Today we’d like to introduce you to Courtney Eoff.
Hi Courtney, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
I come from a long line of hard-working agriculturists in West Texas. Both my mom’s and dad’s sides of the family were farmers, and you know what that means—when you’re taking life at the speed of a tractor, you have plenty of time to listen to music. In our family, that music was primarily country.
I think that’s where the love of music was first planted in me. It was something that was passed down through both sides of my family, and I consider that a huge blessing. My mom is a singer, my dad is a great guitar player, and my Pawpaw is almost always whistling a tune. There was usually a record playing, a CD spinning, or somebody in the family singing something. There was never much silence in our house growing up—and honestly, there still isn’t much silence in my mind.
I’m almost always thinking of a tune, humming a melody, or turning some random thought into a song. Looking back, I think I was surrounded by music long before I ever realized how much it would become a part of who I am.
Music has been a major part of my life for as long as I can remember. From family reunions filled with picking and singing, to standing in a church pew singing “Amazing Grace,” to joining choir at school and performing in musicals, I was always surrounded by the joy that music brings.
When I was 15, a serious sports injury led to three different foot surgeries and ultimately changed the direction of my life. Athletics had been a huge part of who I was, and suddenly I couldn’t participate the way I once had. With a lot of time on crutches and not much else to do, I decided to take music more seriously. I picked up a guitar, taught myself how to play, and eventually booked my first gig at a local restaurant in a small town just outside of Austin.
I remember thinking, “Wait… you mean I can sing, play guitar, and make a little money to buy a burger? I like this!”
That first gig planted a seed.
During my senior year of high school, I was heavily involved in the livestock industry and attended many of the major stock shows across Texas. That’s where I discovered the Houston Rodeo Rockstar competition. A good friend of mine, Cole Rickman, and I decided to enter the competition with the help of a whole army of family, friends, and local supporters. We were fortunate enough to be voted into the finals, where we performed live in front of a panel of judges in a competition that felt a little like American Idol.
We competed in the group division and, to our surprise and excitement, took home first place. The prize included recording studio time at Stormy Cooper Media in Houston, which gave me my first real taste of what it was like to hear music I had created come to life in a studio.
After high school, I attended Texas A&M University. During college, I continued playing music around College Station and the Texas Hill Country, using gigs as a way to help pay my way through school. More importantly, I spent those years practicing, learning guitar, and investing heavily in songwriting.
As I experienced more of life and watched the people around me go through their own struggles, heartbreaks, celebrations, and changes, I began to realize that songwriting could be more than simply writing about myself. I could take the stories, emotions, and experiences I witnessed and turn them into something other people could recognize themselves in.
At the time, I had plans to move to Branson, Missouri after graduation to pursue a career in entertainment and music. I thought I knew exactly what the next chapter of my life was going to look like.
Then everything changed.
During my senior year at Texas A&M, I had my tonsils removed and experienced a very unexpected and difficult recovery. The healing took much longer than anticipated, and complications from the surgery impacted my vocal cords. I lost my singing voice completely.
I couldn’t make it through a verse of a song without my voice suddenly disappearing. I couldn’t sing along to the radio in my car. I couldn’t sing at church. For someone who had spent her entire life surrounded by music, it was incredibly strange to suddenly feel completely disconnected from it.
It was a pivotal moment in my life—and a complete derailment of the plans I had made.
Thankfully, my professors at Texas A&M Mays Business School knew about my plans before surgery, understood how difficult my recovery had been, and encouraged me to take a step into a completely different career while I figured out what came next. Through their encouragement and connections, I accepted a job in healthcare in Pensacola, Florida.
So, in 2023, I packed up and moved 13 hours away from my family, by myself, to a place where I didn’t know a soul.
2023 was one of the most challenging years of my life.
But through all of the uncertainty and change, one thing remained constant: God.
Even though I couldn’t sing the way I wanted to, I continued working on my voice and practicing guitar. Most importantly, I kept writing.
I wrote constantly while I was living in Florida. I wrote down my thoughts, emotions, frustrations, hopes, and everything I couldn’t quite figure out how to say out loud. Even when I couldn’t sing what I was feeling, I could put it into words. Songwriting became a way for me to process what was happening and work through some of the hardest moments of my life.
