Faces Behind the Fest: Caitlin Soard

One of my favorite photos of Puckett is one where he is holding a fortune cookie that reads “Only you can change your life. No one can do it for you.” It was such a him thing to get as a fortune. I never saw it again, but reposted the picture yearly on the anniversary of his death. I love that picture and think of those words pretty consistently. 

Earlier last year, the Pucketteers and I decided that we wanted to host a music festival to honor him in remembrance of 10 years without the person who, for a lot of us, made Louisville into a home. That same week, I picked up chinese food on my way home, not thinking much of it. My wife and I ate our meal and watched The Pitt, as usual, but when I opened my fortune cookie, I gasped.

It read: Only you can change your life. No one can do it for you.

I’ll be honest, I’ve always been cynical that Puckett is up there sending us any signs. The absence of him in Louisville and in my life was just too loud to think I’d miss it if he was trying to say anything. So of course, as I am telling my wife that I’m worried nobody will want to play or come to this fest, Puckett yelled at me “HEY! I’m here, you idiot.” It was the moment I decided that not only was this show going to happen, I was going to make sure it was something he’d be proud of us for. It’s framed and hangs above my desk, next to the photo of him, as a reminder to be more like him. W.W.P.D., right?

I grew up in a small, rural Indiana town. It was not exactly the ideal place to be a teenage punk, let alone a queer teenage punk. I didn’t fit in anywhere, no matter how hard I tried. And I was so lonely, yearning for a community that would accept differences instead of weaponize them. Throughout all of that, I loved (and still love) a band called The Wonder Years, and followed their lead singer on social media religiously, desperate to be a part of that world but not sure how to make it happen. 

Then one day, in my senior year of high school, I woke up to a tweet from Dan Campbell, urging folks in Louisville to stop by a pizza place called Spinelli’s to see his friends’ band, Mixtapes, play. I’d never heard of them, but I figured if Soupy liked them, they had to be worth the time. It was worth the begging I had to do to get a ride into the city, and worth my dad’s frustration when he dropped us off at Baxter Ave. but had to come back, because it was the wrong Spinelli’s.

I stepped into a new world that night, and never looked back. Some guy everyone only called by his last name took my ticket, I didn’t think a lot about it at the time. I was too nervous, not knowing anyone there. I loved every second of it, and pretty soon I was a regular at Spinelli’s shows. That’s how I met Bryan Puckett, and how my whole life changed. 

Eventually he put out a call for interns for his record label, Little Heart Records, and I applied. I got the job and the rest was history; never have I had a better mentor than him. He didn’t just teach me how to mail t-shirts and records, or run shows, or manage a record label. He taught me about music, and pop culture I’d missed because of my sheltered upbringing. He never made me feel bad for not knowing a movie or a song, he’d just get excited to show it to me. He taught me what it means to be a good friend, and he was there for me when I didn’t know anyone else. He is the reason I know every single friend I have to this day. It’s hard to articulate what his friendship meant to me. He got along with everyone, but I felt like two peas in a pod hanging out. I saw (and see) so much of myself in him. I wanted to be like him when I grew up. 

When he passed in 2016, it was the most difficult time of my life. I was shattered, along with the rest of the Little Heart Records family. We weren’t able to keep Little Heart Records going…something I have always secretly blamed myself for a little bit. (Don’t worry, I’ve done lots of therapy about it, it’s not that kind of blog post.) I’ve never had something in my life that could compare to how working with Little Heart Records made me feel. Until now. 

Puckettfest is more than just a weekend of shows; it’s an outpouring of love for someone who meant so much to so many of us. It’s remembering the things we’ve lost, while looking ahead to the things we’ve held onto. It’s old friends coming back together, and new friends meeting for the first time. It’s our way of doing something to make the world better in a time when most of us feel pretty damn powerless. 

I’m so happy to meet you, and I can’t wait to see what we build together. Puckettfest wouldn’t be happening without the support of my fellow Pucketteers; I’m so proud to work with these folks. In the coming weeks, we’ll introduce each of them one-by-one so you can get to know the faces behind the fest a little better.

If you read this, thank you. I could go on and on about Puckett and what he meant to me, but I’d just be repeating everything everyone else says about him. It boils down to; He was the best of us, we should try to be as good as he was. In the spirit of our Little Heart Intern playlist series, I have included a collection of songs that Puckett showed me, or that we spent long car rides chatting about, or that just remind me of our friendship. Some are a little funny, some were my gateway into punk, and a lot are just damn good songs. Take a listen and think about him for a bit, if you miss him as much as I do.

Talk soon.

– Caitlin Soard, Chief Marking Officer, Puckettfest