Guitar Talk: Why Trey Hensley Leans on Old Martins and New Taylors—and Why He’s Stepping Out as a Solo Artist

Trey Hensley was just 11 years old when he got the call to play the Grand Ole Opry. Within weeks, he was standing onstage in Nashville, guitar in hand. Not long after, he talked a family friend in a gospel band into selling him a 1954 Martin D-28—an instrument that’s followed him ever since, through thousands of hours onstage and in the studio.

Raised in East Tennessee and immersed in bluegrass from the start, Hensley has built his reputation not on flash, but on tone, timing, and a clear melodic voice. Over the years, he’s recorded with country great Marty Stuart, shared a Grammy win with blues legend Taj Mahal, and spent a decade touring and recording with Dobro virtuoso Rob Ickes.

Now, with two solo albums in the works (a bluegrass record produced by seven-time Grammy winner Brent Maher and a Bryan Sutton–produced country release) and a 2024 IBMA nomination for Guitar Player of the Year, Hensley is stepping into a new chapter as a solo artist. I caught up with him to talk about the vintage and new guitars that shape his sound, as well as the challenge of honoring Mahal’s guitar parts on stage, the shift from duo to solo performer, and why, in the end, he keeps coming back to melody.

Walk us through your current guitar lineup. What’s in your regular rotation?

My main road guitar right now is a Taylor 517 Grand Pacific from their new Gold Label Series. I love that guitar. I’ve been using L.R. Baggs Anthem SL pickups for years, and they just work for everything I do. That Taylor is basically my constant when I’m on tour—I actually take two with me.

In addition to that, I’ve got some boutique guitars I love. One of my favorites is a Pre-War 12-fret slope-shoulder dreadnought with Indian rosewood back and sides. It was kind of a precursor to their Norman Blake model—I ordered it after playing one of their early versions. It’s not a T-bar version, but it’s incredible. Takes a minute to get used to the 12-fret body and lack of upper fret access, but it’s worth the adjustment. I used it heavily this week recording two albums, one of them being a more country-leaning project produced by Bryan Sutton, which has been a blast.

I also have a Huss & Dalton signature model they made for me last year that goes on the road pretty often. In the studio, I’ll use my 1954 Martin D-28—that’s the oldest guitar I own. It’s Brazilian rosewood but sounds focused, almost mahogany-like. There’s something about those ’50s Martins—they just record so well. And I’ve been really enjoying my Mule resonator lately—one of the Charlie Parr signature models with a wood body. I’ve written a few songs on it and tracked some this week on that same Bryan Sutton–produced record.

What characteristics do you look for in an ideal bluegrass guitar?

For bluegrass, you’ve got to have that dreadnought boom—the low-end rumble that jumps out at you. Funny thing is, that’s not great for recording. You often have to tame that in the mix. But I still chase it anyway.

Balance is key. I’ve got an old D-35 that sounds great but is too bass heavy for mics or stage. So for me, it’s about a powerful sound that cuts through without needing to be manhandled. That’s one reason I love the Taylors—they’re reliable and consistent, no matter the climate. Same goes for the Pre-Wars. I’ve had some boutique guitars that just went wild between Colorado, Seattle, and Tennessee—you never knew what you’d get. I was talking to Tommy Emmanuel once about how he adjusts his guitar at every stop. It made me realize how much I value a guitar that behaves. The 1954 D-28, for example, is so ornery that it takes a day to settle after driving from East Tennessee to Nashville.

Is there one guitar you could never part with?

Definitely my ’54 D-28. I’ve had it since I was 11 or 12. It belonged to a friend of mine in a gospel band. I joked with him once, saying, “If you ever sell that thing, let me know.” A year later, he was ready to part with it. This was back in the early 2000s when ’50s Martins weren’t as collectible as the ’30s and ’40s models, so with some help from my parents, I was able to get it.

That guitar looks like it’s been through a war—there are deep ridges on the top like Ruffles potato chips. Someone clearly dug in with a pick for decades. It’s got so much character, and when I record with it, it always sounds like me. I don’t take it on the road much these days, but I’ll never let it go. Someday, it’ll go to my daughter.

What’s the most underrated piece of gear you rely on?

A good pick—no question. I use a BlueChip TAD60 and wouldn’t want to gig without it.

You were part of Taj Mahal’s Grammy-winning live album, Swingin’ Live at The Church in Tulsa. What was that experience like?

