-track Midnight Gasoline will be the first in a number of albums called the Cash Cabin Series coming through Warner Music Nashville in conjunction with his own Big Gassed Records.

Over Zoom in his first interview about the new album, Johnson stresses that he’s been busy touring and writing since he released his last solo album, 2010’s The Guitar Song, but also admits that while he never stopped writing completely, his output was often severely limited as he replenished his creativity. “I didn’t write unless I absolutely had to write. And that was taking a page out of Roger Miller’s book,” he says. “Roger told Willie [Nelson] years ago that if you’re not writing, it’s because your well is empty, and you need to go out there and live some and fill up your well. And that’s what Willie told me. I think it just took me a long time to get my well full.”

Johnson’s well has provided country music with some of its most resonant music over the last few decades. Johnson, considered one of the most significant country songwriters and vocalists of the last generation, is one of only two songwriters to win two song of the year awards in the same year from the Academy of Country Music and the Country Music Association — the other being one of his musical heroes, the late Kris Kristofferson. (Johnson won for “Give It Away” in 2007 and “In Color” in 2009.)

Johnson, who is on Life is a Carnival: The Last Waltz Tour ‘24 with musicians Don Was, Ryan Bingham, Lukas Nelson, Mike Campbell and Benmont Tench celebrating the music of The Band, talked to Billboard before he flew from Nashville for a date in Omaha.

Johnson is as eloquent in conversation as he is in song, giving thoughtful, reflective answers. He spoke candidly about his hard-won sobriety, what he thinks about the new generation of artists and why he and Keith had unfinished business.

You’ve been touring a lot the last several years. How did that inform your writing and getting back in the studio?

There’s the songwriter that just watches people and studies. There’s a part of that you get standing on the center of that stage, looking out over the faces and seeing how they react to certain messages or certain lines that enhances you as a songwriter. So, when you get that kind of positive feedback as a songwriter just off of the faces, you tend to go back in the writing room and you want to write something that draws a similar reaction or at least it feeds you to say that as a songwriter you’re headed in a correct direction or in the desirable direction.

The album’s emotional centerpiece is “One More Time,” about the deep longing to hold a lost loved one again and playing God to make that happen. What inspired it?

I wrote it with good buddy of mine, Rob Hatch, and Ernest. The inspiration behind that [was] in a short amount of time in my life I had a lot of death to deal with. It was very close friends, mentors, legends in the business, people that I was close to, people that I had benefited by knowing in a very heartfelt way, people that I owe a lot of my success to, people that I loved. And when they’re gone, you can’t help it— you dream of the day when you get to see them again. This song basically says. why would l feel this way unless there’s a time I can see you? If I were the Creator, I would create these things in such a way that I’ll always get you back one more time.

It was your first time writing with Ernest. You’re usually writing with your contemporaries more than the next generation.

We did a charity golf tournament together. It’s one that I do every year with George Strait. Ernest came to be my partner this year. And one thing I’ve learned about Ernest is he is quick-witted beyond belief. His mind’s always working. He and I were absolutely miserable golfers together, but we had the most fun out there doing it. That speaks volumes about somebody: how well can you keep your head up, keep your spirits up and have fun even while you’re losing on a golf course. You would have never thought we were losing, we looked like a couple of champions out there having the time of our life [Laughs.]

He’s just absolutely brilliant. He’s got to be one of the brightest in this younger class of songwriters today. And that’s saying something. He is holding his own with artists like HARDY and Riley Green, Luke Combs. He’s got that high frequency going on. Lainey Wilson, Ella Langley, Megan Moroney, Ashley McBride. I get around these people at the different industry things that we do, and I’m just mesmerized. There’s a reason these kids are on top of the world today, because they’re f–king good.

Another song on here that feels personal is “21 Guns,” a very moving song about being at the graveside of someone who dies in the line of duty, which you performed at PBS’ National Memorial Day Concert this year. As a former Marine, what does it mean to you that you’ve written a song that can be played on these very momentous, somber occasions?

One song could never be enough to properly acknowledge the sacrifice that’s been made by not just men and women in uniform, but also the Gold Star families that are left behind after that sacrifice has been made. It takes a bunch of songs to get to the heart of that subject and I’m glad I’ve got one to add to that mix. My only concern [was] I didn’t want to feel like it was pandering, because for me it comes from a really honest place. I’ve had friends die in combat. I’ve had friends die in the line of duty, whether it’s in combat or on the police force or fire department.

One of the first songs released from the project is Sober. How long you’ve been sober and what prompted that song?

