Here we are, all the way into September and I am still writing 2025 on my dates. Let’s hope thats fixed before Q4. This week I remember Dolly through a record my friend showed me years ago. I also deep dive on “1st Team All-American”, a song I never realized was all that political. Finally, I’ll end with the montly Q&A and what I’ve been listening, reading, and watching lately. Fun stuff! Thanks for your support, as always ❤️

Dolly Parton - My Tennessee Mountain Home (1973)

I think anyone who ever goes deep on the art of songwriting eventually runs into the colossus that is Dolly Parton. For a woman known for all that was “extra” about her, it’s a true shame that her songwriting is not on the top of the list. I’m in my 30s, so Dolly was firmly in the icon era of her career by the time I became aware of her - a deity almost. So I never really took her all that seriously until my friend Cullen told me about this record years ago.

I think he would bristle at the comparison, but there’s a lot of Dolly in the way Cullen goes about life. He’s a mountain of a man, with a booming laugh that announces his presence in any room. He can be loud, he can be intense, but also, he can get personal and is one of the deepest thinkers I know. For every outsized moment, there’s a million moments of contemplation too. He writes jokes, but he could be a great songwriter. The personality paired with the thought behind it really makes me think of Dolly.

Cullen put me on to this record because it’s an early version of Dolly that’s more rooted in bluegrass than any other record she would make over the course of her career. As foundational as she is to bluegrass, funnily enough it’s the only Hall of Fame she hasn’t been included in. The Country Music Hall of Fame, Songwriter’s Hall of Fame, and even the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame count her as a member, but the Bluegrass Hall of Fame does not. Go figure!

Cullen put me on to this knowing that I valued sincerity and genuine emotion in songs more than bells and whistles. My gut said that anything with Dolly associated would have too much of that gloss, that sparkle, that she was known for. When I finally dug in, I was blown away by the raw nature of the recording. Don’t get me wrong - there’s certainly a sense of “extra” with this album. But it is “extra” in its storytelling and intimacy more than its production and hooks.

The album opens with a literal letter that Dolly wrote to her parents after first arriving in Nashville. The story is legendary at this point - Dolly was raised in a one room cabin in the Tennessee mountains and made it all the way to the very top of the music industry. This album seeks to tell that story by connecting the bluegrass sounds of her youth with the sounds of Nashville.

When you finally get to hear Dolly sing, it’s like a lightning bolt. “I Remember” starts with a church organ before dropping into a finger-picked groove. It’s a simple song, but that’s the point. She’s reminiscing of her memories of her parents and the ways they showed her love and support as a child. It’s a simple list song, but that’s all it really needs to be. That is a theme with a lot of these tunes - they are straightforward and don’t obscure the point. Dolly doesn’t want to bury the lead, but rather tell the story plainly so it can reach the widest audience.

Next on “Old Black Kettle”, you get a taste of what she was capable of in regards to making pop hits. The verses are reminiscent of the talking blues and the beat flip on the chorus is incredible. She’s clever as hell, slipping in jokes with moments of profundity. Take this one about her parents:

My mama and daddy must have loved each other
Cause i had 11 sisters and brothers

Two lines later, she hits you with this one that has a lot more weight than a sex joke:

We might have been poor but we didn’t know it
We’d heard that word but we didn’t know what it meant

That pairing of a genuinely funny line with one that profound is exactly what made her a star. A smile and a thought. She grounds the humor with reminders of the depth of where she is coming from. For all the glitz of Nashville, she remains true to her roots.

My favorite song on the record is a simple one, “My Tennessee Mountain Home”. Again, we have another list song. As Dolly describes the idyllic surroundings of her childhood, it’s hard not to be transported. Again, she’s not hiding the point. She wants you to live what she lived. The chorus harms are heavenly, and they lift my spirits every time I hear it.

When I read the news that Dolly passed, I didn’t expect to feel so sad. Over the course of the next few days I kept tearing up hearing about her life and legacy. There are no shortage of tributes for someone so gigantic. But to me, she’ll remain a light not only for her attitude, philanthropy, and advocacy, but also for her never ending pursuit of a great song. Rest easy Dolly. 4.5/5

Standout Tracks - “Old Black Kettle”, “My Tennessee Mountain Home”, “Back Home”, “Down On Music Row”

I had to of course write for this one, my favorite on the record. These verses seem as simple as Dolly looking out her back window as a child and putting pen to page. Of course, she’s fully grown by the time she wrote these - so I tried to conjure some memories of where I live currently and put them into song.

The back end of my best friend
is sticking out the leaves
her tail wags as she eats her raspberries
Her momma’s in the garden
pulling out the weeds
Her head shaking as she’s smiling back at me

1st Team All - American

This weekend I had the pleasure of playing (albeit briefly) the Great River Folk Festival in La Crosse, WI. It’s been happening 40+ years on the banks of the Mississippi, and I’ve been fortunate enough to play it with my band a handful of times. On Saturday, I was asked to play a song swap with the theme of “Political & Social” with the incredible Maya De Vitry and John McCutcheon.

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This weeks Substack finds me a little sunburned, but for good reason. I spent the weekend in one of my favorite places in the country - the Turkey River just outside of Elkader, IA. If you know, you know. If you don’t? Google it and go.

Alright. Here’s this week’s review, Brandon Flower's’ THRASHER.

Brandon Flowers - THRASHER (2026)

It seems like everyone and their grandma is trying their hand at country music these days. All your favorite popstars have singles with a little twang, or some pedal steel. Hell, Beyonce had a banjo! Post Malone autotuned his way to a country #1! Your favorite country stars who went pop have now gone back to country. I’d argue that we’re on the back end of this trend in popular music, but the fact is that country remains one of the most bankable genres in the music industry. So with that being said, any time I see an artist “go country” these days, I question if it comes from a creative or consumer minded angle.

Brandon Flowers fronts the stalwart and wildly popular American band The Killers. There was a moment where his band of Las Vegas locals rode their synthy stadium rock hooks to the very top of the charts. Their signature “Mr. Brightside” just celebrated its 512th week on the UK singles chart since it was released in 2004. While Flowers and The Killers don’t command the same space they used to, he is not necessarily an artist who needs to reinvent himself to stay relevant. His space in history is carved, and it’s not going anywhere. So why the switch?

I’d argue this was coming. I’ve been a follower of The Killers for as long as they’ve existed, and while the synth-laden glam rock exterior looks shiny, there’s always been a seedy underbelly to their work. This may have come from their roots in Sin City, where the bright lights do a lot of work to drown out the dark. Their songs are often character-driven, following the stories of folks decidedly far from the spotlight. This sounds a lot like country music, a lot like americana: shining a light on the real folks of this country. If you heard 2021’s Pressure Machine, a concept album following the opioid epidemic’s destructive path through a small Nevada town, you could see that the vision was there. They just had to jump in.

It seems on Thrasher, Brandon Flowers is diving headfirst into the country space and leaving his band behind him. There’s been no announcement of a dissolution, so it seems this turn comes from a space of creative yearning rather than dollar signs. It seems that Thrasher exists because Flowers wanted to make it happen, and most of the time that’s a good thing.

That said, I can actively feel this album working in different directions as I listen. Let me explain.

There’s moments where this can be transcendent. The same shaky warble that elevated clubs to frenzied chaos in the 2000s also lends some authenticity to his sound. There’s an unapologetic lack of filter on these characters, embracing the ugly in ways that Springsteen often does. There’s a cast of musicians here that would make any Nashville regular impressed.

The tension here is one born of where Flowers is coming from, and I don’t mean Vegas. This album spends a lot of time fighting what it’s great at with what it wants to be. This could be a gritty country classic, but spends a lot of time trying to entertain. The cover is the first indicator, with Flowers donning a fringed suit like a long-lost Burrito Brother. He’s never been shy about a get-up - does anyone else remember the feathers? But this look borders on an Elvis impersonator, which tracks considering his hometown. It evokes cosplay, and when an artist so entrenched in another sound is trying on a new genre, it risks the same sense emanating into the music.

The album opens with a couple of singles, tongue in cheek and cheery. On my first listen there was a sense that he’s re-introducing himself - “Hey, look what I can do!” It’s not bad, but it’s not necessarily needed. They are bouncy, jaunty, dance floor tunes, which is of course Flowers specialty. But pointing that aspect of his wizardry in that direction feels a little out of place here. On “Does It Ever Cross Your Mind?” and “Tiger’s Blood” he’’s fitting in constant one liners that feel designed to remind the listener that this is a country record:

The swamp cooler’s leaking down the bricks outside
Yeah I wanna go but I need a ride
Swisher sweet dreams blowing like the breeze
Down in the hollow of the cottonwood dreams.

Hell, on “Paradise” he’s channeling Merle Haggard’s “Rambling Fever” to a tee. It feels more like an act of proving he can make this kind of music than actually making it.

But then again, the same songs that feel a bit contrived can find their way. Take for instance the aforementioned “Tiger’s Blood”, which has this hook for the chorus:

The last thing I heard
You were doing ok
We took different roads to heal the hurt
Not fade away

It’s almost as if all the effort on the verses to evoke the country image is working against the truth of the chorus. I always think of verses as where you establish your credibility for what you’re going to assert in the chorus. I have to believe where you’re coming from for it to hit me. So some of the pureness of that sentiment on the hook gets lost in the imagery it took to get there.

Where this record ultimately finds its way is when it strays from the emulation and embraces the characters he clearly loves to write about. “Angel” follows a small town baseball star on his journey from assured superstardom to anonymity. Pedal steel and harmonica are the backdrop for the journey from the field, to the delivery room, to overseas, to heartbreak, to crime, to darkness.

On “Miss America” Flowers assumes the role of a woman writing to her husband who has abused her after she has gotten away. There’s certainly no shying away from this topic, and the stark language shows that:

Your sister, she don’t blame me
For being scared of you
I know you did things to her
A brother shouldn’t do

In that same way, you can tellt there’s a lingering love to the letter, and balancing that with the clear pain involved is a deft act of songwriting:

The girls are doing fine, grandma’s pride and joy
She want’s to know when I’m
Gonna give her a little boy
Dad says he sure hopes
It doesn’t come from you
On account of all this hell
You put me through

Learning that the song is actually telling the story of one of his older sisters (with her blessing of course) really made a lot of this record click for me. It’s easy to see Flowers’ penchant for putting on a character in his songs as a trick towards intimacy, but I think it’s just where he is most comfortable writing. Springsteen loves to say that he’s an uncommon man who is writing for the common man. Like Bruce, Flowers can’t pretend to be a normal person anymore. But he sure as hell can look at someone else’s story and do his best to tell it. Authenticity doesn’t have to come from lived experience. It can come from an understanding of what that feels like to be them. Songwriting has to be rooted in empathy.

By the time we’ve come to the end of the record, Flowers’ vision for this work is more clear. What might have come off as disingenuous earlier was simply just him getting comfortable. He was playing a character, sure, but he was doing it to show one part of the story he wanted to tell.

Flowers loves to save his big swings for late in the at bat, and the finale of Thrasher is no different. On “An American Dream” he’s pulling no punches, pulling back the curtain on the country’s veneer through a saga designed to feel like an actual dream. Big chordic flourishes and halting tempos evoke a dramatic tone. There’s vocoder effects on the vocals, hinting at the surreal. In this dream, he meets Elvis and the comparison to himself is uncomfortable. Flowers is older now than when Elvis died, and he’s certainly feeling the weight that celebrity brings. And through it all, he somehow manages to mention the words “porno”, “Tesla Model X”, and “Jesus” in a song that completely makes sense. Truly, this song deserves an essay in and of itself with the sheer amount of themes and imagery going on here.

So much so, it recontextualized the rest of the record for me. Maybe that get-up on the cover wasn’t to help him feel like he could fit in. Maybe it was more about showing the lengths we go as humans to “fit in” in general. In putting that on, he’s inviting that microscope, knowing that a closer look will reveal the human underneath. For a guy who’s admitted how much he’s chased superstardom in the past, it’s a telling invitation. As much as we try to escape where we came from, it’s often what drives us in the direction of our life. Maybe this turn towards country is about looking inwardly, as opposed to fueling the money machine. I think that’s where the best music comes from. I want to thank Flowers for going there. 3/5⭐️

Standout Tracks: “Tiger’s Blood”, “Angel”, “Miss America”, “An American Dream”

Another Verse Week 13: Brandon Flowers - “Miss America”

This song is so heavy, so of course I wanted to dip my toe a bit. What makes his words so great is that they delicately balance a clear intimacy between the author and the subject, while maintaining the distance she seeks. There’s clearly awful things here that are presented with familiarity, as sad as that is. My verse maybe leans more into the negative, but I tried for some forgiveness.

To tell you the truth
I wished that you had died
that time I found you
laying in your lies
You were looking back
with those forgive me eyes
and I almost did it
But the kids and I
had done a lot of healing
had a lot of fun
while our little family
got smaller by one

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Verse-A-Week 35: Random Ramblings

Little bit of a dump for this weeks verse. Doesn’t really fit with anything I’m working on but it defintely worked it’s way out.

it was my birthday
the last time we talked
is it still a tradition
if the meaning is lost
you’ll have it your way
and I’ll have it mine
if we meet in the middle
it would be more on my side

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This weeks review also features a first - some short form content! I’ve seen a solid amount of success here, but I’d like this space to grow. Why not? Wouldn’t it be fun to have a community of folks who wanted to talk songwriting and add their own verses to a song each week? That sounds like a lot of fun to me.

Alright. Here’s this week’s review, Phoebe Bridgers’ Lost Weekend.

Phoebe Bridgers - Lost Weekend (2026)

There are artists I engage with so intensely that the act of listening feels like an unhealthy binge. I will dive completely into their work, study it, emulate it - until it’s the singular thing I’m listening to. Like all good things, these moments come to an end. I pick them up with the intention of never letting go, then inevitably set them back down again. Often the artists that elicit this response out of me contain some of the following qualities: inventive, intense, personal, profound. I think you can see where this is going. Phoebe Bridgers is one of those artists for me because she contains all of those characteristics in her work. So, knowing that her new record Lost Weekend was coming, I had to mentally prepare myself.

The space Bridgers pulls you into is not the typical one a young female pop star would. And by the way, that is not a misnomer. Pop star is accurate here, as despite the subdued attitude and morose material, Bridgers has had radio hits, toured with Taylor, formed a supergroup (or two), and worked with all of your favorite pop artists. On Lost Weekend, the tension between being an indie darling and a budding superstar is evident. First, while she’s working with a ton of her common core of collaborators (producer Ethan Gruska, writer Christian Lee Hutson) she’s also enlisted names unfamiliar in the indie space but prominent in the pop-sphere. Most notably, Jack Antanoff, he of the 13 grammys, is along to produce. Antanoff is known for his deliberately idiosyncratic production, pairing pop elements with oddball synthy studio tricks. His notable recent credits include Taylor Swift, Sabrina Carpenter, Lorde, and more. Bridgers usually would not end any list like that, but for this record she’s aiming for that.

That said, Bridgers enlisted even more names to help this album effort, and not in the chart dominating space. Alex G, DIY lofi royalty, is along to produce. Cameron Winter, the frontman of the polarizing indie upstarts Geese is uncredited but featured on the album as well. By just looking at the credits ahead of time, I came in expecting a sort of tension between the lowkey approach of her early records and the more recent aim for arena filling sounds.

So, imagine my surprise when this record starts with a vocoder, fuzzed out and mixed incredibly close. Bridgers’ plaintive vocal is obscured in noise, fighting for space. It’s an arresting start, and immediately draws you in. One of the throughlines in her writing is how personal it can get. Through intense imagery and exquisite details you are transported. It often feels like the listener themselves are the subject:

Screaming my ending
Fist in the air
You were there

The use of “you” and “i’ are deliberate here. It establishes a connection between the artist and the listener subconsciously. You’re aware that you’re not the subject of this song, but the repeated use of those words can trick you into thinking you are.

The second song starts similarly, and I have a moment of panic. As much as I loved the left turn for the album opener, I don’t know if I could stomach an entire record in that vein. Thankfully, a familiar drum beat introduces “Lost Boys”. Bridgers can consistently pump out mid-tempo bangers (Kyoto, Motion Sickness), and this one feels in that vein. Driving but never fast, with ascending horns elevating the chorus, complete with a fade out. This is a moment that feels indicative of the pop approach.

Next, we’re pulled in a different direction with “Kill Me’, a decidedly subdued track that feels more in line with her past records. Baritone guitars, pedal steel, and even a sample from an old recording. The lyrical content is familiar as well, dark and mysterious. Bridgers lives in that arena, and her fans look for it. Still, this track can surprise, with a bass drop that introduces an outro that feels at once overwhelming and epic. The power is almost unwelcome, and it feels purposeful. For those looking for a familiar resting spot, this moment can throw off the landing.

The next track, “The Governor’s Waltz”, is an example of another indicator of a Phoebe Bridger’s track: easter eggs. Bridgers has always hidden references to her life in her songs. One might think this is reminiscent of Swift, who famously leaves bread crumbs (sometimes at the detriment of the song) for her fans to dissect on the internet. Bridgers’ references are discussed there as well, but they never feel like they exist in the songs to be found. This waltzing song is ostensibly about an afternoon at a music festival, but is really hinting at a past relationship and its dissolution.The reference to “her taking my place in your bed and the stage” sticks out. Fans will know this is about Paul Mescal and Gracie Abrams, and that will inevitably draw some listeners in. For me, the more alluring invitation was the imagery in the opening lines:

I was the belle of the Governor’s Ball
Hiding in the bathroom like Shelley Duvall
You had a nosebleed, you were in my way
And you didn’t remind me of anything

The Shining reference evokes a frantic mood in a song that’s fingerpicked guitar says something else. But my favorite line here is “you didn’t remind me of anything”. After such an iconic reference, it’s such a swipe to tell someone that they don’t bring to mind at all.

It’s fitting, of course, that the next song is an ode to her new flame. Again, the references abide, but never feel like the centerpiece. The opening lines of “Bobby” - “I saw you dancing alone in your room” reference her current beau, Bo Burnham’s Inside, a pandemic era comedy special completely created in his house in isolation. The song is upbeat and feels willfully so. To put these two songs together feels deliberate, a recognition of the past with a defiant embrace of the future.

