Some songs amuse, some stick in your head because they are true to life. JT Catalano’s new album Felon Angels falls into the second category. Now, over 20 years later, he has reached a point in his life where he can both tell and feel the story of what happened, of what he is and what the artist he is is without the bias or confusion of the past. Instead of focusing on fear, false accusations and spending time in county jail, the song highlights an unexpected act of kindness (from someone judged by the past). A strong reminder that individuals can be more than what is labeled on them.
Completely written, performed and produced by JT Catalano, Felon Angels is a raw, honest and emotional investigation into the themes of redemption, compassion, survival and personal growth. His music transcends genres, always serving the story and the truth of the story.
During this interview, JT shares a few insights about his difficult path to releasing this deeply personal song, lessons he learned about humanity, and how he has found honesty to be the ground of his music. In addition, he shares how this chapter has paved the way for more true stories to be heard by his listeners in the future.
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Congratulations on the release of “Felon Angels.” This song comes from a deeply personal story that happened over 20 years ago. What made you decide that now was the right time to finally share this chapter of your life through music?
For a long time, I had the experience but not the perspective. I could tell people the facts, but I was still too close to the fear, anger, embarrassment and confusion to understand what the story really meant.
More than 20 years later, I could finally see that the heart of it was not simply that I had been falsely accused or survived county jail. It was that a man society had already written off as a felon became the person who showed me the most courage and humanity when I needed it.
I also began releasing music as JT Catalano later in life than I wish I had. Once I finally committed to being an artist, I knew I could not keep avoiding the stories that shaped me. I wish I had started sooner, but it is never too late to tell the truth. “Felon Angels” was the song I had to make once I became capable of telling it honestly.
The song tells the story of a difficult moment involving a wrongful accusation, time in jail, and an unexpected act of kindness. How did you transform such a painful experience into a piece of music?
I approached it like a film that happened to rhyme.
The verses carry the details and movement of the story: the false accusation, the gang-assault charge, the $100,000 bond, the possibility of losing seven years of my life and the terror of not knowing what would happen next. The heavier low end and rhythmic delivery represent the pressure and confusion I felt inside that environment.
Then the sung hooks open the story emotionally. I did not want the record to sound like a police report or a lecture about the justice system. I wanted listeners to feel the fear, but also the strange grace of discovering humanity in a place where I had stopped expecting to find it.
Writing the story first as part of my book helped me recover the scenes and meaning. Turning it into a song forced me to distill thousands of words into the moments that mattered most.
The title “Felon Angels” comes from the idea that even in the darkest places, people can still show humanity and compassion. How did your experience in county jail change the way you viewed people and their stories?
It taught me how dangerous labels can be.
Inside that jail, everyone had a label: felon, addict, murderer, victim, privileged kid, dangerous inmate, innocent man. Labels can describe something that happened, but they cannot explain the whole human being standing in front of you.
I entered that environment believing I understood who the good people and bad people were. Then a Black former champion boxer from the inner city, serving life under a repeat-offender crack sentence, became my protector. I was a white suburban kid who had spent years trying to act tougher than I really needed to be, and suddenly I was the powerless one being protected by the person society had already discarded.
That experience did not teach me that actions have no consequences. It taught me that a criminal record does not contain the complete measure of a person’s soul.
The story behind the song includes the boxer who stood up for you during a dangerous moment. What did that person’s actions teach you about judging people based on their past?
He taught me that the worst thing a person has done—or the worst thing that happened to them—does not necessarily tell you what they are still capable of becoming.
He had been a champion boxer. When the fighting stopped, he lost the healthy outlet that had helped him survive. Addiction entered the space that boxing left behind, and the system eventually turned that addiction into a life sentence.
Yet when another inmate targeted me, this man had nothing material to gain by helping. He simply saw what was happening and used what he still had—his reputation, his courage and the knowledge that his hands still worked—to stop it.
The system saw his file. I saw his choice.
That choice changed the direction of my life. It reminded me that people can carry guilt, pain, strength, addiction and compassion at the same time. Humanity is rarely as clean as the categories we place people into.
You wrote, performed, and produced “Felon Angels” and waited more than 20 years to release it. What was the creative process like revisiting such an emotional memory after so much time had passed?
It was intense, but the time gave me distance and clarity.
When the experience first happened, I mostly understood it through fear. I was afraid of losing my freedom, afraid my parents might have to risk their home for my bond and afraid that a missing portion of my memory could be used to define the rest of my life.