I had my last drink in September 2011. Then I quit smoking pot in 2015. I think that lasted about eight years. Nine years. In that time period, it was all about sobriety. And with a sober mind, I’m able to do things like get a pilot’s license, manage a business, start a product line. I’m sober for the most part, but every now and then, I may still break out a joint if I’m writing or something like that. But I don’t play games with the alcohol. That’s what led me down a dark path of self-destruction back then and I barely survived. Alcohol was an incendiary way of destructing myself. Everything just went up in in flames and you couldn’t put the fire out, you just had to wait for it to all come to ashes and then try to rebuild when you got done. And it seemed to me like I owed myself a better way to live than that.

You recorded 30 songs. What kind of roll out do you see for the rest of the Cash Cabin Series?

We’re gonna keep them coming. I’m not waiting for a specific time period. I’m happy with whatever release [schedule] Warner decides to make. That’s what I’m using the label for. I don’t have a marketing department and I don’t have a bunch of people that that sit around testing the climate to find out when’s the best time to release this or that. I’m happy to let the label make that their contribution.

This is your first album for Warner Music Group. You signed with the label based on your relationship with co-chair/co-president Cris Lacy. What makes that so special?

We’ve known each other since both of us were starting our careers in this business. She was a song plugger. I was a songwriter and at the time, I didn’t even have or want a publishing deal. I was just a rogue writer running around singing demos, and everybody knew my name. We kept up over the years, but there never was an opportunity for us to work together. A couple of years ago she came to me and said, “You have got to start making records again.”

It wasn’t like the only reason she wanted a record was to have something to sell. She wasn’t coming to me from her position of authority at Warner [Music Nashville] Warner is doing fine without me. Chris Lacey is doing fine without me. She just wanted me to do fine, too. She wanted me to be doing better than what I was doing, and she knew that releasing the music was going to make me better. It was going to heal me, and she was right. She had to come and pull me through the motions. Everything that she did for me, I desperately needed it. And at this point, I have nothing but appreciation for her and gratitude for her as a friend coming and helping me through that process.

You’ve really stepped up your social media game recently and posted a really sweet post when Kris Kristofferson died a few weeks ago. You both were in the military and both are considered among the best country songwriters ever. Did you ever get to write together?

Well, especially with those guys I was reluctant to ever mention writing. I didn’t want to. As much as I wanted to as a songwriter, I always felt like it would have dampened the relationship if I seemed like just another handout going, “Hey, please give me some of your time. Please endorse me in this way.” I’d rather just be the friendly face that sits around gobbling up stories that they’re willing to share, so I spent my time around Kris and Merle [Haggard] and Willie [Nelson], just absorbing whatever they were willing to share. Hank Cochran and I even talked about writing, but I benefited more from my time being around him not writing than I would have if I had left there with a catalog of No. 1 hits.

You did write with Toby Keith. What was that like?

Toby Keith had one of the most amazing memories of anybody. I mean, perfect recall on lyrics he hasn’t seen or heard in 34 years. Remembers every chord, remembers every word. He could remember names, faces, conversations, ideas, just an infinite stream of memory. And as a songwriter, he was very picky about phrases he would use. If it didn’t sound like his vernacular, it had to change until it fit right because he wasn’t going to put something in there that didn’t sound the way he would talk… We were working on a song toward the end. I called him up one night and shared a few lines with him, and he added a few lines and we turned around and wrote this whole verse. We laughed a bunch, and it was one of those that I thought, “This is great. There’s gonna come a time I’ll get out to Oklahoma or maybe he and I will meet up somewhere at a golf tournament, but we’ll have some time sit down and finish this thing up.”

He always gave me the feeling that this wasn’t nothing. He was gonna beat this: “You don’t worry about me, pal. I got this” — and that lasted right up until February [when he died of cancer.]. I don’t know what happens with the songs now, but I know some time is probably going to go by, and I might break them back out and revisit them later on. But I think right now, the friends of his that I would consider finishing those songs with are still hurting, and it’s probably not time to start trying to do that just yet.

How did his death affect this album?

The writing was already coming back to me, piece by piece, but I still didn’t have any ambitions on making a record. When Toby passed away, it moved everything into high gear because I realized that that was the end of his discography, that we weren’t getting another Toby Keith record. And that’s what drove me to wanting to finish my own discography. It’s what made me understand that I’m nowhere near done, and so it’s time to get busy. After he passed away, I immediately started talking about this session and started trying to get all the particulars in order. It was time for me to get in the studio again.

Like many songwriters, you strongly feel that you are a conduit for God or a higher power to work through you with your music. How do you honor that gift?

Giving it my best is how I honor the calling. At the end, I don’t have to worry about how it’s being used. That’s up to God. Somebody’s going to hear that song that I would have never known existed and that this person would have never known that I existed except for the fact that my song reached them. When they come looking for me, they want to share that experience and they want to tell me all about it, but what they really want to do is connect with God and say, “God, I got the song you sent me through this bearded weirdo over here.”