I don’t want to make this review sound like an effort to uncover the meaning behind the lyrics, but there is a certain energy to her writing that evokes the practice. When you write personal, and include hints at your life, the inevitable result is a magnifying glass. Are songs better if they have that depth? Or are they better for their ability to move you? Bridgers toes the line between vulnerability and voyeurism in her work, and if the resulting feeling is uncomfortable so be it.

There’s a few other moments I want to shout out on this review, and they have to do with some of the aforementioned collaborators. First, we have the unmistakable electro outro on “Lost Weekend” by Alex G. This is a vibe that has never existed on a Phoebe Bridgers record, but the chaotic dark mood is welcome. Another moment in this vein is the Cameron Winter feature on “I Can’t Wait”. His cracked and shaking baritone is such a great fit with her vocal, I would take an entire record of these two harmonizing in a heartbeat. The pedal steel and mandolin (played by literal world’s best Chris Thile no less), is the perfect bed for their intwining. Alex G, Winter, and Bridgers are all on the lists of artists that I’ve lost myself in at certain points. It’s quite a powerful combination to have on one singular record, however sad it may be.

A favorite writer of mine, Hanif Abduraqib, once described why he seeks out sad music by saying that it gives him a familiar place to land. We seek out these songs knowing the reaction they provoke, because even if the result is despair, at least you have control of when you go there. The world gives us a myriad of reasons to feel those emotions, and in listening to the kind of music Bridgers makes we engage on our own terms. I knew that listening to this record would place me in this kind of headspace. Even on the first listen I knew. The real question was: Am I ok if that’s not what Phoebe is aiming for here?

I listen to Phoebe wanting to feel a certain way. Is that fair to her? Should she be able to make what she wants without having to worry about if her listeners will get what they expect. For every moment that this record sits in its sadness, it also has an incredible amount of optimism. Coming in with the expectation of a familiar landing spot hid that revelation from me until multiple listens.

While I want new things out of the artists I love, i have to admit I was concerned that a different approach would leave something to be desired. Thankfully, the strength of her approach, the core of her artistry grounds this record. This is clearly her most ambitious project, but it is also her most personal. To hold on to yourself in spaces with so many creative forces really is a testament to her essence. I look forward to her growth, each iteration. However expansive it grows, it is based on the intimacy between two people. Her mastery is making millions feel like a part of that duo. It’s ok if that mastery means that things are looking up for her. Isn’t that what we all hope for? 4.5/5

Standout Tracks: “The Outside”, “The Governor’s Waltz”, “Lost Weekend”, “I ca

Another Verse Week 12: Phoebe Bridgers - “The Governor’s Waltz”

I loved this song, and while my verse doesn’t necessarily line up with the themes, I definitely got a strong sense of sinking and rising with this piece. Following tha thread lead here. It’s Phoebe coded for sure!

I tend to jump in
When the water’s still dark
I can’t see the bottom
But still cannonball

I rise to the surface
Perfect deadman’s float
I scared you that one time
When I cut it too close

Let’s see how long we can stay underwater
Holding our breath til it hurts
Through the chlorine I thought I saw you say something
But I missed the words

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Verse-A-Week 34: Bleeding Heart

I have had an idea to use the phrase “bleeding heart” for a while. It’s insane to me that it’s used derogitively. God forbid you care for something! That’s kind of the vein here. You can definitely tell I listened to Phoebe all week.

Baby lie down beside me
As I die on this hill
Be can breathe in the gas
From the chemical spill
Isn’t it pretty
In it’s own way?
If the world wasn’t ending
It would be pretty great.

Now there’s a pool of blood around me
That my bleeding heart produced
but isn’t that exactly what a hearts supposed to do?
Take love in and out
Positive feedback loop
Isn’t that exactly what a hearts supposed to do?

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I’m so stoked for this week’s review - I’ve been waiting on this album for 4 years. I worked ahead this week, as I had a wedding to attend :) Here’s hoping this album finds you in a fun headspace this week! It’s a little weird, but a lotta fun.

Alright. Here’s this week’s review, Steve Lacy’s oh yeah?

Steve Lacy - oh yeah? (2026)

The question of Steve Lacy’s new album Oh yeah? isn’t as simple as it seems.

For so few words, it holds so much. It’s a check in, an ask for reassurance. It’s that moment of realizing “OK! You do feel like I do. I’m not as alone as I thought.” In a world of constant tension, we can often use inauthenticity as a defense mechanism. We hold our relationships at a distance, keeping sincerity at an arm’s length in hopes that a shorter fall means a softer landing.

Lacy’s songs are injected with that distance, full to bursting with bravado and flippant language surrounding the love in his life. He’s projecting an aura of confidence to show that despite the world’s influence, he’s doing alright. At the same time, he often betrays his true feelings in the extreme of his boasts. It’s quickly obvious that this behavior is a front, and in its execution in song it’s clear that he wants you to know that it is. Despite all the posturing, this album is an invitation in, asking “You’re with me, right?”

It’s telling that the first two tracks of Oh yeah? end in a question mark. The title track (and album opener) opens with harsh synths underneath expansive acoustic guitar, with the repeating “come on, come on, come on”s acting as a literal invitation to get personal. His vocals are raw, not entirely inline with the aesthetic of one of the world’s biggest pop stars. After the monumental (and viral) success of his 2022 album Gemini Rights, it may seem a big swing to open the album in this subdued way, but this has always been Lacy’s MO. “Bad Habit” was a smash, but his albums have always been varied and odd. This is an artist entirely capable of making a hit, but completely comfortable with getting weird with it. The hits feel like a result of the project, rather than the reason for it.

The second track has that feel, a track that lives within the themes of this record but capable of transcending to a hit. The subdued but catchy drum beat feels made for the car ride to a hookup’s apartment. On “is it cool?” again Lacy is asking if we can get real for a bit, even while throwing lyrics out there that deliberately soften the ask through humor. He enlists the incredible SZA in conversation, going back and forth between sincerity and frivolity:

SZA:
Can we get naked instead of talking, babe?
I ain’t tripping, we both got options babe
Keep coming back, I guess we’re both insane

Steve Lacy:
I don’t wanna cheat no more, be no whore
I would rather be the one that you tell your mom about and stuff
Be the one you’re fucking full-time
Be your honest lover babe

They both are hinting at the pressures of existing in this moment, the constant feeling like this is fragile and not forever. At the same time they hedged their bets with jokes, turning down the pressure. I think the crucial lyrics that point to the real feelings of love between the characters show up best on the outro, with SZA asking:

Is it cool? Do you trust me?
Am I a fool if I love you?
Is it cool? Can I get ugly next to you?

They are seeking vulnerability in that space. It’s not entirely clear if this indirect approach is the best route.

Immediately Lacy is asking for more clarification on the standout “the feeling”. His crooning vocal shines here, particularly after the talk singing approach on the previous track. Like I mentioned before, his voice isn’t necessarily something you’d expect to be on the top of the charts, but it’s dextrous and emotive. The melody here serves that flexibility, and the lyrics serve that expressiveness. A shuffling beat underneath a synthy groove takes flight around the chorus with the harmonies swelling until the release of the ask - “Am I your baby?” He’s sounding very Stevie Wonder here, and I think that’s a comparison he’d welcome. The throughline of incredible production and songcraft is reminiscent of some of Wonder’s best work, and while Lacy might not reach those heights, it’s still fun to compare.

Speaking of influences, “pure colour” enlists legend Erykah Badu in a vibey low tempo breather. Badu’s low register sultry tones fit perfectly here in the slapback heavy drums and wobbling synth lines. You can feel the vibes from this one, the haze floating above it as it plays. On “show you me” Lacy side steps the hits, and goes full sing along. The hook here is such an earworm, and flexes Lacy’s gift for melody in unconventional forms.

If there is a song that encapsulates the yin and yang of this record completely, it would be the incredible “doom”. This track is clearly the spiritual successor to “bad habit”, a clear swing for the fences, aimed at the cheap seats of streaming numbers. It’s goofy, and maybe pushes it a bit too far. In that sense, he may be aware of the potential of a hit, but is comfortable with pushing the boundaries in keeping to his style. It’s hard not to laugh with this line, but it definitely is catchy:

I’m a big baby suckin’ on big titties

Jokes aside, with the crunchy guitars over booming drums, and you have a hit on your hands. But, if you click on this track to listen, you’ll notice it’s north of 5 minutes and that’s a disaster for radio. Just as you’ve settled into the groove, literal doomsday comes, with the track descending from euphoria to despair. The optimism is gone, the bravado is too. As it devolves, Lacy sings the line that feels all too much like an instruction to his cocky self:

Blah, blah, blah, blah
Shut the fuck up

Is he calling himself out? Or is he just again poking fun?

In all, you might assume there’s a sense of whiplash to this record, but the transitions from radio hits to oddball meditations are seamless. I think the foundation of incredible production and inventive melodies translates to both ends of the spectrum, making every moment supremely listenable. That’s a quality that I think is overlooked these days: an album’s ability to be played without interruption or skips. There’s a seemingly endless amount of angles to keep you engaged, be it in the sonic landscape or the lyrical deftness. Still, the question remains: “oh yeah?” Are you with me? Can I get real with you?

It is an interesting question when Lacy himself is constantly reminding you that he may in fact be joking. But the sincerity is always there, and that throughline keeps this album focused and hitting all the emotional beats it wants, joyful or sad. That said, it is still fun when he hits you with something out of left field. Luckily, he often makes sure to bring you back in as well.

Kill your boyfriend
Ok, maybe that’s excessive
But I need you right here

I’m certainly right here, and will definitely continue to be with each following release. Steve Lacy is one of today’s most inventive and engaging artists. I hope you’ll give his brand of vulnerability a chance. 4/5⭐️

Standout Tracks: “is it cool?”, “the feeling”, “doom”, “lovesexdrugbomb”

Another Verse: Week 11 - Steve Lacy Callahan - the feeling

This was a very interesting universe to step into and try to emulate. There’s a certain emo aspect I’m familiar with, but the bravado is harder for me. I ended up picking this verse because it feels in line with something I might write for a song.

Something’s missing I’m aware
I’m looking for answers that aren’t even there
I know I need to ask to know
where your head is
But I’m afraid I’ll have to show
where my head is

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Verse-A-Week 33: Big Swing

I’ve been wrestling with this one for a while now. The concept is proving cooler than the product, but it may just be that I haven’t landed on anything better than the first verse I had. I think I’m going to keep spamming verses to see what comes up!

Here it is the gut check
That you’re relying on
As if you ain’t had enough yet
The world just piles it on
Is this the ending
Of the best thing
or did we just try this on?
Here it is the gut check
That you’re relying on

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Eaux Claires Music Festival

I started the day both days at the merch tent! My other job outside of Coulees is at a Merch Management and Print Company here in Eau Claire. So, for the first half of both days, shows on the baseball stage were not as clearly heard for me. The football stage was perfectly placed, but in reality I didn’t miss much. There was ample time for me to run over and check out performances when I wanted to. I’m choosing here to only speak about the performances that I got to spend some time with, as opposed to hearing just in passing.

Friday Jul 24, 2026

Bizhiki - This band is a client of ours, so I’ve been familiar with them for a while, but have never gotten to take in a performance. I grew up near a reservation in Black River Falls, so the native tradition has always been one I’m familiar with. This band is powerful, both in purpose and sound, and this came through from across the field into the merch tent. My mom was there helping, and immediately began to dance as their traditionally infused indie rock started. The movement that it inspired within the crowd was visible from a field away, and ended in a traditional moment of dance. It was the perfect opening statement from the fest that this would be a special weekend.

Hotline TNT - As one of the many bands with a local connection, I wanted to make sure that I caught the opportunity to listen to these guys live. Shoegaze is admittedly a genre that can blend together for me, and I have a hard time separating one band from another. That said, the energy of this set was palpable. Huge guitars, interesting song structures. I’m a fan.

Black Sabbath Cover Band Rehearsal - This shit was so fun. Featuring some indie rock legends (members of Dirty Projectors, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Liturgy(!)), I was thinking that this may be an indie interpretation of some Sabbath tunes, with a femme vocalist. Instead it was some bare knuckled, straight to the point, faithful covering of Sabbath. It was everything you wanted: heavy, dirty, and goofy. It was clear the only thing they took seriously about this project was the music, and that made it all the better.

Aimee Mann - This performance was one that felt a little out of left field for me. In fact, it was in the south endzone of the football field but never mind that. She’s a legend, but admittedly I have no real history with her music. That made for an interesting listen. Her band was great, and her stage presence was certainly cool and collected. She has been doing this at a high level for a long time. The familiar hits were great, but I just didn’t feel a real connection to anything that was happening. I think some bands know that they aren’t well known by festival crowds and make up for that with energy. Mann saw no need for that mentality. I’m sure for some that was perfect, but failed to work its magic on me. Oh well.

Bon - This was the name for the 30 minute acoustic set Justin Vernon played in replacing the canceled Kevin Morby set. Morby is one of my favorite artists, so it was hard not to mourn his absence. To recognize this, Vernon started with a cover of Morby’s “Die Young” , a standout from “Little Wide Open”. With just a guitar and a harmonica stand, Vernon drew mostly from old material for the rest of the set. A few of these songs (Re: Stacks, Flume) are literally a part of my musical DNA, so it was surreal to hear them in person in this form. The set also included a song Vernon had written after the passing of John Prine, as well as an unreleased Bon Iver tune called “Hayward, WI”. For the superfans out there, this was a once in a lifetime performance. I can’t remember the last time he performed in this setting, sans a 7 piece band. One interesting wrinkle was the distinct lack of falsetto used in the vocal. It’s been his calling card, so it felt deliberate. It certainly changed how a few of the classics landed in my brain, but didn’t take away from the experience. Vernon is allowed his liberties, and I think they made me listen closer. This was a special set.

Aaron & Fred - This was another replacement performance, announced after the cancellation of headliner Lil Yachty. Consisting of Aaron Dessner (The National) and Fred Again., I really had no idea what to expect. I love Dessner’s producer work, but his touch tends to be more beautiful than energetic. I didn’t know how it was going to translate into a live performance. Fred again. on the other hand is an EDM producer that has headlined the world’s biggest festivals as DJ. It felt incongruous, but if you’ve heard Fred’s Tiny Desk Concert, you can see the vision. In practice, this performance was very energetic. After starting slow, there were definitely some interesting sounds coming from the stage. Both artists interpolated on the other’s work, with a highlight being Fred sampling the National’s “Bloodbuzz, OH”. It ended with a crescendo, the house flavored dance set devolving into a Justin Vernon track from 20 years ago. As a Bon Iver fan, that nod felt particularly fun, as you’d really only recognize it if you had dug deep. Fred had done his homework, and that made this very special.

Bon Dylan - In case you missed it, I did a full review here - BON DYLAN

Saturday Jul 25, 2026

Gash - These dudes are the homies. They have been an integral part of EC’s DIY scene for years, and are chock full of dear friends. Musically, I was interested in a couple of things. 1) I had not seen them with their new vocalist, Brick. 2) I had never seen them anywhere other than a small bar. Thankfully, the addition of Brick’s energy helped tremendously in translating their set to a large stage. Their 12PM set time was certainly the earliest I had seen them play, but their brand of sludge-gaze was a crowd pleaser. It’s a big ask to wake a crowd up, and this crew had no problems. So proud of them!

Gully Boys – Again, these dudes are also the homies. It was certainly surreal to have friends playing back to back at such a huge festival, and they continued the theme of energy to get the festival started. My favorite moment was when their drummer Nadi stepped out from behind their kit and sang. Their energy is palpable from the back of the stage, but was entirely welcome front and center. There was a moment when the whole crowd was jumping with abandon, and you could have sworn you were at 7th St. Entry.

Nathan & The Zydeco Cha Chas - This was so damn groovy. Zydeco is a genre that is impossible not to move to, and this performance was no exception. The lasting memory I’ll have of this set was seeing a couple I met at the merch stand dancing with their family. They had flown all the way from Israel for the festival, and our interaction at the booth was warm, but the language barrier was clear. We got them what they wanted, but I could see some frustration in the communication. It was so wonderful to see their crew absolutely losing their minds dancing to this band. The father was a massive man but he threw his weight around with abandon, and the joy him and his family radiated was a highlight for me. The music that inspired it was great too!

Known MPLS - This was definitely an act I did absolutely no research on, and was happy to be surprised. They were a youth choir out of Minneapolis, and the joy was palpable. In a festival that was uncharacteristically full of cover bands, I was a bit thrown off by their inclusion. But their selections were so fun, and the energy level was sky high. Moments of choreography, solos, crowd interaction - it was 45 minutes of just pure goodness, and left me singing when I wasn’t smiling through happy tears.

Monica Martin - I have had a musical (and admitted real) crush on Monica Martin ever since I saw her sing this Shania Twain song years ago. Her voice is truly singular, and she has an incredible control over it. Her set was lovely, with her full powers on display. Throwbacks to her time with Phox were wonderful, but the odd but personable nature of her banter made this an entirely comfortable experience. She spoke of being on the spectrum, and then joked that we could have guessed that already. It was clear that regardless of her world class talent, she didn’t take herself too seriously. It was disarming, and often broke the spell that her voice casted. Probably good for all those involved

Samia - This was the last of the replacements on the line-up, and one that I was very pleased to see join the fest. I’ve written about Samia here before, and I was excited to see her in a festival slot as opposed to a club. That certainly was a theme at Eaux Claires - acts that felt very club ready, but not necessarily fit for an outdoor open air venue. There’s a certain energy that translates better in those spaces, and I admittedly thought that Samia might struggle with that. Also - the replacing of a headliner is never fun, and she addressed this quickly saying “Sorry I’m not Daniel Caesar.” I loved this set, but I couldn’t help feeling that I would have preferred it in a club. Her music is dripping with drama, chock full of emotional, heavy moments and leans hard on stark imagery. In the open air of the football field, it never felt like the crowd got on her side, despite her personality and constant movement. Some things work better than others,

Dijon - Our Saturday headline almost didn’t get a review, because by this point, I was dead walking. At about 4:30PM Saturday I had hit a wall. I sat down in the area of the festival that was part of what made it so special: the writer’s in residence. Situated between the buildings behind the baseball and softball fields in Carson Park and the Chippewa Valley Museum, there were readings being held. I sat down at a picnic table, ostensibly to listen to the speaker, but more accurately to rest. After they finished, I happened to see my friend was on the other end. We sat and talked a bit about the fest and caught up, and suddenly I was feeling recharged. Nothing like some family to get you up and at em again.