It was incredible. Taj is one of my heroes. It started with Rob Ickes and me recording World Full of Blues. We each made a dream list of guests, and Taj was at the top for both of us. We reached out, he joined us on a track, and we hit it off.

In 2021, he invited me to Jazz Alley in Seattle to play his guitar parts with the band that would later appear on the live album. That led to more shows, including a run that ended in Phoenix. Then Taj told me that the folks at Leon Russell’s Church Studio in Tulsa wanted to host and record a live show. So we did it.

That night was special. Taj actually played guitar, which he hadn’t done in our previous shows. He called tunes we hadn’t rehearsed, and I loved the spontaneity. The show could’ve been just a keepsake, but his manager found the tapes and said, “We should release this.” The Grammy was a bonus. Even if no one else had ever heard it, it would still be one of the most special things I’ve ever done.

Did working with Taj influence your playing?

For sure. Playing his parts forced me to walk the line between honoring the original voice and adding my own thing. I’ve listened to his records forever, so it was hard to hear the songs any other way. That experience really changed how I approach arrangements and songwriting. It was a pivotal moment.

You recently announced that your duo with Rob Ickes is going on hiatus so you can focus on your solo career. What led to that?

It was a long time coming—probably two years of conversations. Rob and I are close and still talk all the time. But we were doing around 100 shows a year, which didn’t leave much time for anything else.

I started stockpiling songs and thought I’d make a solo record. At first, I figured it would just be a one-off, but things started lining up. I opened some shows solo for the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band last year, and I’m doing a few with Little Feat this year. That pushed things forward.

This new record, produced by Bryan Sutton, blends all the things I love—Western swing, blues, straight-ahead country. I’ve had time to find my own direction, and next year I’ll be touring with a band and doing some solo shows. I’m excited—a little nervous too—but Rob and I are parting ways on great terms. We’re proud of what we’ve done.

You’ve also been teaching more online. How did that start?

A few years ago, I did an interview with Lessons with Marcel, then released a course on Rob’s Big Music Tent platform. During the pandemic, I did more lessons and found I enjoyed it. Since then I’ve worked with TrueFire and just did something with Marty Schwartz that’ll be out this fall.

It took me a while to think about what I do in a way that could be taught. I learned in a tune-based way—Carter Family songs and fiddle tunes. I never dissected my technique until I started dealing with some arm pain. Teaching made me take things apart and figure out what actually works. It’s been rewarding.

When I’m home, I give master classes at East Tennessee State University, which has a great bluegrass program. It feels good to pass things on. I remember being backstage at the Opry when I was a kid, and Earl Scruggs showed me how he played “You Are My Flower.” Stuff like that sticks with you. That kind of generosity made a huge impression on me.

When you sit down to write or practice, where do you usually begin?

Writing’s always been the hardest part for me. When I pick up a guitar, there’s so much I want to learn—solos, tunes, you name it. It’s easy to get sidetracked. That’s one reason I like co-writing—it pulls me out of that loop.

Songs usually start with a lyric or a mood. Sometimes I hear the melody as I’m writing. I’ve written songs on planes where the melody and lyrics arrive together, and I barely change them afterward. I have a little folder on my phone with single lines or ideas, and when I’m in the right mood, I’ll finish one.

“Living in a Song” came out of a rough gig in Ohio—just a late-night vibe that spilled into the tune. Some songs you think are just OK end up sounding great in the studio. Others you’re excited about don’t land. That’s part of the process. Mood plays a huge role.

Outside of bluegrass, which guitarists have most shaped your approach to the instrument?

So many players—Eddie Van Halen, B.B. King, John Lee Hooker, Grant Green, Wes Montgomery, John Scofield, Bill Frisell. I’ve even picked up things from Marty Friedman from Megadeth. And I love the chicken pickers: James Burton, Jerry Reed, Roy Nichols.

Lately I’ve become Instagram buddies with Brent Hinds from Mastodon. He does this wild metal/chicken-pickin’ hybrid. I’d love to collaborate with him someday. [Just before press time we learned that Hinds died in a motorcycle accident on August 20, 2025. —ed.]

What’s one lesson from an older musician that stuck with you?

My first guitar teacher used to say, “There’s nothing wrong with playing the melody.” It sounds simple, but it’s powerful. And I heard Merle Haggard had a sign on his tour bus that said “Simplicity sells.” I think about that all the time.

This article originally appeared in the November/December 2025 issue of Acoustic Guitar magazine.