Then, in 2024, I was given the opportunity to move back to Texas and work for Tarleton State University. I was able to pursue my master’s degree in management while working at the university, and I continued developing my songwriting on the side.About a year after my surgery, something I had prayed for and worked incredibly hard toward finally happened: I was able to sing again.
I remember the first time I played a little gig after getting my voice back and thinking, “Wow. I never want to take this for granted again.”Losing my voice had taught me just how much music meant to me. It also taught me about perseverance, patience, gratitude, and faith. I had always loved music, but after losing it, I understood what a gift it truly was.
As I settled into life in Stephenville, I started playing more gigs and writing more seriously. Eventually, I saved up enough money to record three of my original songs at the same Houston studio where I had recorded after winning the Houston Rodeo Rockstar competition years earlier.
The folks at the studio had always treated me so well, and I was incredibly fortunate to have Tim Crouch add the instrumentals to my songs and help bring the music in my head to life. Hearing my own words and melodies turned into fully produced songs was surreal.
After releasing those songs, I decided to enter the Texas Troubadour Songwriting Classic. Honestly, I didn’t think I would make it to the finals, and I certainly didn’t think I would win.
But somehow, I did.
The judges selected me as a finalist, giving me the opportunity to perform my songs live in front of a panel that included Jimmy Fortune of the Statler Brothers. He selected my song “My Luck” as the Song of the Year, and after performing in the final round, I was named the Texas Troubadour Songwriting Classic winner.
That was the first time I really realized that maybe these songs could be more than just diary entries.
Maybe they could actually connect with people.
I love telling stories. I love telling the truth. And I love adding just enough exaggeration to make a story a little more entertaining. Winning that competition gave me the confidence to continue pursuing songwriting and to trust the stories I was putting into my music.
Shortly afterward, I had the opportunity to move to San Marcos and join Texas State University. I knew I wanted to be in the Hill Country because of the incredible music community throughout Central Texas, and I quickly found myself plugged into the music scenes in San Marcos, Wimberley, New Braunfels, Fredericksburg, and beyond.
I started a band, learned from other musicians, and began playing throughout the region on weekends. I still write songs almost every day. For me, songwriting has become one of the best ways to decompress, process life, and make sense of the world around me.
And I think one of the things I love most about songwriting is giving people a voice and sometimes telling the truth a little louder than they might be willing to tell it themselves.
Not every song I write is completely true, and not every story actually happened to me. A lot of my songs are made up of little pieces of other people’s stories things I’ve witnessed, conversations I’ve had, experiences friends have shared with me, and emotions I’ve felt myself. I get to take those pieces, weave them together, and sometimes add a little imagination to create something new.
But every now and then, a song is the absolute truth.
And if somebody hears it and thinks, “Well, that sounds an awful lot like me…” I guess there’s only one thing I can say: if the shoe fits, wear it! Haha.
I love that songwriting can live somewhere between truth and storytelling. Sometimes I’m writing about my own life, sometimes I’m telling someone else’s story, and sometimes I’m taking a little bit of both and turning it into something that feels bigger than any one person.
At the end of the day, if one of my songs makes somebody feel seen, helps them through something, makes them laugh, reminds them of a memory, or simply makes them want to sing along, then I feel like I’ve done my job. Because to me, the best songs don’t just tell a story,they make you feel like the story might be yours, too.
And some of the most unexpected opportunities have come from simply continuing to write and say yes.
After winning the Texas Troubadour Songwriting Classic, I was invited to Clifton, Texas, to open for Ray Wylie Hubbard. While I was practicing that morning and getting ready for soundcheck, Ray asked me if I knew a song called “You’ve Got to Move.”
I had never heard it before.
He told me how it went, played through the melody with me, and then casually said, “You’re singing it with me tonight. Be ready.”
So I went back to the hotel, put on some rhinestones, learned the song, and got ready for the show.
That evening, I had the opportunity to open for Ray Wylie Hubbard and play about an hour-long set. Then, I got to join him onstage to sing “You’ve Got to Move.”
Praise the Lord—it went well!
It was such a fun experience, but what meant just as much to me was getting to spend time around Ray and learn from his wisdom and experience. He encouraged me to keep writing and invited me to come back to Stephenville for Larry Joe Taylor’s Texas Music Festival.