When it came time for the set, I found myself with friends, which truly was the highlight of the weekend for me. There’s a part of me that always held a small bit of animosity towards EXC. Blue Ox was starting at the same time all those years ago, and I was jealous of how much energy the community had for this festival. I was frustrated that “my thing”, Blue Ox, wasn’t seen the same way.. Of course, Blue Ox found its footing and is now a pillar of the music community, and we spent a decade plus making that place our home. What made Blue Ox special was the amount of friends I inevitably saw there. EXC felt so similar, and had a lot of familiar faces. Finding those faces was key.

I am familiar but not well-versed in Dijon’s material, so while I know what to expect from the performance, I was still blown away. First off, the stage design was so interesting, more akin to a studio recording set up than a festival stage. When all you see on the algorithm these days is ultra-choreographed performances made to be clippable for social media, it was interesting to see something so foreign. Dijon’s songs are very interesting, at once orchestrated and lo-fi. There’s so much going on sonically, but the form feels sparse and simplified. There’s a sense of some aspects being turned up to 11, while others are muted. The result is compelling, and highlights his stage presence and energy. All his movements feel rooted in what the song is trying to portray, intimacy or rage. That said, it wasn’t all that approachable of a performance. Coming in blind worked for me, but I wonder how the casual listener would have reacted to this. The fest had so much familiarity, be it the local bands, or through the plethora of cover acts. It was refreshing to see something entirely its own.

The enduring moments I will take away from this set are the ones I’ve sought so long through music. I watched Dijon with Beau, and we spent a lot of time joking around while taking it all in. Music can transport you, but sometimes it’s ok to just enjoy your current surroundings. I was in my city, in one of my favorite parks, standing next to one of my best friends, listening to one of the best musicians on the planet. How could you ask for more?

But really, I’m asking for more. Long live Eaux Claires, even if it takes another 8 years to make it happen.

Introducing a new segment - subscriber spotlight! I was gifted this album by one of our subscribers, and figured it would be fun to review it for the monthly post. I’m very game to do this for anyone who’s interested, but I think I’ll limit it to paid subscribers. I love listening to new music and writing about it, but I do only have so many hours in the day.

GABLE - Many Things to Talk about

I think the easy way to write this review would be to highlight first that GABLE is the work of a 16 year old. I could run everything through the lens of a teenager being the creator, and talk about how surprising it is to hear this level of maturity in Gable Poole’s work. My first listen consisted of a lot of moments where I was impressed with the toolkit GABLE was working with, impressed with the form, the lyrics. On subsequent listens I thought less about who was making it, and more about what was being made. If you listen to this record, it’s really not all that important to know who made it. I think it would be a disservice to this piece to let the age of the creator be the only story.

This record has a lot of space in it, deliberate moments where there is less going on. Space is such a hard tool to work with, because while it creates tension and grabs attention, too much can wear on the listener. I think the balance is great here, with the intro track right on the edge of what is comfortable. Another thing this record does well is to play with dynamics. The instrumentation is not overwrought as we are dealing with simple tools here: Guitar, vocal, and little else. When you have less to work with, it’s important to vary approaches lyrically and vocally, and Gable does well to keep you on your toes. I hear so many of my lofi midwest emo favorites in this album, feeling like these were demos for a Pinegrove solo album.

I think what impressed me most here were the lyrics and the deliberate nature in which they were crafted. The imagery is beautiful but never cliche. One thing that Gable does that I love is details in the song that hint at more. Take the song “Picnic Tables” where the reference to graham crackers feels both normal and nostalgic, but also familial. We all have these small things that seem innocuous in day to day life that take on significance as we make them into art. It allows the listener to make their own connections without spelling it out. GABLE is clearly telling a story, but is allowing the listener to find their story in it as well.

I think as a young writer I leaned so much on what was there in front of me in my life, and I can feel a lot of that in this work too. The hardest part about being in that stage of life is how big everything can feel. It is also ripe for inspiration. There’s pitfalls along that path, but I think GABLE does a great job of making this album feel both dramatic and contemplative all at once. It’s a maturity I wish I had at his age, and I know will go a long way as he continues to make music. I can’t wait to hear what’s next!

Got a question for the mailbag? Send it, and I’ll try to include it next time around.

I heard that the crowd serenaded TCB at Blue Ox. Can you talk a little about that and what that meant to you and the band?

Well, it certainly was a surprise! I was ready for surprises in general. My photographer friend let slip that Beau requested he be ready following our final song, so I was not surprised when he smashed his banjo! I couldn’t believe it, because I had seen him play that thing for a decade. But, in true Beau fashion, he had a working model the next week waiting in the wings!

But as far as the serenade, it was totally unexpected. We had no idea, and when Justin from Pert Near jumped back up on the stage I couldn’t figure out what was coming. It was touching to say the least. The lyric they sang, “I’m gonna love you as long as you let me”, was interesting to hear in that fashion. The context in the song is about accepting that time is short and it’s on us to make the most of it. It’s a love song, but hearing it sung back it was an interesting reflection. Sometimes it has felt like this Coulee thing would last forever, but that moment hammered home that it was ending. But it also emphasized that in that ending, it was time to make the most of it. We felt like we have done that forever, but right now in particular it feels like we are squeezing every ounce of fun and meaning from these performances. I know that’s how it’s gonna feel from here on out!

Justin Vernon brought up Monica Martin for a duet on Friday night of Eaux Claires Festival...What TCB song would you pick for a performance to share vocals with a female artist?

Fun question! We’ve had a few guest vocalists either live or on record, so I’d of course want repeats of those. Rachel Calvert (currently in Triple Fiddle, formerly Barbaro), sang on the song “Repurposed Frowns” on Namesake, and I’ve been dreaming of a live rendition of that someday.

Of course, there’s friends I’d love to sing with some day. I think Siri Undlin from Humbird would sound great on a song like “Canyon”. Clare Doyle’s twang would be great on something like “Evangelina”. I also love Molly Brandt’s voice, and would love one where she could stretch out a bit, maybe “Livin’ & Lyin”?

Also - I just got to sing with some friends last week for a Pre-Claires performance at Leona’s Pizza in Eau Claire. I had Sarah McGill (Quiet Takes) and Sarah Krueger (Lanue) sing harmonies on “Harvey & Margie” and “Call It What You Have To”. I definitely need more of that!

Dream partners? I would love to sing with Madison Cunningham - she seems to be a master in duets. Her contributions feel like they’ve always been there. I’ve loved Jessica Lea Mayfield’s voice for years, she’d be great on something lowkey. Also, Kacey Musgraves has a perfect voice - I’d love to be in the room just to hear it up close.

Will TCB continue with Simon?

To be honest, I really can’t share with you what the future of TCB looks like because I myself don’t entirely know. It feels hard to continue under that name when Beau and Neil were so pivotal to shaping that sound. Replicating it will be hard.

To comment on the addition of Simon, I love that fella. He reads this substack (religiously), so I know he hears me when I say I love making things with him and hope to do more of it in the future. In what capacity and label remains to be seen, but I think he’s a force creatively and I love being around that energy. Also, helluva hang and a great joke teller. All plusses.

What celebrity musical crush or dream band would you want to introduce your band, and then stick around to see your show?

I think there’s a few out there that would mean a lot to this band collectively. They would include the ones who got us into this kind of music. I think Justin Vernon would be a fun one, because Beau and I have such distinct routes to and from his music. I think this band wouldn’t exist without The Avett Brothers, so having them at a performance would go a long way. That said, if we’re shooting for the moon, I’m having Bruce there, and pulling out all the stops. We put on our best shows when the energy is high, and I don’t know how you could be anything but over the moon with him in the room.

Steve Lacy - Oh yeah? (2026)
Following up an untouchable classic, Lacy hits all the right notes when it comes to love in the 2020s. I’ll be reviewing this one soon! This SZA feature is a vibe.

Erykah Badu - Mama’s Gun (2000)
Just a bonafide classic. I’ve had “Didn’t Cha Know” in my head for a week.

Bon Iver - 22, A Million (2016)
Revisited this in honor of EXC. While it’s his most daring, I think it’s also his most influential. Not my favorite, but still a classic. 715 - CREEKS is a masterpiece.

PODCASTS

Popcast: How Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst Came Back From The Brink
I struggle with these NYT Popcast dudes. They have absolutely asinine comments on AI music, and continually betray their corporate motivations with artists like Drake and Taylor, but then turn around and have revelatory interviews like this. Conor is comfortable here, and they get him to talk about some things he’s been private about. Clearly real fans of his work, and that makes for an in-depth talk.

The Daily: The Fight Tearing Apart Silicon Valley - Interesting episode here from the Daily, who take a news story of the day and dig deep. This one pertains to the debate about open sourcing AI.

On The Media: F@#$ the AI Overlords - I will continue to shout out these fine folks at WNYC. Brooke Gladstone’s a legend, and her talk with guest Cory Doctorow, who wrote “Enshittification” (now a newly minted word in the Oxford Dictionary) talk about who AI really serves and how the media can feed into the hype without wanting to.

BOOKS

Yesteryear - Caro Claire Burke (2026)

OK! I finished this. I’ve never read a book with that unlikable a protagonist. It was an interesting exercise. A novel concept, solid execution. Very modern but very foundational themes surrounding the patriarchy.

11/22/63: A Novel - Stephen King

I’ve been wanting to read this one a while - a time travel take from King surrounding the Kennedy Assassination. There’s been some interesting drama regarding the past that I hadn’t considered. It’s a fun one, even if it gets very dark. I’m enjoying the trip!

Hope you liked this month’s paid post!

I’d love to hear from you! Send me a question, or anything you’d like. Let’s talk tunes!

This past weekend I was able to attend an entire Eaux Claires Music Festival for the first time, having only spent a spare 5-6 hours there a decade ago at EXII. Years on the road take you away from many things, and my hometown’s festival was included in that list. I plan on an all-encompassing review of the festival with next week’s monthly post, but for now I’ll give my review of my favorite moment of the fest, Friday’s headliner Bon Dylan.

When I first heard the phrase “Bon Dylan”, I thought it was a bit. I mean, the pun is a tad forced. For the uninitiated, BON DYLAN was the amalgamation of hometown heroes Bon Iver and legendary songwriter (and Instagram shitposter) Bob Dylan. When the phrasing was legitimized via the announcement of the Eaux Claires 2026 lineup, there was a part of me that felt like the joke was going too far.

I have a reverence for both of these artists, counting them both as massive influences on my own work. They were both separately sacred to me. To feel like in some way one of them was poking at the other made me nervous. We often hold our idols apart, section off the things we love in order to make them our own. I love this particular thing because it makes me feel this particular way. We don’t want that image tarnished, we don’t want that created veneer to fade.

But as the weekend approached, I had begun to warm to the idea. Despite its stature musically, Eau Claire is still a small town. Being plugged into the scene pretty heavily had allowed trickles of information to reach my ears. The band being assembled contained friends and collaborators of mine, paired with heavyweights I could only wish to call pals. Through the grapevine I had heard the songs that were being kicked around, or what era of Dylan’s they might be focusing on. With any leadup to Eaux Claires, there’s always a fair amount of scuttlebutt and this situation was no exception.

But still, the tension remained. Did I really want to hear this version of Bob Dylan? Did I really want to hear this version of Bon Iver?

From the first notes the answer was entirely clear: a resounding “fuck yeah”. Here’s why:

That same reverence I carry for these two was clearly communicated in Justin’s performance of Bob’s tunes. Yes, this was a tribute, even a cosplay of sorts. Instead of his trademark falsetto, Justin Vernon opted for a nasally low register, a croak reminiscent of Nashville Skyline era Dylan. But every note rang true as someone with not only a deep love of Dylan’s work, but also an understanding of why it worked. This was a respectful replication, yes. But it was also a celebration from a clear fan in Vernon to an idol of his. The gift to the audience was in that fan’s equally monumental abilities in his own right.

That could be said about everyone in the band. There were a lot of familiar faces - Vernon’s bandmate in Bon Iver Sean Carey on drums, former bandmate Phil Cook on keys and harmonica, the formidable JT Bates (the midwest’s best drummer IMO) on percussion. A highlight for me in particular was my friend Ben Lester on pedal steel. Ben has recorded with my band, and it was a joy to see his smile never leave his face when Vernon turned to him for a pass. There was definitely a concerted effort to let this band shine, which rings true to the era of Bob they were aiming at. S. Carey (or Sean Iver, as he was deemed by festival “voice of God” Michael Perry), sang two of the aforementioned Nashville Skyline classics in “Lay Lady Lay” and “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You”. The latter is my all-time favorite Dylan tune, and the freewheelin’ (sorry) and groovy nature was indicative of the set’s sound as a whole. The whole band was having a whole lot of fun. Many of those folks have seen the absolute peaks of performance, having played the world’s biggest and sacred stages. I would hazard a guess that despite all that, they had never played a set as joyful as what we saw on Friday night.

And I think that was the key here, why this all worked so well. We know what Vernon is capable of, he’s undoubtedly one of the most formidable creative forces of this century in popular music. I’m sure there were folks who saw this announcement and hoped for Bob’s tunes to be run through the Bon filter. It would certainly be incredible to see Blood On The Tracks in the style of Blood Bank. What we got instead was that same giant creative force completely content to celebrate a hero of his, and have a helluva time doing it.

I could get into the nitty gritty of the setlist (the underappreciated “Not Dark Yet” opener, an earnest snark of “Man In Me”) or speak on the incredible guest spots (Phil’s harmonica on “Tangled Up In Blue”, or the “Spanish Leather” duet with Monica Martin), but I think the main takeaway here is that it’s ok to have some fun with it from time to time. Lean into the bit. Did this idea start as a joke? How did a moment of bullshitting with a friend turn into a year of rehearsals, culminating with a headline slot at a long dormant festival back from the dead?

I suspect it came from where a lot of good things come: some friends in a room, having fun. I’m happy that for an hour or so this weekend, Carson Park became that living room, that basement, that garage. That’s likely where every band that played this weekend started, and where the next ones will too. Here’s hoping. 5/5⭐️

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Big week here in EC! Eaux Claires festival makes its long awaited return. I’ll be there, and will be writing a review (or two). Kevin Morby is playing, and as you all know, his latest was the first album I introduced the “Another Verse” segment for. I’m hoping we get that tune and more this weekend.

Alright. Here’s this week’s review, Bill Callahan’s My Days of 58.

Bill Callahan - My Days of 58 (2026)

Some records feel like a snap shot. They capture a moment in time, be it in the culture or in the lives of the artists that are creating them. How apparent that is to the listener varies, but Bill Callahan is entirely clear with the title. His new record, My Days of 58, details life as an aging legend of the DIY folky scene. The lead singer and central force to lofi legends Smog has performed and released music more recently under his own name. His writing has always been masterfully cutting, but removing the moniker has seemingly given him a clarity of voice that makes each listen feel like a journal entry. This journal feels like a road diary, a reflection on a career. In it, the lyrics feel conversational to the point of surrealism. They keep you off balance with their directness, like a shot across the bow.

Musically, there’s not much straying from the formula here, but that’s a good thing when you make records like Callahan does. Like I mentioned before, he’s a legend of the lofi scene, and that approach pervades everything he makes in the best way. Nothing ever sounds perfect, and nothing ever feels exactly all that normal. That’s not to say this isn’t approachable either. The instrumentation is familiar, acoustic and electric guitars, drums, bass…but there’s an approach that belies the talent to his musicianship. It’s clear that he’s capable, but there’s a willful cap on how technical the playing gets. He loves a plodding groove, a straight kick snare. In a way, I think it’s about operating within the boundaries he sets to force other elements to make up the slack. He does this most commonly through his lyricism.

He’s one of my favorite writers, and while he’s certainly capable of some incredible one liners, where he really draws me in is how he plays with how the listener is perceiving his work. I’ve written about him before, reviewing Smog’s Knock Knock, and some of my favorite moments of his records are where he would lead the listener to a certain point and then subvert your expectations on where the line would land. Take the song “Let’s Move To The Country”, where he’s so clearly leading you to the line “let’s have a…baby” and he leaves off that final word. Is he afraid to have a child? Or is he more afraid to say that out loud? You know where he’s going, and by not fulfilling that promise he’s saying something else entirely.

On this record, his approach seems to be straying into the meta. On the opener “Why Do Men Sing?” we start with a description of a typical night on the road. This includes descriptions of cold meals in the green room, and the melancholy of an old friend breaking a promise to come to the show. Every musician who has hit the pavement like he has goes through these moments enough that they become routine. The fact that he can turn that thought into a meditation on masculinity and the need for approval is proof of his skill.

In other moments, you can feel him actively poking fun at his work, which at first is surprising but then feels fitting. On “The Man I’m Supposed To Be” he adds a literal laugh as a coda to the line “we take life seriously, laugh in the face of death.

On “Pathol O.G”, the song feels like banter before a tune. He’s treating it like It’s a career retrospective, with a groove underneath.

You know, I’ve been writing songs and singing them
For night on 30 years
I like it
I love it
It started out as a way to communicate with other people
And myself
And the spirits

In his descriptions of the “why” he weaves in moments that feel like tangents. At the moment it feels like the bit might be close to running its course, it turns. He adds a rhyme, the band picks up. This turns into a song about trying to find love on the road, with the aching couplet:

I remember one girl in East Tennessee
Where girls in songs always seem to be

He’s fully aware that this song is straying into the metanarrative, and drops that into there to remind you that we’re still in a song, and that this isn’t just some monologue. He even has a little pedal steel whine a country lick in response to this line, further calling out how on the nose this feels. In the midst of this reflection he does come to some answers, and luckily for us, they are great lines.

