In “Proud,” Ken Holt opens a window into the most intimate corners of a father’s heart—unspoken love, quiet hope, and the courage it takes to finally say the words that matter. A lifelong musician shaped by Marine-family roots, decades in ministry, and a deep reverence for human connection, Holt’s journey has been one of constant motion and continual becoming. Now, as he steps into a new chapter marked by renewed creativity, vinyl pressings, and heartfelt reflection, he speaks candidly about where he’s been, what he’s learned, and why this moment feels like a return to the truest version of himself.
Ken, “Proud” feels so personal and tender. When you first wrote those words to your son, was there a moment that made you realize, “This is something I need to say out loud”?
You’re right, Proud is very “personal and tender.” I knew that at some point I would be sharing this song with my son. The song was written for him and about him, yet, at the same time, any father may be moved to tell his son “I’m proud of you and I love you.” Sometimes those feelings can be the most difficult for a father to express to his son. After including Proud on the Shades of Light album, I’ve become increasingly aware that these lyrics may encourage and help other dads to open a bit more.
You grew up as the son of a U.S. Marine, moving through seven states before finding your way to Florida. How did that constant sense of motion shape the man—and the musician—you became?
It’s no secret that the lives we live as children have an extra-large impact on who we become as adults, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. As a Marine Corps kid, we were on the move every couple of years; new faces, new places, new accents, new ethnicities, new cultural norms, sometimes new pets—but the same parents, the same family supports. The result? I can walk into a room, not know anyone, and be comfortable. I think of myself as flexible and adaptable. What does a musician need to be…? Flexible, adaptable, and able to establish new relationships in a variety of settings. The downside is this: it can be painful to say goodbye and leave behind people who I’ve grown to care about. The result is, it takes a while to get to know me. I learned that as a traveling Marine Corps kid.
Your musical influences are so rich and varied—The Beatles, the Allman Brothers, your uncle’s mandolin, your father’s country records. When you close your eyes and think of your earliest musical memory, what do you see?
When I close my eyes and think of my earliest musical memory, I see myself, 10 years old, walking down the street in Kailua, Hawaii, guitar case in hand, on my way to my music lesson. I see myself sitting on my bed with my dad, guitars in hand, playing something—I have no idea what, although I’m pretty sure it was a D chord. Practicing, although it was required 30 minutes a day, was never my forte. Perhaps my dad was the enforcer.
You’ve spent 20 years as a pastor and youth minister. How has walking with people through their joys and their pain informed the compassion and introspection in your songwriting?
Baptizing babies and spending time with folks in the Critical Care Unit or Hospice Unit certainly helped give me a realistic understanding of birth to death. As a child, I think my parents tried to protect me from the pain-part. As an adult, if not sooner, we all learn quickly that joy, sorrow, pain, success, and failure are all on the menu. I had two choices: harden my heart, or practice vulnerability and compassion. I have tried to get better at the latter, and hopefully it influences my songwriting.
“Proud” is a father’s love letter, but also a message about understanding and acceptance. Is there something you hope your son—and all sons and daughters—hear in this song that perhaps wasn’t always said in your own upbringing?
My own father loved me, I have no doubt, yet it took until I was an adult for him to be able to verbalize it. I don’t fault him for that. I think he was, like us all, a product of his childhood and young adulthood. Sharing feelings was less important than sheer survival. Losing his parents at a young age and fighting two wars taught him how to grit his teeth and bear it. For me, to begin to understand that helped me appreciate his more closed veneer and love him more. Perhaps, as your question suggests, understanding and acceptance can help free us up to tell loved ones that they are indeed loved. There’s not always an abundance of time.
Your career spans decades—from touring with The Blend to creating music at home and now performing with The Promise. When you look back, is there a moment onstage or off that you feel defined your artistic identity?
WHEN, or rather HOW, was my “artistic identity” defined? I’ve been fortunate enough to play music in some form for a long time. Over time I’ve played different instruments and stepped in and out of different genres. It’s possible that if I had another 20 years to learn, grow, and experiment, my identity would continue to shift. In other words, my identity as a musician has been longer than a moment coming; closer to a gradual evolution than a Damascus moment. What drives the engine is inspiration from fellow travelers and a desire to authentically express what gives me joy and what keeps me up at night.
This new chapter of your life—returning to recording, preparing a vinyl release, performing again—feels like a renaissance. What called you back to the center of your musical life after so many years of serving others?
What called me back to music full time was two things: the realization that time is of the essence—that however much of it I have left, I better use it while I still can—and the desire to create a musical legacy that in some great or small way speaks to the importance of love, compassion, and all-inclusive diversity. It’s not a new idea and it’s not a mission I haven’t undertaken before. But it’s time to focus.
And finally, you sing the words “I’m proud” with such quiet conviction. If you could speak directly to the younger version of yourself—the young man who was first learning who he was—what would you tell him today?
If I could speak to a younger version of myself, I would say, “What you preach about today through your words and your actions may or may not be exactly what you preach about in 20+ years. Hold fast to your passion, Ken, yet keep in mind that circumstances and events will continue to grow you—to inspire, enliven, and surely disappoint you. Take the time to write down what you understand to be your core values. Revisit them from time to time and see how you’re doing on the trek. If love and compassion are at the top of your list, it’s okay to feel proud of yourself, and it’s likely that someone else will feel proud of you.”