That invitation turned into another full-circle moment.
I got to join Ray Wylie Hubbard onstage during his set at Larry Joe Taylor Fest in Stephenville. Standing on that stage, surrounded by so many incredible musicians and Texas music fans, was one of those moments where I had to stop and think, “How in the world did I get here?”
From sitting on crutches at 15 and learning guitar because I couldn’t play sports, to losing my voice completely in college, to moving 13 hours away from home, to writing songs alone in Florida, to finding my voice again, recording my own music, winning a songwriting competition, and eventually sharing a stage with one of the artists I admired—it has been a journey I could never have planned for myself.
And honestly, I’m grateful that I couldn’t.
Because somewhere along the way, I learned that music isn’t just something I do.
It’s how I tell stories. It’s how I process life. It’s how I connect with people. And, through all of the unexpected turns, it has been one of the ways God has continually reminded me that sometimes the detours are where the best stories begin.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
It definitely has not been a smooth road, but honestly, I think some of the bumps along the way are what have shaped me into the songwriter and person I am today.
One of the biggest challenges came during my senior year at Texas A&M. I had my tonsils removed and ended up having a much more difficult recovery than anyone expected. Complications from the surgery affected my vocal cords, and I completely lost my singing voice. I couldn’t make it through a verse of a song without my voice just disappearing. I couldn’t sing along to the radio in my car, and I couldn’t sing at church. For someone who had grown up with music being such a huge part of her life, it was a really strange and difficult thing to experience.
And the timing couldn’t have been worse. I had plans to move to Branson, Missouri after graduation and pursue a career in music and entertainment. I had this whole plan for what I thought my life was going to look like, and suddenly the one thing I had always counted on doing wasn’t something I could do anymore.
Instead, I ended up moving 13 hours away from my family to Pensacola, Florida, where I didn’t know a soul, and started working in healthcare. That season of my life was incredibly challenging. I was trying to figure out who I was and what my future looked like without the career I had always imagined for myself.
But music never completely left me.
Even though I couldn’t sing, I kept playing guitar and, more importantly, I kept writing. I wrote constantly—about my frustrations, my faith, my experiences, and everything I was trying to process. I wrote about things I couldn’t always say out loud. In a strange way, losing my voice actually made me a better songwriter because I had to learn how to put those feelings into words.
Through a lot of prayer, patience, and work, I eventually got my singing voice back. About a year after the surgery, I was finally able to sing again. I remember playing one of my first little gigs after getting my voice back and thinking, “Wow. I will never take this for granted again.”
Losing my voice completely changed the way I look at music. I don’t think I would appreciate getting to sing, perform, and write nearly as much as I do now if I had never experienced what it felt like to lose it.
There have definitely been other struggles along the way—finding the confidence to put my original music out into the world, balancing a career with music, and learning to trust that the stories in my head are actually worth sharing. But I’ve learned that a detour doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going the wrong direction. Sometimes, the detour is exactly what gets you where you’re supposed to be.
Looking back, I wouldn’t have chosen that season of my life, but I’m incredibly grateful for what it taught me. It strengthened my faith, gave me more stories to tell, and reminded me that sometimes the things we think are taking us away from our dreams are actually preparing us for them.
Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?
I’m a singer-songwriter, and at the heart of what I do is storytelling. I write and perform primarily Texas country and traditional country music, and I love taking everyday experiences, funny situations, heartbreak, relationships, and little pieces of other people’s stories and turning them into songs.
My first real taste of songwriting actually came from a pretty unexpected place. In college, My friend Mandy Jenkins told me about a competition the Don’t Mess With Texas Campaign was hosting. I entered the competition and wrote a 30-second jingle called “Don’t M-E-SS With Texas.” I ended up winning, and that little jingle opened a door I never expected. I got the opportunity to perform as an opening act at Gilley’s Dallas, and that was really the first time I thought, “Wait… maybe I could actually do something with this.”
Since then, songwriting has become such a huge part of my life. I’ve had the opportunity to record and release my original music, play all over Texas, open for artists like Ray Wylie Hubbard, and most recently win the Texas Troubadour Songwriting Classic, where my song “My Luck” was also named Song of the Year thanks to Jimmy Fortune!