It’s important to not treat your lifeboat like a yacht.

While the overall tone here isn’t all that dreary, we do have some heavier moments. On “Empathy”, he reflects on the way his father affected his path, both negatively and positively. It opens with a literal dropping of the bomb, hinting at something heavy. As he details the aftermath, again we stray into the meta, with the admittance of how the song itself was crafted, during the song:

Dad I’m just like you

(Although they’re in the middle
I added these lines last)

I don’t know if they’re true

Overall, these departures seem to accomplish two things. On one hand, they add context to the story here. In the moments of blunt reveals or making fun, you are often given more information on the situation. The understanding feels more concrete. On the other hand, they also tend to pull you out of the moment, like someone whispering in your ear about a fun fact from a film’s production while you’re immersed in its world. Knowing Callahan’s propensity for playing with the listener’s expectations, this seems to be the point. He wants you to operate with all the information, but also doesn’t want you to get all that comfortable with it.

The question remains - can we trust this snapshot, this look into Callahan’s existence? Maybe not enough to write a biography. But we can definitely live a little vicariously for an hour as this record plays. Maybe that’s the point. Spin this one and find out for yourself. 4/5⭐️

Standout Tracks: “Why Do Men Sing”, “Pathol O.G.”, “Empathy”, “Lake Winnebago”

Another Verse: Week 10 - Bill Callahan - Why Do Men Sing?

It was very hard to pick a verse for this album. Not due to the quality, but rather the form. His style is so distinct and meandering, it’s hard to emulate. So, instead of trying, I opted for a verse that was tackling the same issues - life out on the road. I wanted to reflect his mentality, while injecting my own experiences and feelings of inadequacy.

Standing on the stage
While the band plays
Repeatedly reliving
Some of my worse days

I am headed back to merch
and a stranger stops to share the hurt
I hope my chosen words
Didn’t make it worse

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Verse-A-Week 32: Ramblings

This is a bit of a random dump, but that’s ok from time to time. I’ll post it, regardless of the cringe.

drop us off at grandma’s
Stay the night, watch cop-a-ganda
”Did you know that grandpa
Was a trooper for a bit?”

I wish I had the guts to call
and ask why he took that job at all
What once was large has now grown small
what was it
That made you quit?

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Why am I always inclined to talk about the weather in these intros? Is that what this space serves as? Small talk? I don’t ever want to jump right in, but I also hate having to figure out what to say when I don’t have anything. So maybe we just keep this meta intro and get to this week’s album.

Here’s this week’s review, MUNA’s Dancing on the Wall.

MUNA - Dancing On The Wall (2026)

I’ve written before about albums that made me feel like I was on the outside looking in. Sometimes records are not made specifically for “you” - be it through genre, tone, or lived experiences. That may be a sign to turn around for some, but I often find that the records that move me the most are the ones that make me feel something I could never feel on my own.

The first time I heard MUNA, I was in the midst of my “indie sad girl” deep dive. You know, the Phoebe Bridgers, Ethel Cain kind of vibe. These tunes gave me that perspective I was looking for. I knew sadness, but I didn’t know it from that angle. I was taking it all in, and came across a Phoebe feature on a MUNA song. “Silk Chiffon”. It’s perfect pop: carefree, bouncy, danceable, and singable. The thing that really stood out to me was the vocal. Katie Gavin’s low rasp was so inviting, and made her jumps to her head voice all the more dramatic. Phoebe’s a great singer, but Gavin was shining so brightly here I had to listen to the record. It was a lot of the same, but for good reason. Feel good, fun vibes,, lighter with a handful of subdued beauty mixed in. MUNA is an unabashedly queer band - at one point two of the members were together even. The mood was accepting and celebratory, reflective I think of the environment of acceptance that they were coming up (and coming out) in. Think electro pop Indigo Girls.

Then came Gavin’s solo record (which I’ve reviewed HERE), where she fully leaned into the folk influences that had seeped through MUNA’s earlier work. It’s one of my favorites of the last few years. It figuratively (and literally) carries the baton of the queer folk pop pioneers (Indigo Girls, Melissa Ethridge, Tracy Chapman) before her, while mixing in her oddball imagery for something that feels so human and approachable. It’s a record that lets me look in on her life and feel like I’m living it too, even if I never could.

MUNA’s latest album Dancing On The Wall is at once a continuation and a departure from what’s come before. It’s undeniably them: danceable, sexy, fun - but also expansive and daring and dark. The one glaring omission is the soft underbelly we saw on their previous work.. Their records always gave you a chance to take a breath with an unexpected ballad or acoustic singalong. Maybe Gavin’s time away from this sonic space tickled that itch for her enough to exclude it here, or maybe it’s a deliberate separation between the two projects. What we’re left with is an album with little room for deviation, and it’s all the better for it.

You know me: I love a clear thesis. This album gets right to it. It’s fitting that this line is included in the first verse of this album.

It gets so hot that I can’t even think straight

MUNA’s never been shy about their identity as queer musicians, but in the past it’s been more in the arena of acceptance and joy. This record occupies a space that speaks more about fighting for and defending their queerness, which is entirely understandable given the current political climate. This album does get overtly political at times, but its real political power lies in just being unafraid in who they are. This is an album that embraces the darkness, accepts that sometimes there is power in keeping your space safe for your people.

That’s not to say this album isn’t fun. There’s so many true rips here. The album opener “It Gets So Hot” is an undeniable club banger, and the half time beat flip in the back half is unexpectedly nasty. There’s a dextrousness in the arrangements here that wasn’t so present before. Take for example “So What”, a midpoint standout. A wobbly sample, punchy drums, a call and response hook with a pitched down duet partner…it’s a perfect example of what makes MUNA so listenable. But after the second chorus of asking “so what if you don’t love me?” the tempo slows, the vocals fade, and a synth breakdown takes you to another place entirely. There’s a concerted effort with so many parts of this record to transition interestingly from one place to another, and it makes for a cohesive listen.

Speaking of, the next track after “So What” is a literal transition called “Party’s Over”, ushering in the tonal shift of the record, the aforementioned political punch of “Big Stick”. Sonically its space the album has already tread, but lyrically it’s pulling the political undertone to the forefront. The lyrics here are as cutting as the snare, with Gavin occupying the space of the oppressor. It’s doing its criticism by playing the part:

I know what you want
Make you wanna build an army and wage a war
Make you wanna show the world what America’s for
And how America gives more than America takes
We give weapons to dictators in apartheid states
We give kids in Palestine PTSD
But we’ll never fucking ever give them something to eat

The overt critique almost feels needed at this point in the record. The themes here spend a lot of time underneath the surface, bubbling up from time to time in songs that aren’t ostensibly political. “Big Stick” feels like the boiling over that has been hinted at in the record all along.

Having listened through a couple of times now, I really do hope this record gets its flowers. I haven’t seen a whole lot of press for it, but I think it deserves more than it’s gotten. A couple summers after BRAT, we still are seeing everyone trying to emulate the hyper pop craze it ushered in. This album has that element to it, but it’s rooted more in a classic pop sense. There’s some incredible key changes, some acapella gospel choruses that feel more Stevie Wonder than Charlie XCX could ever dream to. We’ve seen this kind of record before - Robyn exists. But Gavin’s vocal and interesting lyrical choices paired with the production and intricate arrangements makes this a true standout in this genre not only this year, but in recent memory. With all that’s going on, it’s nice that MUNA is asking us to dance a bit and forget. We can fight the power in that way too. 3.5/5⭐️

Standout Tracks: “Dancing On The Wall”, “So What”, “Big Stick”, “Mary Jane”

Another Verse: Week 9 - MUNA - Eastside Girl

Unconvential one here! This is such a pop bop. It was really fun to occupy this POV for a verse. Also, really love that end of phrase rhyming with the beginning of the next phrase. Good shit!

I know this side of town can be expensive
But when did the price tag slow us down
Where we came from the same love that was fenced in
Hopped the chain and got hell outta town
East side girls took me the long way
West side girls taught me it’s ok
To keep my girls close cuz I wanna be your

Eastside girl

Sorry for the ending! It’s not in my key.

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Verse-A-Week 32: Buzzer Beaters

I have been playing this one lately, wanted to update you all on the structure a bit.

Counting down from 10

In an empty gym

None of his buzzer beaters hit

But that doesn’t mean he quits

All of his halfcourt heaves

Fall in the courtside seat

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Well, after a forecast of 3 potential rainouts in Coulee-world, we came out with only one show canceled. It’s my least favorite thing to do as a band - pull the plug. Canceling for weather is no fun, but sometimes rain or shine is impossible. We will get back to you Shell Lake! The Potter’s shed is a gem that has taken care of us forever.

Anyway, that rain left me feeling a particular way. The Fourth is a holiday that deserves looking back with a critical eye. That’s the approach this week’s record took as well.

Here’s this week’s review, Ratboys Singin’ To An Empty Chair.

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. In the right hands it can transport you, while in others it risks cliche. Ratboys’ Singin’, To An Empty Chair opens with a literal invitation into the past, and takes you with them whether you like it or not. The first track “Open Up” starts:

Live in reverse, go back in time
What’s it gonna take to open up?
What does it take to lie?
What’s it gonna take to open up this time?

In mining the past in song, we sometimes risk losing the immediacy that the present holds. These memories aren’t as close as they seem. Time has a way of either washing away the dirt or multiplying it, losing authenticity in the process. Ratboys’ Julia Steiner avoids this pitfall here by holding a microscope to her past and seeing it for what it was. There’s almost a sense of searching that comes through in this album, and the answer isn’t readily available to the listener.

What immediately is available is a great fucking band. There’s a lot here that is familiar to this moment in music. The alt-country tinge that pervades the indie scene is present, fuzzy guitars and hints of slide guitar. But where other bands stray into cosplay following that trend, Ratboys firmly occupies the space they have since 2010. Steiner’s vocal has a hint of drawl, but never betrays her midwestern roots. She stays in her high register, painting each line with a delicate cast despite the content. There is confidence in the material, but plaintiveness in the delivery. It’s inviting in both ways, believable in its assured vulnerability.

The Chicago band carries a lot of that sound here as well. There’s a lot of grunge here, a lot of punk, a lot of big Chicago guitars. There’s a clear throughline here from both Wilco and Dolly Parton, and that mix proves potent. The best part of a band that has a clearly defined sound is the doors it opens with song structure. The cohesiveness of the album isn’t threatened by the myriad of approaches, but rather strengthened. From any angle, this sounds put together. On the opener “Open Up” we get nostalgic country, bubble gum punk on “Know You Then”.

One of the most fun tracks on the album is “Anywhere”, where Steiner playfully pokes at a moment where she felt out of control in a relationship. The vocal is dextrous, dropping to a lower register for emphasis as she sings of a love that inspires both security and despair.

I would love to be your shadow
Living in my perfect life
But some nights it total darkness
Deep breaths, it’s fine it’s fine

The guitar work here is incredible, riffy 90s pop guitar, reminiscent of the Pixies. That decade too is experiencing a revival in pop music, but its influence here is never overbearing. If anything, this band gets too comfortable, straying from the pop structure and into spacier sounds. So many of these songs run north of 5 minutes, and that eschewing of the radio lends some more credibility to the album. There’s really no need to shoot for anything other than authenticity here.

And while musically this record comfortably draws from the past, lyrically it feels like a confrontation. Not one that leads to a fight, but rather one that leads to healing. There’s certainly value in facing your trauma, and this record feels like the healthy way to go about it. At the heart of any healing has to lie the truth, and the album’s centerpiece captures that space perfectly. “Just Want You To Know The Truth” sits in the back half of the record, and uses all 8 and a half minutes to get comfortable with an altogether uncomfortable moment. Centered in this song is the story of loving someone who has done something horrible, and it hit very close for me. These last two verses capture exactly the pain of wanting things to be ok while not being ready for them to be.

Once you had left home we cleaned out the house
Came upon some skeletons that none of us knew shit about
If I told you I was ok, well that would have been a lie
So I blocked your telephone without sayin’ goodbye
It’s not what you did it’s what you didn’t do
I just want you to know the truth

A couple some odd years ago, you said “Sweetie take your time”
So now I’m singing to an empty chair, bleeding out every line
It’s not that I don’t miss you or the way it used to be
It’s that I can live my life without saying anything
So when it comes time to talk, I got nothing to prove
I just want you to know the truth
I’m not ready but I hope I will be soon
I just want you to know the truth.

This record sneaks up on you. In the midst of all the nostalgia and fun, there’s an undercurrent that threatens to pull the rug out on you. But isn’t that the risk when we look back? Maybe our memories aren’t as rosy as we remember. But then again, maybe they’re not as scary as they felt either. In Singin’ To An Empty Chair, Ratboys have crafted an incredible record that confronts the past both lyrically and musically in a way that feels healthy and heavy all at once. I have a feeling this may be one of my favorites all year. Bravo Chicago. 4.5/5⭐️

Standout Tracks: “Just Want You To Know The Truth”, “Penny In The Lake”, “Anywhere”, “Burn It Down”

Another Verse: Week 8

Something about an album’s crown jewel makes me want to add to it. I think the challenge of another verse for a perfect song is why I like it. There’s a high bar here, but with the subject matter so ripe and personal to me, I had to try one here.

I pretend that I don’t miss you, and imagine what it’s like
To not dissociate when ever you cross my mind
I want it to be normal I want it to be alright
But I’m standing at the edge and the canyon seems too wide
I see you across the space but I can’t even move
I just want you to know the truth

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Verse-A-Week 31: ???

Just a little word vomit for you this week. Sometime's its about getting it out of you.

I’ve been searching for a way in
That resists interpretation
But the problem with my patience
I can’t keep it to myself

I have tried to share the surplus
but I fear I’ve served my purpose
Just another thing to purchase
And put up on a shelf

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Well, what a weekend. I saw a lot of you at Blue Ox, and I believe processing that show may be what next month’s deep dive will be. I am so thankful for the opportunity I’ve been given - to play for all of you for so long. It’s not lost on me that this is truly a special thing we’ve built. I am forever thankful for all your support.

So, yeah. You’re all the best.

This month’s paid post I’m diving into “Sign of the Times”, answering the mailbag, and talking about what I’ve been consuming lately!

For our free subscriber’s here’s this week’s installment of Another Verse: Turnstile’s “NEVER ENOUGH”.

What’s the weirdest way you discovered a band you love? Random happenstance at a festival? Innocuous background music at the grocery store? The circumstances in which I fell in love with Turnstile is comical at best, disgusting at worst. Unfortunately, I heard about them through this tweet:

5 years ago, this post went viral in the hardcore community, which was a corner of the music industry I used to be plugged into. In high school, my first band wanted to be a hardcore but sadly, weren’t. You may be asking what “hardcore” really is, and honestly that’s a great question. To me, hardcore was punk pushed to its sonic extreme - fast riffs, big drums, but also to its social/political extreme. It’s important to fans in this community that truth is spoken to power.

It’s also important to not take yourself too seriously.

That tweet was so out of left field, I had to dig in, and found that the record they had out at the time, GLOW ON, was absolutely incredible. I had heard of how off the wall their shows could be, and obviously the tweet hammers home the anything goes mentality this band carries. Hardcore has become less about being true to the punk roots, but rather about being genuine with how other influences can push the genre forward. The first time I heard Turnstile, I was surprised about how closely it resembled both 2010’s alt punk but also how plugged in it was to indie and electronic elements. It was heavy, but it also could be spacey and atmospheric at times. Imbued in it all was an intensity that came through in every riff and vocal. And the vocal - it was so reminiscent of one of my favorite bands as a teen (Close Your Eyes), that I had to send it to my high school buddy. I had moved on from that genre, but he was still plugged in. It felt good to have some common DNA musically again.

When Turnstile’s latest NEVER ENOUGH came out in June of last year, I thought for sure it would top my end of the year best of 2026 list. I listened to it a whole lot, but then when the votes were tallied in December, it never really came to mind for me. Sure, this could be a reflection on the quality of the rest of what I listened to. It could also be a commentary on the short attention spans we have with music these days. Gone are the days where you’d buy a cd and have to wait a whole month to listen to something else. I really liked this record, but I moved on.

This week, my girlfriend started playing this album around the house. I remembered last year recommending she listen, but she didn’t have the bandwidth. Hearing the thundering guitars and huge hooks made me want to write a quick review.

This album is once again everything you like about Turnstile - huge guitars, thundering drums, and plenty of left turns. The overwhelming sense you get here is how immense it sounds. There are records that are made to be played loud, made to be played in arenas. It is less common in the punk/hardcore scene, but if there’s a band to pull this off, it’s Turnstile.

I call records like these headphone records. Headphone records aren’t just about sounding good. They’re also about rewarding a close listen. Turnstile does that multiple ways on NEVER ENOUGH. Take the title track and album opener “NEVER ENOUGH”. How many hardcore records start with an organ and synth? The vocal is also dripping in reverb, eschewing the genre staple dry vocal. Once the track starts in earnest, the familiar crunch of guitars induces a headbang or two. But just as it feels as you’d expected, a left turn. The last 1:40 of the track return to the synth. We get a twinkle of piano, and a cascading filter on the synth, creating movement up and down the audio spectrum, low to high to low frequency.

These unexpected moments are the other reward for a close listen. In an age where a track’s popularity can live or die on a 20 second video clip online, Turnstile is choosing to make songs with multiple movements, and often in ways you’d never expect for this type of band. “I CARE” has elements of surf rock, jangly guitars and all. “LOOK OUT FOR ME” has and extended house breakdown, straight out of a sweaty boiler room set. Perhaps the most bizarre but badass moments on the record comes after the heavy riffage on “SUNSHOWER” fades and a Native American pan flute soars over a pad of swirling synths. The best part of this album is that while each song is instantly identifiable as a Turnstile record, each one can be so drastically different.