Years later, I could look at the event from several directions. I could acknowledge that I was falsely accused while also admitting that I had repeatedly placed myself in reckless environments. I could recognize my privilege without pretending that the fear was not real. I could honor the boxer without turning him into a perfect fictional hero.
Producing the track myself also allowed me to control that balance. I wanted the verses to feel tense and physical, while the hooks had to feel cinematic and human. The song needed grit, but it also needed enough emotional space for the listener to understand why I still think of that man as an angel.
The song explores themes of mistakes, consequences, survival, and redemption. How important was it for you to show the complexity of people rather than simply portraying them as heroes or villains?
That was essential.
I did not want to portray myself as a flawless innocent person surrounded by villains. I was innocent of the violent crime I had been accused of, but I had also made years of reckless decisions that placed me in the wrong environment at the wrong time. Those truths can coexist.
The boxer protected me, but he also had a history, an addiction and a sentence that followed him
The fact that he became my guardian angel does not erase his past. His past also does not erase what he did for me.
Complexity is not the same as excusing harm. It means refusing to reduce people to one action, one charge, one diagnosis or one chapter of their lives.
“Felon Angels” exists in that uncomfortable space. It asks whether someone society calls a felon can still act like an angel—and whether someone who thinks of himself as one of the good guys is always as innocent as he imagines.
Your story includes moments of fear, uncertainty, and reflection. How did those experiences influence the person and artist you became today?
The experience broke my illusion that toughness meant control.
Before that, I had spent years treating danger like part of my identity. I thought being fearless meant I could keep entering destructive situations without eventually paying the price. Sitting in county jail on a $100,000 bond, unable to promise my own father that I knew exactly what had happened, showed me how little control I actually had.
It made me think much more seriously about environment, intention and consequence. You can believe you are a good person and still keep putting yourself in places where your future can be decided by someone else’s version of events.
As an artist, it made me value honesty over image. I am interested in recovery, identity, privilege, addiction, shadow, redemption and the strange moments that change a life permanently. I do not want to make myself look perfect. I want to make the truth meaningful.
Music plays an important role in your story, especially the moment when a song brought people together inside the jail. How do you see music’s ability to connect people even in difficult circumstances?
That moment has stayed with me almost as strongly as the confrontation itself.
OutKast’s “Roses” came on the television, and for a brief moment the entire atmosphere changed. Men who had spent the day trying to look hard started nodding their heads, moving their shoulders and quietly sharing the same moment of joy.
For a few seconds, the charges, sentences, neighborhoods and reputations disappeared. Everyone remembered that they were still human.
Then the guards shut the television off, and the room immediately returned to concrete, silence and people chewing jail food.
That moment taught me that music can interrupt the identity a person has been forced to wear. It can reach underneath anger, fear and social divisions faster than an argument ever could. Even in an environment designed to separate and harden people, one song temporarily created a community.
That is part of why I make music now. The right song can bend the script, even if only for a few minutes.
After carrying this story for two decades, what does releasing “Felon Angels” mean to you personally, and what do you hope listeners understand when they hear it?
Personally, it feels like finally paying a debt.
I told that boxer before leaving that he might have changed the trajectory of my life. I carried the experience with me for more than 20 years, and this song is the only way I know to preserve what he did and what it taught me.
I hope listeners hear more than a jail story. I hope they question the distance between a person’s record and their humanity. I hope they think about addiction, sentencing, privilege and the people society decides are no longer worth saving.
Most of all, I hope they understand the contradiction inside the title.
A person can have a felony and still become someone’s angel. A person can appear privileged and strong while being terrified and powerless. A person can make terrible mistakes and still have something valuable left to give.
The song is not asking listeners to ignore consequences. It is asking them not to stop seeing people.
Looking ahead, does “Felon Angels” open the door for more songs that explore personal experiences and life lessons, and what can fans expect from your upcoming music?
Absolutely. “Felon Angels” is part of a larger body of work in which I explore different sides of myself through archetypes.
The Outlaw confronts systems, hypocrisy and hard truths. The Shadow explores addiction, fear, identity and the parts of ourselves we would rather hide. The Jester turns frustration into comedy and wordplay. Other songs move through love, gratitude, recovery, ambition and reinvention.
That means the next song may not sound exactly like “Felon Angels.” I move between hip-hop, Americana, outlaw-country textures, soul, pop and cinematic production depending on what the story requires.
The common thread is lived experience. Whether the song is dark and serious or playful and ridiculous, I want it to reveal something honest.
Fans can expect more true stories, more genre-blending and more music from someone who started later than he wishes he had—but now has no intention of stopping.