I think what sets me apart is the way I approach storytelling. Some of my songs are completely true. Some are made up of little pieces of other people’s stories, conversations I’ve had, things I’ve witnessed, or experiences I’ve had myself. And sometimes I take a little creative liberty and make a story just a little more entertaining.
And every once in a while, a song is the absolute truth. If somebody hears it and thinks, “Well, that sounds an awful lot like me…” I guess I’ll just say, if the shoe fits, wear it!
I love making people laugh, making people feel seen, and giving people a song for something they might not have known how to put into words themselves. I think there’s something really special about hearing a song and thinking, “Yep, somebody else has felt this too.” Those are the songs I want to write.
But more than anything, I hope my music can bring just a little bit of light into somebody’s life. One of my favorite lines is, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.” I think about that a lot—not just when things are going well, but especially when they aren’t.
I’ve had some pretty dark and uncertain seasons in my own life, and I’ve learned that having light doesn’t mean you never experience hard things. Sometimes it means choosing to let that light shine anyway. For me, music has been one of the ways I’ve been able to do that. Even when I couldn’t sing, I could write. Even when I didn’t understand what was happening, I could put it into a song. And even through the hard moments, I’ve tried to keep that little light shining.
Life can be heavy, and sometimes you just need a song that makes you laugh, reminds you of home, helps you through a heartbreak, or gives you something to sing along to on the drive home. If I can give somebody even a few minutes of that—if I can make them smile, feel seen, or remind them that they aren’t alone—then I feel like I’ve done something worthwhile.
What I’m most proud of is that I’ve continued to pursue music through some pretty unexpected seasons of life. I lost my voice, moved across the country, had to completely rethink my plans, found my voice again, and kept writing through all of it. Those experiences have given me a lot more to say and, I think, a much deeper appreciation for getting to share it.
To me, music is more than just performing. It’s connection. It’s storytelling. It’s laughter, healing, memories, and sometimes just a little bit of light when somebody needs it. I’ve been incredibly blessed to have music in my life, and I want to keep taking that little light I’ve been given and letting it shine—even through the hard moments.
Do you have any memories from childhood that you can share with us?
It’s really hard for me to pick just one favorite childhood memory because so many of my favorite memories involve my family and music. But if I had to choose one, I think I’d go back to a little church pew and my Pawpaw.
When I was little, I wasn’t tall enough to see over the pew, and I definitely couldn’t read the words in the hymnal. But when “Amazing Grace” came around, I didn’t need the book. I knew every word.
My Pawpaw would pick me up and stand me on the pew, and I would sing that song as loud and as proud as I possibly could. I’m pretty sure I thought I was leading the entire congregation. I had no microphone, no idea what “inside voice” meant, and absolutely no hesitation about making sure everybody could hear me!
But looking back, that little moment means so much more to me now.
My Pawpaw was often whistling a tune, my mom loved to sing, and my dad usually had a guitar nearby. Music was simply part of our family. At family reunions, someone would eventually pull out a guitar, and before long, everyone would be picking and singing together. On Sundays, we’d gather in the sunroom and sing cover songs, with my brother keeping the beat on his plastic drum. There was usually a record playing, a CD spinning, someone humming in the kitchen, or a song being sung somewhere in the house. Looking back, our home was rarely quiet—and I think that’s exactly how I liked it.
I didn’t realize how special that was when I was growing up. It was just normal life to me.
But I think those moments are where my love for music really started. Before I ever knew what songwriting was, before I knew how to play guitar, and long before I ever stood on a stage, I was learning that music could bring people together.
And I think that’s why “Amazing Grace” has always meant so much to me. It wasn’t just a song I knew the words to. It was a song I shared with my family and with the church.
When I look back now, I smile thinking about that little girl standing on the pew, singing her heart out. I had no idea where music would eventually take me. I just knew I loved to sing.
Funny how sometimes the things that feel so ordinary when you’re little end up being the things that shape your whole life.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.courtneyeoff.com/
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/courtney.eoff.music/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/courtney.eoff.5/
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@Courtneyeoffmusic
- Other: https://open.spotify.com/artist/3oi9M0g0Ny2zx7PkrQYHmN