Of course, it’s a hardcore record. This is a hardcore band, known for their over the top live performances. That energy is palpable and at times bursting at the seams. I think it would be very easy for this band to lean on that strength and let it carry them. I mean, look at that video above. The energy of that crowd alone is enough to propel this crew whereever they want. But it’s refreshing to see a band so willing to push their sound in another direction. Be it in an odd arrangement, vocal filter, or endless supply of musical flipping of the scripts, this certainly is an album that you should not get bored with.

And listening again this week, I really have no idea why I stepped away from it when I did last year. Let’s give it a retroactive Top 10 for 2025. 4/5

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Big week in my world! I am singing the national anthem at a baseball game, playing a political rally, and closing out the concert bowl at Blue Ox Music Festival come saturday night. We are due for a monthly post, so here’s hoping I work ahead this week…

If not, I know you’ll forgive me.

Right?

Ok, on to this week’s album, Olivia Rodrigo’s “you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love”

Olivia Rodrigo - you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love (2026)

Everyone is allowed their guilty pleasures, but to label Olivia Rodrigo as such for me would be inaccurate. That would imply some level of shame in the listen. Did I hold out for a while? Far too long. This was after the White House visit. But let me say this loud and proud - I’ve been a fan ever since “driver’s license” brought me back to being 16 and filled with heartbreak, crying in my room. One moment I was on a walk searching for something new to listen to, the next I was a puddle, remembering how it felt to feel like everything I felt was too big for me to handle. If there’s something I can point to in her work that resonates with me it’s the drama. Even the ballads are juicy, and nothing is subtle.

Her undeniable debut SOUR immediately shot her to the top of the charts and her sophomore album GUTS solidified her cred as one of the biggest pop stars on the planet. With her third album you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love, it seems the goal here is to establish her true identity in the music industry. In a world where “eras” are selling points, and narrative is everything, it seems Rodrigo’s answer is to make music she loves and hope the fans follow, regardless of what’s in style.

If there’s a critique to be said for Rodrigo’s work up to this point, it would be that her influences from song to song are very clear. While not necessarily samples or interpolations, so many of her biggest splashes invoke other hits. Take for example “good 4 u”, a certified banger that retroactively gave Paramore writing credit due to its similarity to “Misery Business”. Nothing ever feels egregious, but sometimes her work can feel like an interpretation of other people’s work. Lyrically her identity comes through intensely, but her ability to do so many things musically almost detracts from her sound. As incredible as the first 2 records are, they can wander, with her chameleon-like dexterity in sound never settling into her own space.

The album opens on the chaotic “drop dead”, where her ability to do everything, everywhere all at once is on full display. The craft here is really interesting, where each section outside of the chorus is entirely different. On top of that, each chorus feels unique as well. We go from lush intro vibes to ascending stadium ready hooks, to a Chappell Roan-esque talk verse, to a bridge straight out of a U2 album. Despite being perfect pop ear candy, it never lets the listener get comfortable. Drama! It’s dripping with it. I will say - that Chappell nod here threatened to drift into sample territory, but I’ll give it a pass. Both of them work with Dan Nigro, so it may just be his touch that makes it feel so reminiscent of “Hot To Go”. All in all, a strong open to the album.

The second song “stupid song” is really where this album could have gone either way for me. Like I said earlier, the two things that Rodrigo struggles with in my opinion are: overly referential, and pacing. As thrilling as “drop dead” was, its familiarity threatened to lessen the impact. When “stupid song” opened with a plaintive piano riff, I was reminded of the moments in SOUR where all I wanted was another banger and all I got was a ballad that made me cry. But if anything, this song asserts why Olivia is deserving of her own corner of the industry. As muted as it starts, the build both lyrically and musically is anything but boring. It’s not fast, but there’s a certain momentum to it that comes through, even in the reading:

You’re a spark in the dark and my clothes are caught aflame
You should feel how I feel when somebody says your name
I’m a car speeding down the boulevard without a brake
And I want you more than any stupid song could ever say

From there it drops into another pop hit, 16th notes driving it forward, reminiscent of something Robyn’s done for decades. To me, the real interesting angle of this album is the point of view it’s occupying. Rodrigo has always been a willing prisoner of the moment, but her current state is one that is ripe for great songs.

For one, with all her reverence for the classics, it’s easy to forget that she is 23. This song (and album) plays with that no-mans land of an age. On SOUR, she was a teen, and the outsized drama felt real because it was real, at least to her. Everything means everything when you’re a teen. As any artist comes of age, there’s a certain assertion you make when it comes to adulthood. And for women in pop music in particular, there’s almost an expectation that you address your increasing maturity. Rodrigo is 23, so while there’s clearly still some “stupid kid” left, there’s also an adult that is aware of that remnant. That awareness brings out a playful sardonic side to some of the tunes.

For example, take these lines from “u + me = <3”. Read them from a childish POV and it invokes naivety, puppy dog love. Read them from a mature one, and it feels sarcastic and aware, even manic. Is this relationship a healthy one?

Sometimes I get overwhelmed
And way too far ahead of myself
I often get the feeling that I’ll never want somebody else
and they say modern loves a cruel endeavor
And to that i say “fuck it, whatever”
You plus me equals a heart forever

She’s walking that line of maturity, and straying either way leads to interesting moments. This duality serves two purposes. On one hand, she can appeal to a broad base. She is a Disney alum after all - there has to be some lip service to that crowd. But she also can impress the mature listener with her dexterity in walking that line. Her awareness that there is a line and her ability to cross back and forth on it ultimately shows her ability as an artist more than anything.

Can she be a little all over the place in her construction of an album? Yes. But does that whiplash ultimately lead to a positive listen? 100% yes.

My favorite moment on the record is a more sedated one, and I think that’s fitting. This album is full of flexes both lyrical and production-wise. This album sounds both modern but also thoughtful of the past. It’s really refreshing to have a song not try to be overly flashy. It’s a more delicate balance to create drama without the change in tempo, without a flashy riff. This balance is on full display on “what’s wrong with me”, the singular song with a feature, The Cure’s Robert Smith. Let me first say that Smith is brilliant here - his vocals are expressive and dripping with drama. The close harmony on the chorus is so entirely perfect, and had me begging for a verse. The mid tempo track is very 80s, and not in the stereotypical way. It’s a magic trick to make a duet between a 67 and 23 year old not feel odd, but this song somehow pulls it off. I think the key here is the reverence Rodrigo clearly has for his work. I listened to an interview Smith did, and he was effusive in his praise for Rodrigo saying “It all comes so easy for her”. From the beginning of Rodrigo’s career, so many artists have spoken highly of her. It’s been said online that she’s “your favorite artist’s favorite pop star.” I think that comes down to her own genuine love for what’s come before. I mean, is it not so obvious here?

So, the question is - did this album work? Did it establish Rodrigo in her own space? I think that remains to be seen. I think it separates her from others working today, but as we know, I think Rodrigo is looking more towards the greats. This is incredible pop music - it will undoubtedly dominate the charts all year. This is 3 for 3 with her albums going to number 1. But a part of me really wants to see what she would be capable of with the freedom to not aim for the charts. I would really love to see something that doesn’t have to be marketable. As long as she is occupying this megastar space, I fear we won’t get that. But then again, she’s 23. Maybe there’s a left turn in there somewhere. If anything, we can trust that she’s studied the greats and seen that almost all of them have had to go their own way at some point. I think with growth and some greater agency, I think she’s one of the few artists out there now that is capable of a Thriller, or a Songs in the Key of Life, something that transcends.

For now, we can save the superlatives. I’m just very thankful that she is making something fun. I’ll be enjoying this one all summer. Instant replay. 4/5 ⭐️

Another Verse: Week 6

I of course had to take a swipe at the Robert Smith song. The melody here is really fun, and the nature of the last word of a phrase connecting quickly to the first word of the next is a fun puzzle. This is so dramatic, but I feel like that’s the aim here. It was fun to indulge in the drama a bit. This is not grounded, which is I think the point.

I lost hope in happy endings
Know that I’m pretending
I don’t see you smile
Every time I start to cry

But I know a way to tell the story
Without you ever knowing
That I feel this way
I can fake it every day

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Verse-A-Week 29: So Many Miracles (Again! and Again?)

I am really liking this song, and I feel like the move here is to write a lot of verses and whittle it down. Pro-tip for songwriting - if something is coming easy, keep it coming. Even if you don’t use those words in that song, you can always mine them for another. There’s no shame in a frankenstein.

You only get so many miracles
Is what the old man said
Don’t you spend em on that spotlight dreams
inside your head

because I’ve seen it all real close
lived it first hand
how so many miracles
can slip through your hands

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Judging by my solidly forming farmer’s tan, we are firmly into summer. I am so grateful for a busy schedule - this is where it gets fun to be in a band. That said, I’m enjoying the solitude it takes to listen to a record closely. That is a them with today’s record, so I hope you all can find some time in your schedule to sit with something special alone.

Ok, on to this week’s album, Mitski’s “Nothing’s About to Happen to Me”

Mitski - Nothing’s About to Happen to Me (2026)

Mitski is one of those artists that despite being wildly successful, continues to be underestimated. Is it possible for an artist that has a song nearing 2 billion streams on a single song able to operate under the radar? And while her last album The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We, went supernova, Mitski is no flash in the pan. She has made consistently great art for a decade plus, all without the trappings of the modern pop star. In fact, she’s largely rejected the idea of celebrity, and has spoken publicly about discouraging her fans from mistaking their adoration for connection. In an age where the biggest musicians on earth actively feed parasocial delusions in their listeners, it’s incredible to see someone so successful while remaining so stalwart in their solitude.

In 2026’s Nothing’s About To Happen To Me, Mitski is finding that solitude uncomfortable. We love to call records intensely personal, but this one blurs the line between confessional and TMI. So often Mitski sprinkles in lines that feel too intense, too revealing for a pop song. But at the heart of a good song are big feelings. Mitski isn’t afraid of those big feelings, and isn’t afraid of the way they can materialize in song. When you think of pop music, you don’t often think uncomfortable. Mitski loves to hit you in the mouth then run your fingers through your hair, the tenderness softening the blow. She will take you to the edge of the cliff and look over it with you. But this has always been her model, personal even if it’s ugly. There’s no shying away from saying something out there if it’s the truth. The first line I remember hearing from her that stuck with me was from 2014’s Townie where she screams “I wanna love that falls as fastAs a body from a balcony”

On Nothing, the scenes are less existential but rather, residential. With The Land…”s success, it seems her next move was to settle down, romantically and physically, with a partner in a small town. This makes entirely too much sense, considering her last album’s virality pushed her into another echelon of celebrity she’s all too uncomfortable with. The album opens with the strummed “In A Lake”, where she juxtaposes the failings of small towns and wishing for the city, bemoaning that there’s “only one brand of soap”, making each new love smell the same. She longs for the city’s ability to make someone anonymous, to fade back into the crowd. Yet, cities don’t have a lake.

But in a lake, you can backstroke forever
The sky before you and the dark behind you
And in a big city, you can start over

The comfort is emphasized by the accompaniment, with acoustic guitar and pedal steel betraying her current actual whereabouts, Nashville. It’s been a recent musical theme for her, with the pedal steel in particular propelling “My Love Is Mine All Mine” to nearly 2 billion streams. But any longtime listener knows that Mitski can be as heavy as an anvil when she wants to. She reminds you of this at the end of this song, with snarling guitars dropping in after the sounds of a busy city street fade in. As romantic as “somewhere else” can be, it can also be as unforgiving as where you are. That ability to turn on a dime musically really adds to the uncomfortable nature of this record. At no point does it ever sound bad, in fact it’s all beautifully done. But it really does make sense that a record called Nothing’s About To Happen To Me can be a bit anxiety inducing.

We are next hit with “Where’s My Phone?”, a manic (but fun) stomp of sludgy indie rock centered around the embarrassment associated with losing your phone. No one wants to be reminded of how much they care and rely on something that ultimately is just a piece of metal. For me, it’s a welcome return to the heavy side of Mitski that was missing on the last album. For all of the dextrous and delicate stylings of her recent hits, we forget that she cut her teeth screaming in clubs. I immediately had the thought that maybe she was reclaiming that part of her work after all the success. Maybe this was a reminder to all the recent adopters that she’d been there a while without them. But each time I tried to pinpoint what she was aiming at with this record, it would take another sharp turn. Wherever the direction, the only thing you could reliably count on was that it wasn’t going to shy away from being uncomfortable.

Despite the varying sonic landscapes, oscillating through acoustic waltzes, heavy shredfests, and New Orleans horns, a constant theme lyrically seemed to be her home and the person she’s sharing it with. I’ve mentioned a lot already how personal these songs feel, and I think a part of that is the setting. On “Cats” she describes her pets sleeping by her side and the comfort that brings. These songs feel like they were written in a living room and directed to the person on the other side of the room.

That intimacy is intense sometimes, because as the album continues we can hear that despite the comfort she often feels, this relationship is failing. There’s anger in that of course, and we hear it uncomfortably in the first lines of “Dead Women”

Would you have liked me better if I’d died
So you could tell my story the way it ought to be?

There’s a frustration in the lack of agency she feels. I read an interview about this song in particular and she talked about how this song is an angry one, lamenting that often it feels like society would rather have a dead woman whose narrative they could control than let a woman tell her own story. That’s a lot to sit with, and of course, she finds a way later to poke fun at the agency she’s found for herself in her home on “That White Cat”.

I see him through my window
The white neighbourhood cat marking my house
It’s supposed to be my house
But I guess, according to cats, now it’s his house

Mitski’s ability to jump from existential dread to humor and back again is why she is so successful. The same lyrical leaps of faith are mirrored in her accompaniments, with the sense that any thing could happen musically at any time. One moment you’re floating on a bed of pedal steel, the next the bottoms dropping out from underneath you as feedback from the guitars drown out your thoughts.

This “anything can happen” kind of approach is most exemplified in the standout centerpiece of the album “If I Leave”. Over a menacing but plaintive bassline, we of course start with a line so personal, it feels like you’re not supposed to be hearing it:

If I leave, somebody else will love you
But nobody else could forgive me
Quite as often as you

In this, she’s revealing that she’s also the problem. This environment of anxiety is not solely one person’s doing. She’s holding the darkness in that decision to leave and holding it up to the light of forgiveness. Later on she returns to the motif in another verse, showing that regardless of the bad, the familiarity of this space remains alluring:

If I leave, somebody else will find you
But nobody else could see me
Quite as clearly as you

It feels personal because in all likelihood it is. The question I think Mitski asks you to consider is if this intensity is personal or private. Are these words spoken to a partner? Or are they from a diary, never to be seen by another. Of course, they appear in song, to be listened to by millions worldwide. But in the world created by the song, are they public? If they are, they are the last words in a slow death. If they aren’t, they could simply be a means of release. If it is a release, the next section supports that, with snarling guitars kicking in a descending riff as she wails, repeating the phrase:

No one else knows
How i ride through a tunnel
And it’s dark the whole way

Here’s that moment we’ve waited for, where she joins you on the edge of the cliff. You’re indulging in the anxiety, you’re embracing the uncomfortable. In fact, the single art for this song depicts this very thing. And as you revel in that moment of abandonment, you think for a second that it wouldn’t be so bad to jump…she pulls you back. At the end of the song she asks, “Who could love me quite as kindly as you?”

It’s a beautiful moment, and we want to believe that sentiment is enough to carry the space to somewhere healthy. But in the last moment, just as we’re comfortable again, she hits you with the final blow, her answer to that question.

“You?”

Despite its name, so much happens during Nothing’s About To Happen To Me. The anxiety it promises is present throughout, and never feels quite welcome. For me, this is the most impressive aspect of this record - its willingness to stay uncomfortable. It would be entirely easy for Mitski to ride the sound of her last record into the sunset, millions of fans making her never want for anything again. To make something so personal and uncomfortable in the face of mega success only emphasizes her artistry.

So, if you were in the dark about her genius, hopefully now you aren’t. When all is said and done I truly believe we’ll look back on Mitski’s career like we do a Bjork or a Bowie. She deserves all her flowers, regardless of how willing she is to receive them.

4.5/5 ⭐

Standout Tracks - “If I Leave”, “I’ll Change For You”, “That White Cat”

Another Verse: Week 5

I really love getting to do this every week. This song immediately jumped out at me. It’s approachable, and in my wheelhouse. The content is a little uncomfortable, but isn’t that the point of this whole album? Here goes this week’s verse.

I’ll never return to my small town
Even with some time to kill
It’s not that I don’t like the people
It’s the worry that one day I will

Cuz I spent my teens trying to leave there
And my twenties not looking back
In my thirties I just want some quiet
I’m afraid a small town’s where thats at

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Verse-A-Week 27: So Many Miracles (Again!)

We’re cooking! Here’s something more I’ve added, plus a riff for you.

You only get so many miracles
so before I ask
Could you tell me where the tally’s at
where the record stands'

I have given you an earful
Of young men’s demands
Never knowing you could hear it all
Or you’d give it back

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Here we are! June. What the fuck. The rhythm of a summer tour is something I’ve grown to expect. When other folks lives slow down, mine picks up. I love how the days blur together, 9-5 fading towards the horizon as the van speeds away down another highway, familiar or not. I still found time for Another Verse! This week covers one of my favorite artists.

Ok, on to this week’s album, Bleachers’ everyone for ten minutes.

Bleachers - everyone for ten minutes (2026)

I have a musical theory that sadly is confirmed time and time again: If a band is making a self-titled album 10 years into their career, they’re on their way out. Something about that move feels a little stale to me. Did you run out of ideas? Of course, there’s press where the band talks about how this album is their most accurate representation of their music yet, and making it self titled shows how they stand behind their work. Inevitably, in my head it spells decline, and when one of my favorite bands Bleachers did it on their last record, I was concerned.

I have obsessed over this band. They rank in my favorite live shows of all time. They were in my headphones when I ran my half marathon. They have an album that is top 20 ever for me. But that self titled record? To be honest, it was really only ok. It didn’t have the energy of Strange Desire, the idiosyncrasy of Gone Now, or the grandeur of Take The Sadness Out Of Saturday Night. It kind of felt like a restrained muted version of each of them at different times. It never could make up its mind, and as a result, it never really made it into mine. If that was meant as a thesis statement, it lacked the supporting arguments for me to believe it.

