A FEW DAYS AGO, MARGO Price’s husband, Jeremy, and her seven-year-old son, Judah, discovered a moonshine barrel on a hill behind their brand-new home, located 20 minutes from downtown Nashville. “I went, ‘I gotta see this. I can’t be left out,’ ” Price says, milling around her retro wooden kitchen in jeans, a white tank top and a denim shirt. She climbed up a steep, stony incline and found it. “Then I saw eight more, just built into the ground,” she says. “It was really surreal.” Price’s area, she learned, was once heavy bootlegger territory. She jokes about bringing the barrels out of retirement for a little home brewing.
It makes perfect sense that this discovery would excite Price, whose songs routinely find beauty in scenes of decaying America: dried-up farmland,…