When I first put on Bleacher’s new album everyone for ten minutes, I wasn’t immediately grabbed. I remember describing this band to a friend years ago as one willing to bring you to the edge of a cliff and hold you as you looked down, smiling at the nerves on your face. There was always something thrilling about their music. The hallmarks were all there - big drums, dense synths, jangly guitars, and vocals drenched in delay and delivered in a jarring Jersey shout. There’s no mistaking that it’s a Bleachers record. There’s a heavy helping of nostalgia, with references to ancestors, and each statement in the past tense. It’s not unfamiliar ground for Antanoff, as he’s always had a reverence for the sounds that came before him. He’s referential to a fault sometimes.

There’s of course moments where you’re reminded he’s a genius producer. The intro on “the van” could be Kendrick’s next single. The rapid oscillation of the keyboard riff on the intro of “dirty wedding dress” is another moment of oddity that feels entirely in place on a Bleachers record. The harpsichord on “i’m not joking” almost does feel like a joke. But through it all I couldn’t put a finger on what it was missing for me.

After my first listen, it became a little clearer for me. With that clarity, I understood it more. This whole time I had been looking for the frenetic, manic energy that had attracted me to Antonoff’s work. There was a welcoming intensity that only a true music nerd can cultivate. There was a “I’ll prove it” attitude in everything he did.

What I hear here is a comfortable artist. And who could blame him? When Bleachers started he had left his huge band to road dog it across the country. A decade on he has multiple AOTY Grammy’s to his credit, working with the biggest artists of today. He’s married now (and very publicly so) to one of Hollywood’s rising stars. He wants for nothing except (if the refrain “Only my people can see me” suggests) a little peace and quiet.

If there’s one prevailing theme to this record, it’s in Antanoff wanting to stay true to himself. I read an interview where he emphasized that this record was about making what he wanted. In fact, he mentions that several times in song. His star has never been brighter, and it’s almost like he’s resisting where the machine might want to take him. I mean, does this not look like someone on their way to superstardom?

We’ve seen this before (Springsteen’s Nebraska anyone?), but instead of darkness, there’s a whole lot of light here. Antanoff is drawing from what’s real to him, and what’s real to him currently is a happy marriage and a fulfilling life. Whereas in the past there was an underlying angst, there’s now acceptance. He’s happy and he’s ok with that. He’s in love and he’s ok with that. He’s not embarrassed about it. Why should he be? Take this line for example.

I had never known my name until you spoke it from your chest
Yes, the heavens opened up and pulled me in,
I stared and said
“Oh yeah, that’s forever”

You’d think that would be screamed over thundering drums and soaring guitars, but no, it’s talk-sung over 8th notes, sounding like a long lost Rick Ocasek gem. He’s clearly capable of filling an arena with his music, sonically and socially. But he’s not concerned with anything other than making something that he likes.

Once I realized that this record wasn’t about reaching as many people as possible, but rather just for himself and his circle, it made so much sense to me. Where I was used to the grandiosity of his previous work, I was finding small worlds to live in on this record. Introspective hasn’t always been Antanoff’s strong suit, but he’s never been more comfortable with it than this record. The best moments here are when the songs feel like they’re directed at one person. His wife on “you and forever”. An old friend on “we should talk”. A departed soul on “i can’t believe you’re gone”. One of the most poignant moments on the record comes during “dancing” where it seems he’s directly talking with someone he wished he had more moments with:

No, dying is not romantic this young
You’re someone and nothing all at once
How could let me do this alone?

There’s something very Bleachers in this record choosing to stay in its lane. While I was looking for familiar landmarks, I was neglecting to see new ground being covered. If “proving it” in the past meant making arena sized songs out of a van, it was now ok that “proving it” now was connecting with one person while being the most successful you’ve ever been. It’s impressive to look inward when the world is calling on you for more. Maybe this album is a precursor to a big swing, the centering breath before jumping in fully. Or maybe it’s just what occurred to him in the moment. Either way, I’ve learned that I should trust the process. Put this one on some good headphones, you won’t regret it.

3.5/5⭐️

Standout tracks: “you and forever”, “dancing”, “dirty wedding dress”

Another Verse: Week 4

Here’s the second ever installment of “Another Verse”, where I pick a song from the album above, and write another verse. I picked this song because it was a moment where the manic intensity that I loved about Bleacher spilled over lyrically. This is love bombing in verse. No shame, I love it. No recording here, but it’s the prechorus headed into the chorus, where it feels like a stone gathering momentum down a hill, with no regard for anything in it’s path.

who could make all that baby talkin to the dogs
sound likes sacred secrets sent directly from god?
I wasn’t looking for an answer, but this is what I got
”oh yeah, that’s forever”
Darling just you and forver

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Verse-A-Week 26: So Many Miracles

I like this one. I don’t want to talk about it so much, because I’m excited about it. Feels like it will come quick!

You only get so many miracles
so before I ask
Could you tell me where the tally’s at
where the record stands'

I wasn’t asking for an answer
each time I screamed into sky
So if you’re planning on an echo
Save it for someone who knows why
So many miracles
Passed me by

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Well, it’s a day late, but here’s hoping it’s not a dollar short. You’ll get your money’s worth with this one. It includes a deep dive into “Mountains” off Them Coulee Boys recent record No Fun In The Chrysalis, a review of Kurt Vile’s new album (+ another verse!). You’ll also find this month’s mailbag filled with your questions, and what I’ve been watching and listening to.

Thanks again for all of you who showed up to Trempealeau this weekend. It’s truly the joy of my life to have spent so many years on that stage.

Ok, on to the review.

~ Soren

Kurt Vile is an artist that runs adjacent to a lot of what I like. I’ve noticed him collaborating and touring with artists I love. I have seen artists I love like Courtney Barnett sing his praises and make albums with him. Hell, he even used to play in one of my favorite bands of all time: The War On Drugs. While he checks a lot of boxes for me, he’s never really entered into my rotation. But with an upcoming visit to my hometown of Eau Claire on the schedule, I knew I needed to dig in. Vile straddles many genres, from folk rock to stoner grunge, and he does it with a nonchalance that can either invite or alienate. When I first was delving into the world of songwriting, I admittedly struggled connecting because his style felt unbothered. I was attracted to passion, sincerity, and I wanted those manifested in the music through intensity and grit. It never really occurred to me that you didn’t need to beat on your chest to be sincere. Sometimes sincerity can come through consistency. Philadelphia’s been good to me, Vile proves that showing up for your city and its sound can make you a torch bearer all the same.

I saw that Vile said in an interview about this record that he loves recordings that aren’t perfect. From the first track, that belief is immediately clear in the best way. He described the old Stones records, where the imperfections were what you latched on to. When something is too glossy, you can lose the character. In an age where we are increasingly being forced perfection upon us through AI, it’s heartening to listen to a record that feels real. This is the sound of some friends getting together in a room and playing - except these friends are world class musicians.

Instrumentally, there’s the usual suspects: electric guitars, bass, drums, but also pedal steels and mandolins. On the opening track “Zoom 97”, this mixture instantly sets the tone for the record. Immediately, you’re wanting to hop in the car and go for a drive. It’s the stuff of backyard bonfires, house parties, and garage beers. The instrumental track “”Red Room Dub” is a perfect example of the feeling this sound creates. That said, VIle himself contributes to the vibe vocally with little hops and skips in his delivery, giving you the sense that he’s not all that bothered about being perfect. Hell, he could be on an evening drive already with these lyrics on “Zoom 97”:

Jump in my whip (Yeah), my engine whines, yeah
Zigzag my way down Lincoln Drive, yeah
Puck on my lip, feel I can fly
For a while

There’s a certain balance he has to strike in his songwriting due to his style. “Stoner” rock is such a great genre due to its general ability to settle in and transport you to another world. The looseness is both a blessing and a curse though. While it can make you comfortable, it can also stray towards the banal and boring. Think of it like this: we all love to hear the out there things our friends say when they’re stoned, but for every moment of wisdom, there can also be some stupid shit. Vile’s delivery is simple and while the words may seem basic, he does a great job of navigating that balance by adding meaning to his lyrics.

It’s delicate, this balance, and my favorite instance of where Vile shines with it is on the track “99th Song”. The basis is built around his looper pedal, a guitar pedal that loops recorded tracks and can also store these tracks internally to be used at a later time. It’s a fun piece of equipment, and not one I expected to hear referenced in a song. Looper pedals are notorious among the stoner rock crowd, with many tongue in cheek jokes about their endless loops being perfect for that crowd. Vile gets granular with the words, with references to the tech. But he also gets weird with it, comparing it to flowers (pedals = petals).

This is the 99th song on my red looper
The last track that’s possible
Before the software explodes
The mainframe of my memory
From my brain (but also my pedal)
Pedals fallin’ down like rain...
As if b’lieve I’ve gone insane
But I ain’t, man, I’m just playin’

Did you notice what he did at the end there? After getting weird, and almost straying into the idiotic with the “insane” line, he acknowledges he’s gotten in the weeds a bit. “I’m just playin.” That’s the beauty of Vile’s approach. He always knows when the bit goes too far, and is able to bring it back to the comfort zone. That little self reflection goes so far in making this jangly and expansive record feel focused.

If there is one underlying theme here, it would be Philadelphia. We all know what it’s like to be both proud and uncomfortable with where we’re from. Vile is all smiles when it comes to his city, with many references throughout. There’s city streets mentioned, venues, and even highly polluted rivers that are “hard to spell”. On “You don’t know cuz it’s my life” he grapples with having others speak for his city, even if he loves them dearly.

I’m from Philadelphia
A couple of my heroes wrote a song
But that ain’t where they’re from
So hey, you don’t know
But I still love you
Neil and the Boss

There’s a quiet intensity in pushing back on your heroes with love. Vile certainly owes so much to both of these artists (hell this could be a Neil record and you wouldn’t question it), but he’s comfortable in asserting himself over something he cares about.

That there is the magic trick with this album. Despite its relaxed, nonchalant manner, VIle makes it clear that his love runs deep and strong for both his city and the music associated with it. Each track is imbued with that welcoming but protective spirit: you’re invited to enjoy it but please be mindful that it means a lot to us. That mentality could go a long way these days. It certainly goes a long way in making this record one of my favorites so far this year. 4/5 ⭐️

Standout Tracks: “You don’t know cuz it’s my life”. “Chance to Bleed”, “Zoom 97”, “99 BPM”

Another Verse 3: Kurt Vile’s “Zoom 97”

It was admittedly a little hard picking a verse for this week’s selection for Another Verse, as Vile’s style is so different from mine. That said, this was really fun emulating his lazy stoner wisdom. This song’s verses are so percussive, with lifts in his voice to emphasize or disorient. The rhymes land so hard, and I wanted to pick some kind of harsh vowel sounds like he did. I imagined this song as a car ride through a familiar neighborhood, windows down. You’re coming from somewhere you love and headed to another where you feel the same. I love it, but there’s no way I could ever sing it like he does.

I take a sip
of gasoline
the liquid drips
Between my knees
I plant a kiss
on your left cheek
the sun whos sitting next to me

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It’s week 2 of Another Verse with Soren Staff, week 25 of this Substack. The repeated ritual of selecting an album to review and dive into has become a welcome one. That said - if there’s one you'd like me to review, I’m open to submissions.

This week’s album is from one of my favorite artists, and the verse I chose to add to her song is an interesting one. It asks the question: what if you could respond to the accusations in song? I love the idea of an answer.

Ok, on to this week’s album, Kacey Musgraves’ Middle of Nowhere.

Kacey Musgraves - Middle Of Nowhere (2026)

Kacey Musgraves operates in a slightly cursed space in my taste. On one hand, she made Golden Hour, a Top 25 album of all time for me. On the other hand, she made Golden Hour, a Top 25 album of all time for me.

What I’m trying to say is that she made something so untouchably good that most everything else she makes suffers as a result. It’s not fair. It’s not rational, like saying prime rib doesn’t cut it after filet mignon. She has made wonderful records before and after Golden Hour, but listening to her often feels like a reminder of what she’s capable of: perfection.

This album is being billed as her comeback album, and I can see why. Her two releases between this and - you’ll excuse me - perfection, were 2021’s Star-Crossed, and 2024’s Deeper Well. What made Golden Hour so sublime was the delicate balance between humor and beauty, with an undeniable pop craftsmanship added to her country bonafides. Star-Crossed eschewed the country background that grounded her songs, while Deeper Well felt subdued, more meditation than something for the charts. Musgraves has never shied away from singing about what she’s going through on a record, and that definitely painted those albums along the way. This album is no different - if Deeper Well was her going through it, Middle Of Nowhere is her on the other side.

I hate it when a review uses the phrase “return to form”. It implies that what came before was bad. Maybe the artist wasn’t interested in making something that they had previously. I think critics use it when artists do something familiar, so I can see why it’s being thrown around with this record. There is a certain amount of path being retread here, which can lead to something stale. But with familiarity comes comfort, and in that confidence Musgrave’s strengths can shine.

The strength that got her noticed in the first place is of course her voice. Pristine would be a word for it, but I’ll add to other p-words: pureness & personality. Musgraves has one of those voices that is legendary for its smoothness. I read once that Brooks & Dunn had her in to record a cover of “Neon Moon”, only to learn she was sick and could likely only muster a take or two. They got it on the first.

But what separates her voice from the fray is how expressive it is. That combination of beauty and personality lends itself well to another strength of hers - her humor. In a moment in the pop landscape where every star’s tongue is firmly planted in their cheeks, it may seem like Musgraves is following a trend. But really, it’s been her game the whole time. The lead single “Dry Spell” is unabashed in its innuendo - it’s been a while apparently. She’s not afraid to give an exact answer as to how long:

It’s been a real long
Three-hundred and thirty-five days
And the last time
It wasn’t good anyway
I’m so lonely
Lonely with a capital “H”
If you know what I mean
I’ve been sitting on the washing machine

Around 4 minutes in, we have our first laugh. You can tell she’s having fun with it, and it spreads to the listener. Of course she doesn’t pull punches towards the other sex, but she also is equally comfortable poking fun at herself. The next song “Back On The Wagon” keeps up the theme, albeit in a less sexy way. Over a classic two-step laden in pedal steel, Musgraves details a bad relationship that will of course work out this time, all while dropping hints as to why it won’t. Striking a lyrical balance between the earnestness of love, with the reality of shitty behaviour makes this a tightrope in songwriting. I love the optimism of this verse paired with hints of a crumbling facade:

Maybe I’m just naive but I truly believe
That he really means it this time
If I sound like a broken record when I tell you that he’s better
You know that I wouldn’t lie

This verse also points out another balancing act for Musgraves: keeping this fun while she’s clearly going through it. Golden Hour for me is a rare record where tension doesn’t really play a factor in how it’s received. It simply lines up banger after banger, impeccably crafted. Not to say there’s no depth (I mean, “Mother”, “Rainbow”??), but there’s also no urgency in addressing a problem. On Middle of Nowhere, it does seem like there’s a certain amount of soul-searching to be done. A standout for me is “Abeline”, where she’s balancing the darkness with wit. It’s impeccably crafted, with verses almost resembling rapping, but hints at abuse (domestic and drug) paint it darker than previous works of Musgraves. “I Believe In Ghosts” also walks that line, poking fun at “ghosting” while comparing it with mortality.

She enlists Gregory Alan Isakov for another moment of introspection on “Coyote”. That’s another thing that’s new for this record - some great features. Billy Strings submits a solid solo and some tasteful harmonies on “Everybody Wants To Be A Cowboy”. The most surprising is the goofy duet “Horses and Divorces” with Miranda Lambert, whom Musgraves publicly feuded with in recent years. After they buried the hatchet, frequent Kacey collaborator Willie Nelson joined on “Uncertain, TX”. It’s a subdued feature for Willie, only singing a line or two, but his iconic Trigger does the talking for him, chicken picking his way over a mariachi tinged tune. All 4 collaborations fit in well with the rest of the record, but none of them really stand out in the way you’d want them to.

I’ve tried to avoid the Golden Hour comparisons as much as possible here, but where I really must stray from that code is in the accompaniment. The underlying genius of Golden Hour was two things: songcraft and engineering. Where this record feels the most akin to previous greatness is in those two traits. From the first perfect snare hit to the accordion, each instrument is impeccably recorded. This record sounds phenomenal. The mix never gets in the way of the aforementioned vocal, but rather serves it in its simplicity. Also, each song never tries to do too much. It’s clear that as much as Nashville has tried to make Musgraves a black sheep, she still can plug in to the very best of Music Row with these songs. There’s tunes on here that would fit into any classic Dolly record. WIllie too.

Come the end, I asked myself if this album broke the curse, so to speak. Does this measure up to greatness?

I think for me, the fact that this record feels like it can stand on its own despite my constant comparisons is a testament to its strength. Is this a perfect record? No. But that’s ok. Sometimes messy is where Musgraves thrives. You can hear it in the way she talks about her relationships, herself. It’s hard to be perfect, and it’s even harder to follow up perfection. Musgraves shouldn’t have to carry that burden, but then again, it’s a nice one to have. In not chasing it, Kacey Musgraves made a record that lives on its own, warts and all. I can’t wait to fall in love with it. 4/5 ⭐️

Standout Tracks - “Abilene”, “Back On The Wagon”, “Uncertain, TX”

Another Verse: Week 2

Here’s the second ever installment of “Another Verse”, where I pick a song from the album above, and write another verse. I picked this song because I loved the balance of having optimism in love with hints at why it won’t work mixed in. Think of this verse as a promise from the bad lover, with some hints of why it will never work sprinkled in.

Baby I’ve told you I’ve grown up
and it’s time to own up
For all of the shit that I’ve done
I’ve heard you learn from your mistakes
So I’ve got what it takes
This time I’ll be the one
You won’t be embarassed
When I meet your parents
You won’t regret when I meet your friends
I’ll make you smile
At least for a while
I’ll have you singing again

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Verse-A-Week 25: Buzzer Beaters

Another in a long line of sports themed songs. I think there’s a lot to work with in that space. High stakes (manufactured or not) and big swings of emotion make for perfect fodder for a song.

He counts down from 10
In an empty gym
None of his buzzer beaters hit
But that doesn’t mean he quits

All of his halfcourt heaves
Feel like far off dreams
But discover real shit
when all the other people quit

I hope you enjoyed this weeks Substack. I’ll see you next week ❤️ - Soren

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That’s right! A rebrand!

The more and more I write this substack, the more I feel like it will become a part of what I do. In this ever-changing landscape for musicians, we need other forms of expression (and revenue) to flourish (and survive). In that, I wanted this space to feel a little less about me, and a little more about the song.

In that spirit - let me introduce “Another Verse With Soren Staff”.

I’ll admit - I’m jumping the gun here. But at the same time, this is something that’s been marinating a while in my brain for a while. The end goal of “Another Verse” is a songwriting podcast where I interview songwriters about a song of their choosing where we will write another verse. The current state of “Another Verse” is a Substack where I review albums, dive deep on songwriting, and write a verse a week. The only change for the moment is that I’m adding another section to the blog, obviously titled Another Verse, where I pick a song off the week’s album and write another verse. You may call it sacrilegious, but there’s a long tradtion in folk music of taking a song and adding to it. Oral histories were passed down like this 1000 years ago. In the more modern times, sampling and remixes have hammered home how songs are always living things, and deserve a chance to grow. I believe the world is better with more songs, so what’s the hurt in another verse?

So, for now, this won’t be too big of a change. But in the future, look for more with the theme: podcasst, short form videos, etc. I’m happy you’re here to support it. And don’t be afraid to add your own.

Ok, on to this week’s album, Kevin Morby’s Little Wide Open.

Kevin Morby - Little Wide Open (2026)

Have you ever had an artist grow on you? I feel like it’s an experience that is dying out these days. I looked this up - folks spend an average of 3 seconds on a video before swiping away to the next. We are asking songwriters who have spent countless hours honing and arranging their songs to grab you in what amounts to a long handshake. There’s no room for any preamble, any context. You have this much time and then it’s gone.

I feel lucky to have latched on to Kevin Morby when I did. It was around 2020, and I had been shown the song “Beautiful Strangers” by someone I was interested in at the time. It’s the antithesis of soundbite - 6 ½ minutes of a slow building groove, rhythmic and lulling, a meditation more than a song. I remember not being able to connect with it at the time - or maybe it was the person who showed it to me? Either way, it was in one ear out the other. Then I heard his 2022 record This Is A Photograph, and I started to get it. Last week I referenced the podcast Song Exploder, and this was another example where that deconstruction of the song made it all the more satisfying a listening experience. I went on to listen to that record, and then everything else he made before it, and it snapped into place for me. I was getting it now.

So, dear reader, you’re probably asking what there is to “get” about Kevin Morby, and if I had to boil it down, it would be this. Morby makes you feel like he is that friend of yours who constantly surprises you. You love him, you believe in him, but sometimes you don’t see the vision. Despite some limitations, he’s always one to take big swings, and somehow - it all works. He’s not the best singer, but you’ll find yourself impressed. He’s not the most vivid story teller, but you know the heart of it all the same. At times the choices he makes are weird, and don’t work, but afterward you step away in wonder. He’s an approachable contradiction, and you’re comfortable with that. Whatever far off well of inspiration he’s pulling from is alright with you.

On Little Wide Open, his muse seems to be his home. A lot of the press surrounding this record has been about where he has chosen to base his operations, solidly in the Midwest. The story remains the same: to make it in music you either plug into Nashville or head to the coasts. To have a successful musician (along with his partner Katie Crutchfield of Waxahatchee) willfully stay somewhere unconnected is novel in this day and age, but it likely won’t be soon. In this moment where the power of the internet is moving the industry to their own silos, separate empires where artists don’t need the record labels to build an audience - these two feel like homesteaders.

It’s not like this decision is an easy one. A wrestling in this decision is immediately apparent on the first track “Badlands” where in the opening line Morby opines:

Welcome to the badlands
Where the sky expands
and you and I expire

Is there a slow death in their decision? By eschewing the traditional approach, is he limiting himself to something less in his career? But in the same breath, he compares it to heaven. The song starts mellow, with electric guitar and sparse percussion. Morby is in his low register, a breadth away from talking. Slowly the lines start to contain more syllables, speed up, gathering momentum. There’s a sense of wanting to convince you, he’s stating his case. Drums join, and we’re off. By the bridge, he jumps up an octave, actively questioning his decision, singing “I can’t tell if I’m in…” He doesn’t want to state the obvious, and as the listener you’re waiting for it - hell. But it never comes. Instead, we transition back to the opening, we’re in the badlands. He answers the question of if this home is right for him with the lines of the chorus:

And I know that its going to hurt
If I get there first
Heaven is a place on earth.

The next song “Die Young” also references how close he keeps his mortality in mind. Thank god that we didn’t die young. But that’s not to say that this album is a dreary one. I think in the acknowledgement there’s permission to embrace the good things. The jaunty acoustic guitar and simple banjo rolls on this one feel like a campfire jam. It’s approachable and an easy listen for how heavy it could be.

On “Javelin” the freedom found in the Midwest is fully embraced. The music video hammers home this theme. We get a tour of his property through a selfie stick, at times walking down an abandoned road, others riding behind the inimitable podcaster/comedian Caleb Hearon on a 4 wheeler. For me, this captures the dichotomy of Morby. Hearon is exploding on the internet currently, a star in the making. But apparently Hearon and Morby and Crutchfield have been friends for a long time. For an artist that I think strives to remain approachable, you get reminded of the fact that he’s genuinely amazing at what he does. For every moment that he feels like an every man, he turns around and makes something so expansive and deep that you realize you might be standing in the midst of greatness.

One of my favorite surprises on this record was on the track “Natural Disaster”, where Lucinda Williams makes an uncredited appearance on a verse. She’s not listed as a feature, and when I heard her low croak appear I immediately exclaimed “fuck!’. I was weed-whipping at the time, and I’m sure my partner was concerned for my safety. After an explanation and an eye roll later, I went back to the song. Morby is full of surprises, and they are made all the more impactful by how easy this is to listen to.

There’s a few things that Morby loves to incorporate in his songwriting that I want to highlight here. First, he loves to answer his lyrical references in the music. In “Badlands” he answers the line of “til the tornado sirens start harmonizing” with a slightly discordant response of strings. Later in the album on “Cowtown” he makes reference to his guitar, then the instrumentation drops out for him to play a riff (a veiled Springsteen reference perhaps??). It almost takes you out with it seemingly thrown out there nature, but you recognize that it’s all carefully placed. He also places weird references lyrically that threaten to take you out of the world he’s created - lyrics about Triumph motorcycles, Metallica. He also loves to have throughlines lyrically in his albums. You’ll hear repeated phrases over the course of songs, as if he wanted to take every opportunity to include that imagery. In this one, the phrase ‘I ride passenger’ shows up a few times.

I think for me, the centerpiece here is the title track “Little Wide Open”. In an interview with Stereogum, Morby spoke about how coming up to making the record, he always referred to it as I Ride Passenger. But after shooting the album cover, he describes the moment where it became Little Wide Open as akin to a parent saying their child’s name was John for 9 months, only to meet them and say “Oh wait, that’s Clay”. “Little Wide Open” was always his favorite song on the record, and it is for me as well. It’s 8 minutes, and it’s where the turn of this record happens. It’s accepting of the expanse, it’s not resisting the call to settle in and be comfortable. Of course it’s referencing his locale, but it’s also referencing his state of being. There’s vulnerability in going your own way, but in that opening you allow growth to enter in. This song is so comfortable in its arrangement, swelling at times but never blowing the top off. He’s settled in, and we’re lucky to be able to visit.

One thing I’ve neglected to mention here is the producer - Aaron Dessner. If you’re familiar, you know that he’s a creative force behind The National, but also Taylor Swift’s Folklore, and is a constant collaborator with Justin Vernon. His style has seeped into Americana at large, and admittedly I was a little wary of that. It’s beautiful, but can sometimes feel a bit one note. I love Morby because he does his own thing - I didn’t want him to blend in. In a moment where alt-country has never been more popular, I didn’t want him to also hook his wagon on to that train. Instead, Dessner elevates. This all still feels like a Kevin Morby record, beautifully crafted, weird, but also - immaculately recorded. It still feels real enough to be played on your back porch, but beautiful enough to make you feel like that back porch is connected to a world class recording studio that Taylor Swift recorded in.

And therein lies the juxtaposition of Kevin Morby. He’s at once world class, and the guy next door. He’s not the best at anything, but undeniable when it comes together. He’s a bonafide star, on a farm in Missouri. You don’t have to understand why it works, but just enjoy it. You may not get it at first, but I urge you to spend some time with this record. You’ll be glad you did.

4.5/5 ⭐️

Standout Tracks: “Little Wide Open”, “Die Young”, “Javelin”, “100,000”

Another Verse: Week 1

Here’s the first installment of “Another Verse”, where I pick a song from the album above, and write another verse. I picked this song because I loved the way the verses point to the chorus, and I thought I could do the same. Enjoy!

Babe let some air in
I’m short of breath
I’ve grown tired of swearing
That there’s nothing left
To be found in the heartland
Or the land of my heart
Maybe they’d find it
If they’s just start

To be a little wide open
Let someone in
A little wide open
Can be heaven sent
A little wide open
Leave room to grow
A little wide open
Like my country home

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Verse-A-Week 25: Heavyweight Champ

I can’t remember if I’ve ever posted this one, but I chipped away at it a bit this week. It’s upbeat, train beat kind of feel. Maybe something is brewing!

I’ve been running my mouth like heavyweight champ
Throwing my weight around like a runningback
Treating good times like they’re going bad
Going going gone

I hope you enjoyed this weeks Substack. I’ll see you next week ❤️ - Soren

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Happy belated Mother’s Day to the mothers out there reading this!

This week’s record snuck up on me. I had never heard of it, and didn’t expect it to hit like it did, but that’s the beauty of it all, isn’t it? You never know when the good stuff is coming. I hope that you all had a lovely day, and were reminded that good things are always on the horizon when you’re surrounded by the ones you love.

Here’s this week’s review.

Laura Marling - Song For Our Daughter (2020)

At the beginning of 2020, when it became apparent that Covid would throw the world into disarray, there was a lot of chatter about releasing music. Should artists hold on to records knowing that they couldn’t tour them? Should they instead rush releases out to get folks something to listen to in their isolation? No one really had a good answer, and as a result marketing budgets were slashed, and unfortunately so many good albums came and went without ever making it to my radar.

I’m sure that this record made a splash in its corner of the music world. I discovered it this week by literally googling “best songwriter albums of the last 25 years”. But as plugged in as I am to this arena, I had never heard of it. Let me say this now without reservation, fuck covid for keeping this from me so long. Among other things.

I have a passing understanding of Laura Marling. English songstress, broke out in the late 2000’s. I’ve been to festivals she was scheduled to perform but didn’t make it a point to catch her set. So really - I came into this blind other than knowing it was highly regarded. I will admit to being susceptible to a good review, but I think this one would have hit hard either way.

This album is deceptive in its intentions. The first 3 tracks are reminiscent of poppier Joni, a little Ani Difranco. There’s so much going on, it feels like the beginning of a festival set. I can imagine Marling walking on to a stage at 3PM at Glastonbury and playing these 3 to draw the crowd into the space. Upbeat, approachable, and playing entirely to her strengths. This is a songwriting review, so I’ll speak on that more thoroughly later, but you could pick any aspect of her artistry and rave about it.

Vocally she’s precise, with an exceedingly quick vibrato, weaving in and out of melody and talk-singing to emphasize the personality in her lyrics. Each little flourish feels appropriate, never a flex. Her melodies also feel so distinct to me. Sometimes singer songwriter albums can be married to form, but she is entirely unafraid to go off the map in her melodies. To support this, the arrangements are exact, but never feel too overwrought. This is acoustic guitar driven, which can often simplify the approach, but the pedal steel, drums, and the HARMONIES add so much. I’m not sure if there’s backup singers in the room, or if Marling did them herself, but they are an instrument in and of themselves.

But like I said, this album tricks you. In the midst of the groove of “Held Down”, somewhere in the vocal flip to her high register during the chorus, you realize that there may be going on here. You’re swaying and nodding your head in agreement with the tone, but then she hits you with the truth of it: this is a break up record. It’s not your fault if you didn’t notice it while having so much fun:

Think about now with my legs wrapped around you
How many times before have you seen me run?
It’s a cruel kinda twist that you’d leave like this
Just drop my wrist and say, “Well, that’s us done”

It was at this moment where I began to recontextualize the title of the record - Song For Our Daughter. In the context of a healthy relationship, that might speak to a celebration. In the aftermath of a dissolution, it could be a warning. Especially that pivotal word “our”. Is this being written to a child, or rather a lost love? Marling leaves it up for you to decide.

I love how many angles you can use to look at this record. Take the next song on the record, “Strange Girl”. Is it directed to a daughter? A lover? Herself? It’s fun to speculate. That said, the next song “Only The Strong” cements my read of the record. After the freewheeling exploration of the first 3 songs of the record, the stripped down nature of this one immediately drags you in. The form is familiar - the time tested AABC we’ve heard innumerable times. The simplicity adds weight, and makes these lines hit like bricks.

Only the strong survive
Only the strong survive
Only the wrong relive their lives
We’ve been here a thousand times

That third line seems like a barb, only to be revealed as self-deprecating in the next. I think I sometimes look at songs in this form sideways, but Marling shows its strength. When you are given fewer paints to create with, you must make the absolute most of what’s at your disposal. That said, she’s not afraid to play with the form. Take the swell about 2 minutes in, her repetition of the lyric devolving into a miniature moment of chaos. The key is that it wouldn’t work without first establishing the baseline beauty of the beginning.

If it weren’t clear that this album is aimed at devastation after that track. “Blow By Blow” hammers home the point. Marling is in her Blue era Joni mode now - this track would feel completely at home in the back half of the Mitchell classic. Again the harmonies here are haunting, and the swelling strings are perfectly placed.

And if that wasn’t enough to leave you in a puddle - the centerpiece of the record, the title track “Song For Our Daughter”. At face value, you can sense that there’s a lesson to be learned in this listen. Marling spoke about this song in an episode of Song Exploder (another gift to songwriters everywhere - check it out!), and she revealed that she wasn’t a mother. Still, she felt the urge to impart some wisdom to a potential daughter, similar to Maya Angelou’s Letter To My Daughter, which she said inspired her. There’s a balance here between a heavy handed warning with a subtle reminder. There’s care in her hard won lessons. While she doesn’t want her daughter to have to relive what she had to - or rather, what so many have had to suffer - she recognizes the strength it brought her and how she needs that too. As she says in the Song Exploder interview, “I don’t feel like I learned it the hard way, I learned it the way.” We all have to

I listened to this record coming up to the all important holiday Mother’s Day, and I’m writing this after having spent time with my mother on the day itself. I thought of all she went through to bring me to today. All that she gave, but also in what she’s learned to let me figure out on my own. We ask so much of our parents to find that impossible balance. I am thankful for a mother who did her best.

Wait - I’m reviewing an album. Sorry! Love you mom.

Really though, there is plenty of record after this song, but if those strings on that track don’t carry you towards a blubbering mess, you can listen to the rest of it. If you stop there, it would be a shame, but I’d understand.

This record sneaks up on you, and is worth not only a full listen, but multiple. On hearing this again, I felt the familiar sensation I get when rereading my beloved fantasy novels. There’s meaning revealed with the context of the record in its entirety, easter eggs left for those who came back for more. This quick google search led to me listening to this record 6-7 times in two days. It also led to a reflection on the love I’ve gotten from the ones I care about. Is there much more we can ask of a search engine? I hope not.

Please go listen to this record. I’m glad it found me this week..

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Verse-A-Week 24: Eulogies

I think the moment I declared “Euglogies” finished my brain went into tinker mode. This has been an issue with this song, and but I think a self imposed end made it so any other attempt at a verse would have to be via a stroke of inspiration. The moment for banging my head against a wall and forcing something out had passed for this one. That stroke of inspiration came via a reminder of the Walt Whitman poem “Song of Myself” via a Bob Dylan song “I Contain Multitudes”. In a song where I am trying to show that we are all many things, this felt like another verse to add. I think it will go in the middle.

While Walt Whitman had his multitudes
Some days it feels like you must choose
Whittle away the favorite parts of you
Till there’s nothing left

But you are not a data point
You’re a universe with its own voice
So raise it, brother, it’s your choice
Sing with every breath

I hope you enjoyed this weeks Substack. I’ll see you next week ❤️ - Soren

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Happy May! May this monthly post get you going into spring. We have a concert review from last week, a new verse, my music/podcast/book recs of the month, and a deep dive into 10 ft Tall! The paid monthly posts are sometimes a bit crazy, but I appreciate you all for supporting. Ok on with it!

- Soren

I think I’m at my most annoying when I am early on an artist. I’m definitely one of those smug bastards that loves to point out that “oh yeah, I’ve been listening to these guys forever” or “this is actually their worst record but I get why you like it”. I am well within my rights to pull that shit with these two, but I won’t.

But really - last summer, when I heard that two of my favorite artists were touring together, I was ecstatic. Seeing next that it would be an acoustic tour was even more exciting. Finally, when I started to see clips of them sitting down and trading songs, I was over the moon. I’ve taken part in plenty of songwriter swaps over the years, and this felt exactly like that in the best of ways.

For starters, the show was at the gorgeous State Theater in Minneapolis. Ornate molding spiderwebbed the ceiling, crystal chandeliers reflecting the lights in brilliant sparkle. It was also humongous, totally just north of 2000 seats. The grandiosity of the space gave me pause - how could I expect the intimacy I was looking for with these artists in this space?

For starters, the stage design set the tone. There were two chairs facing the theater, with an array of furniture mixed among the amps and instruments, creating the feel of a living room. The lighting was sparse, limited to lamps and a few flood lights on specific spaces of the stage. We wandered in just as the opener Brennan Wedl was finishing (a grave mistake to be sure), and her standing behind a mic felt a bit out of place amongst the cozy scene. When the show finally started the stage contained 4 people: MJ Lenderman, Waxahatchee, and two accompanists flanking the artists. Stage left stood the key board and banjo, while stage right contained a pedal steel and a myriad of other stringed instruments.

The model became apparent quickly - the two would alternate back and forth with their tunes, stripped down to the skeleton. One would sing lead, while the other would provide harmonies or strum along. The two instrumentalists would provide the sonic interstitial fluid that elevated this from a songwriter’s night at the coffee shop. Not that the songs weren’t capable of that on their own, but in this setting it all felt elevated. From the first notes, it was clear that we were going to be treated to something special.

I’ve seen MJ before, on a one-off bar gig in Eau Claire in the midst of his breakout album tour cycle. While his live sound can skew heavier, flooded in guitars and bar bass, his lyricism invites intimacy. He uses excruciating detail to achieve that closeness, and he loves to get weird with it. Often songwriters will use detail to create vulnerability - they want you to feel like you are going through what they are. Lenderman instead uses detail to confuse. He is descriptive enough to put you right there in the scene, but often leaves you asking “what the fuck is going on?” The opener of the night Manning Fireworks, displays this perfectly.

You’ve opened the Bible in a public place
You’ve opened the Bible to the very first page
And one of these days, it will all end
Your tired approach to original sin

The imagery is vivid, the point is unclear. While a typical Lenderman show would obscure the point further with guitars and low end, tonight’s set up left the songs with nowhere to hide. From the get go, you could tell the crowd (all 2000 seated) immediately leaned in. In presenting it as such, the invitation was clear.

Next, was Waxahatchee, or - in this setting - Katie Crutchfield. I have followed Crutchfield forever, having had a friend put me on to her tunes a decade ago. That said, I’ve never been able to catch a show. Her last two records in particular have checked all my boxes: songcraft, vocal dexterity, storytelling, and power. I was hoping that it wouldn’t get lost in this context. Whereas Lenderman’s idiosyncrasies were laid bare, Crutchfield’s songs felt like they were pushing at the boundaries of the medium. She started her portion of the night with the searing Evil Spawn, which felt like it was ready to soar at all moments. The recklessness, the abandon was right there in your face from the get go:

There ain’t nothing to it, babe
We can roll around in the disarray
In the final act of the good ole days

Instead, of the plodding oddity of Lenderman, we immediately had a swelling of energy in the room. This push and pull had the potential to make the show feel disjointed, but instead the balance came quickly. It helped that the two are frequent collaborators, and the comfort contributing to the other’s song was clear quickly. The idea for the tour likely came from the success of their 2024 duet Right Back To It, a perfect slice of low tempo alt country goodness. The ability to seamlessly collaborate that was demonstrated on that song was a theme for each tune of the night.

It certainly helped that sonically everything was beautiful. Crutchfield’s piercing head voice soared, Lenderman’s nasal low register blended perfectly. The accompaniment shined as well, with the songs offering plenty of space for the two to take a solo or two. This was by no means a shred fest, but rather, really lovely bones to make a body of work on. For being an acoustic show, there was plenty of dynamic range, with the expected powerful moments of the songs still hitting with fervor. That said, the loudest moments of the night were the pops from the crowd after each song finished. It seemed that every song choice was a favorite of some sort. I continually looked at my partner to mouth the words “I love this song”, til the point of embarrassment. I loved all these songs.

I think my favorite part of the night was when the performers themselves got to break out songs that they loved as well. I did not expect this many covers. During the regular set, Crutchfield broke out the GIllian Welch classic “Wrecking Ball”, in what definitely felt like a moment of reverence for the medium. What the two of them were doing that night - a duo acoustic show - had been done plenty of times before and they were aware of the need to recognize that.

After the set ender of the aforementioned Right Back To It, the encore was a continuation of the theme of the songs being at the center of the night. With a wealth of their own songs to draw from, they instead opted to again choose reverence. Iris Dement, Lucinda Williams, a hometown nod to The Jayhawks, and finally Kathleen Edward’s Six O’Clock News. Brennan Wedl joined them for the last 3, and I immediately regretted our traffic on the way to the show. You could tell all 3 of them loved these songs as they sang them. In a night of clever turns of phrase and craft, it felt lovely to end on a note of thanks. This night was ultimately about the song and not the performers, and the encore reflected that.

A friend of mine who was also at the show texted me that she felt inspired to write, and I felt the same. Sometimes the best move for a songwriter is to study the greats, and last Wednesday in Minneapolis certainly was a fun way to do so. Here’s hoping they’re recording these for a release some day so we can all study at home.

5/5 ⭐️

How do you write a song that gets a million streams on Spotify? Get in a room, grab some guitars, and start bullshitting with your friends.

But really - 10 ft Tall hit the 1,000,000 stream milestone this month, which is simultaneously a point of pride and pain. Pride for the sheer wonder of having that many people press play on a song I wrote, pain for the amount of money I was paid for it. Streaming is what it is: it’s an advertisement for folks to hopefully buy your album or come to a show, not a way to sustain artists. We’ve been lucky that it’s worked in that fashion for us, but I know plenty of people where it didn’t translate. Buy music folks.

Anyway, if you told me 10 years ago that 10 ft would be this popular, I would not have believed you. So, for this month’s deep dive, I’m going to do my best to remember where it came from. To read more, become a paid subscriber to this Substack - I’ll send you a handwritten lyric sheet with a year membership. Ok, the rant is over. On to the deep dive!

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Thanks to everyone who joined me at Prine night on Friday! Lovely crowd for a loose, impromptu night. It got me thinking about other tribute nights to do in the future. Dylan is a given. Bruce? It would be challenging but fun. Let me know what songwriter focused tribute night you’d want to see!

This week TCB heads to 2 of Wisconsin’s loveliest theaters, The Stoughton Opera House, and The Bend (in West Bend). The shows since the news dropped have been really charged with emotion but more importantly, fun. I hope to see you out there!

Anyway, here’s this week’s review.

Gillian Welch - Time (The Revelator) (2001)

When i was looking for a record to review this week, I really wanted something new. I think it’s far easier to review something that’s fresh, because history can paint a record differently as you go. I’ve always been fascinated by how a song can instantly transport me in my memory to the first time I heard it, or the first time I understood it. It’s powerful, but also distracting. I had a few hours set aside on Saturday to listen and write a review, so I knew that I needed to opt for something unfamiliar to keep myself on schedule.

I made the mistake of throwing on this record while I was looking for something new, and thankfully, was transported.

Back to our old studio space we used to rent at a warehouse here in Eau Claire. It was 2020, and I was glad for the excuse to isolate. I had just got off the phone with my manager, talking about how we had to cancel 20 dates of our album release tour. Our first album tour with a record deal being pulled out from under us. I was looking at a future without a real answer as to when I could play live music again, and I was not taking it well. Freaking out.

2020 was a year of discovery for me. For 7-8 years I had defined who I was through being able to be in front of folks. I had let that persona I took on during performing, that outsized version of myself, creep in on who I was off the stage. And when there was no stage to stand on I spent a lot of time looking at who the hell I was.

I sought out a lot of sparse, spare recordings in this moment. I was living this inward facing life, seeing just my brother for weeks at a time, and I found companionship in lyrics and books. I would wake up and drive to the studio space. There was a guitar, my childhood piano, and a small couch. I would sit at the piano until I couldn’t play any more, move to the couch, then read until I couldn’t, then repeat. I would mix in records, and would lay on that couch and listen. No scrolling, no nothing. Just sitting (or rather, laying) with it. At one point I bought some dry-erase paint, and turned the walls into my scratch paper, hoping I could make something out of the nothing I was feeling.

I remember hearing this album for the first time in that studio, and immediately needing to write. That’s when I know I love something - if it compels me to make. In fact, I think i’d credit a few songs off Namesake to this record: “Repurposed Frowns”, “April 1st” and “Hallelujah”. Welch has the ability to create worlds in which to live in, and I sought to do the same.

Time (The Revelator)’s world is a quiet, contemplative one, which is likely why it resonated like it did for me at the time. Where 2003’s Soul Journey would embrace the call of Nashville and lift her fame to new heights, Revelator is the deep breath before that decision. It’s almost entirely just Welch and her partner David Rawlings - two acoustic guitars and a mic. It had been done before, but not for a long time, and not by these kind of folks.

The magic of this record is in its patience. There’s no rush to an answer. Every move is considered. In fact, the first song asks for your patience, saying:

Darling, remember when you come to me
I’m the pretender and not what I’m supposed to be
But who could know if I’m a traitor?
Time’s the revelator

Give us some time here, and all will be revealed. Sit down and listen to this with your full attention, and you will find a home in these words.

The accompaniment doesn’t stray too far from the way as the record goes. Rawlings masterful acoustic guitar weaves in and out of Welch’s plodding path, often responding to Welch’s vocal flourishes with shimmering cascades of picking that never feel like a flex, but are. Welch is as revealing as she promises, touching on vulnerability in past relationships (My First Lover), or the longing of the inexperienced (Dear Someone).

My favorite quality of Welch’s is her ability to incorporate the modern with the historical aesthetic of her work. Folk music can lean on the past for its references, and while they are certainly present, they serve to prove a point in the moment. Take April the 14th Part 1, juxtaposing a story about going to a small DIY show in Nashville with two other monumental moments in history that happened on that date: the sinking of the Titanic and the assassination of Lincoln. This song could have easily been heavy handed in it’s comparison of the three. Tragedies all, but Welch carries optimism in the comparison.

Everything Is Free is a singular song - so direct in its assessment of the situation that it could be the focal point of any folk record. Her eulogy for the working musician, the troubadours content to travel the world with their songs, is so sharp but caring. It simultaneously skewers the industry while acknowledging the place of the little guy in it all.

Everything is free now
That’s what they say
Everything I ever done
Gonna give it away
Someone hit the big score
They figured it out
That we’re gonna do it anyway
Even if it doesn’t pay

Hearing this song when I was staring down a future without music certainly could have discouraged me. I think what kept me from that line of thinking was the care in her revelation. Even if I never made another dime making music, I would still do it. It’s not the artist’s fault that the cards are stacked against them. We still love to play the game. Hearing it today, having had a wonderful career and now looking at an uncertain future, its just as comforting as it was then. I’ll be ok with what music gave me if it never gives me anything else. But I know it will.

On any other record, that song would be the centerpiece. But not every record has a 14 minute album closer like I Dream A Highway. Last week I talked about how I loved records with a clear thesis statement in the first song. Welch saves it for the last, and every aspect of her mastery is on display. The arrangements - swelling but simple, never losing your attention over a near quarter of an hour. The patience - drawn out legato phrasing over 11 verses, no rush to the end of the story. 6 minutes in they hang out longer on a verse than they had previously, finding a way to keep you engaged when the entire exercise seems constructed to lull you to peace.

Recently I saw a video of Welch and Rawling’s recent tour to Australia, where a radio station organized a choir to sing this song to her during their stop at the station. Her reaction is priceless and indicative of who she is: she immediately sat down on the floor and took it all in.

I think every songwriter dreams of the ability to hold a crowd this engaged, but I don’t think most realize how you make that happen. To achieve that, you must treat each line like it’s sole purpose is to convince the audience they need to know what’s next. You do that with detail, with patience, with persistence. This song is a gift to the close listener - if you can’t keep up, you won’t get the full picture.

In that way, the whole record is a gift. In asking you to sit still and engage with it quietly, it asks you to set aside everything else. In 2020, that was a lot easier than it is today, but I suggest you do that with this record soon. It will be worth the wait.

5/5 ⭐️

Standout Tracks: Literally every one is a perfect song - but “Everything Is Free”, “Revelator”, and “I Dream A Highway” are masterpieces.

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Verse-A-Week 22: Scaredy Cat

If you listen close, you know that I love using weird words in my songs. I think that it opens up new rhymes, which opens up new stories. In this case, I wanted to use the phrase “scaredy cat”, the most dreaded insult in my elementary years. Hope you like it!

Growing up my best friend lived next to a graveyard
We’d bounce baseballs off the headstones in his backyard
Communing with the dead
Swinging for the fence
You gotta play hard.

Now he’s got two kids
And I’m still seeing ghosts
In the way I can’t show up when he needs me most
It’s been the same since we were young
Wanted to stay but always turned to run
to my getaway car

Scaredy cat
Scaredy cat
I wish you wouldn’t call me that
Too far out on this limb
To ever make it back
Scaredy cat

Hope you dig it! See you next week for the monthly post!

- Soren

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Well, that was a lovely weekend. Two shows in two of my favorite spots, filled with a wealth of friends and fans. We felt very loved this weekend. Thank you.

Then on Sunday I played at a rally for Francesca Hong, the democratic socialist running for governor here in Wisconsin. She’s a force - and I can’t wait to vote for her. As she said - the many can beat the money. The power remains in the people!

Anyway, I’m playing a John Prine tribute show this weekend in Eau Claire. So there was no better time than now for this review.

John Prine - Bruised Orange (1978)

I love it when the first song of a record is a thesis statement. You know - that literary concept your high school English teacher wouldn’t stop talking about? I love it when an artist asserts something about the world and spends the next 45 minutes supporting it.

In my opinion there’s no better example of this than the chorus line of “Fish and Whistle” from John Prine’s Bruised Orange. He comes right out of the gate with this sledgehammer of a line, delivered with a grin:

Father forgive us for what me must do
You forgive us and we’ll forgive you

It’s delivered in his signature style, merrily bouncing along. It would be a disservice to Prine to simply call his approach tongue in cheek. This man sings like he knows the secret to it all and doesn’t wanna share it just yet. The push and pull of his songs is no more evident than a line asking for forgiveness of God, with a caveat that he’ll withhold his own if he’s left hanging. Prine’s genius lies in his ability to lay the literal weight of existence on a line, without it feeling heavy handed.

I am playing a John Prine Tribute show this week in Eau Claire with my friends. When we were claiming our songs for the show, I kept going back to this record, which has been at the front of my thoughts lately due to my friend Simon Cropp. I’ve opined here before about Simon - he’s an Prine acolyte, but his voice is entirely his own. I heard Simon cover this album in February down in Winona with Mike Munson. I of course knew the hits - “Fish and Whistle”, “That’s The Way The World Goes Round”, “Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrow)” - but his treatment of the deeper cuts made me want to look a little closer than I had before.

There’s genius throughout lyrically - that’s what you expect. Prine can talk about anything with a deft touch, shine a light on the dark parts of the world without it feeling cooptive. Take the first verse of “That’s The Way That The World Goes Round”. Has there ever been a funnier verse about domestic violence? Seeing that typed out, I regret saying it. But the humor here avoids making light of the victim. Prine pokes at the perpetrator in a way that leaves no space for a reaction than “Yeah, fuck that guy, and fuck the world that allows this to be normal”. The conversational tone invites you in, but the razor sharp criticism is the take away. The every man quality of Prine in general only serves his goals. He doesn’t have the world class vocal. He doesn’t have the major label shimmer. He’s someone you feel like you know. This could be someone singing from the corner of a bar. When criticism of the world is leveled and passed down from on high, it can stink of elitism. These rebukes are coming from your next door neighbor. You know his heart, and that makes it all hit a little harder.

There’s moments on this record I didn’t expect. Musically there’s so much of the americana sound that you can’t get away from these days - pedal steel, a wet snare. I particularly love the stripped down “If You Don’t Want My Love”. For a fella so associated with word salads, there’s something stark about this simple offering. You know that he’s capable of story in a single line, so when he chooses to repeat it 3 times, it gets more dense as we go along. The middle 8 of this song swells so beautifully, with the vocabulary expanding too, almost like a spigot turned wide. Prine’s saying that he’s sick of holding back - he wants to give his love to someone who will have it.

That’s not to say that this record is entirely without some good old bullshitting. “Aw Heck” has that in spades, the dark humor put on like he’s trying to push the envelope. Who else could have a line about cannibals when they’re talking about the love they have for their woman? One fun thing I noticed was the juxtaposition of a line in this song with another tune I listened to recently - Bruce Springsteen’s title track on Nebraska. They both use the same image - a woman on a man’s lap during an execution via electric chair - but make a different point. Check it out.

On Nebraska, there’s a sense of dissolving, a resignation to his demise.

Sheriff, when the man hits that switch, sir
And snaps my poor head back
You make sure my pretty baby
Is sittin’ right there on my lap

On Aw Heck, the character is happy to be alive, if even for another second or so.

Long as I got my woman
I could get the electric chair for a phony rap
Long as she’s sitting on my lap.

Both are geniuses, but hammer home just how differently that genius can manifest. Bruce’s hand is heavy, Prine’s is floating. But the key to being able to do both is humanity. These two have an understanding of the world because they live in it.

If my English teacher were here, she’d be reminding me to restate my thesis in the conclusion, so here goes. Prine is a genius because he can talk about it all without talking down to you. This man is a genius, the Mark Twain of folk music, yet he remains approachable as ever. The strokes in which he paints encompass the entirety of humanity, but feel like something you’d want on your fridge. We were lucky to live in the same time as he did, and we’re lucky to have these recordings for the rest of eternity.

See you at the show ❤️

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Verse-A-Week 21: Eulogies

As you all know, I’ve been chipping away at this. The weight of the first two lines here has weighed on me, and I’ve been very conscious of wanting to make the whole song feel that way. It’s been a big ask, and admittedly very hard. I have decided that this will live as it is, not necesarily as I want it to. We’re fluid - if something else comes, I’ll add. But this one feels very nice right now with these two stanzas. Hope you like it.

Kept it together through the eulogy
Then I cried all through that best man speech
See that’s the thing about human beings
They come and they go
We can fall apart so easily
Or come together so haphazardly
When we worry how it has to be
The cracks start to show

If you’re holding me up to the light
I hope you find something you like
I never had nothing to hide

Facists hide behind a crucifix
Label dead moms domestic terrorists
Yes - the world shows you an opposite
And asks you to believe
But in the same way there’s a little kid
Who hasn’t learned just yet that hate exists
So if that makes me an optimist
I still want to believe

If you’re holding us up to the light
I know you’ll find something you like
We never had nothing to hide

Let me know what you think :)

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