Dense harmonies and insightful words make this a “why haven’t I heard them before” album.

Fruition say that “this album is the culmination of almost two decades of making music. We set out to show the world what we’ve learned along the way, both musically and personally, but perhaps more importantly, the album makes a point to be honest about the things we’ve had to UNLEARN. So, while experience may have helped guide us through the recording process, the truth of this album is found in kicking old habits, letting go of control, interrogating our motives and approaching each session with fearless, open hearts.”

Produced by Tucker Martine, one of those producers who almost has a sound of their own, and indeed the band credit him as “became our sixth member as the producer and dream-actualizer” of Something More. They use words like “genre-bending” and “melting pot” to describe their sound. The opening song, Compass, manifests as an acoustic soul-pop song, drawing an emotional vocal from Kellen Asebroek. Following that, we have the more country-based Oh Well, this time written and sung by Jay Cobb Anderson, whose pedal steel also dominates the song. Miriam Naja gives us Matters Of the Heart, which features her vocals and electric guitar and is more country-rock with a bite. As a new listener to Fruition’s music, this suggests that they are a vehicle for the 3 songwriters individually, possibly at the expense of a clear band identity.

Asebroek’s How Does it Feel is where the harmonies start to really come together, shades of Fleet Foxes’ first album. The electric piano and languid tempo suggest another Portland band, The Delines, and Martine allows the music and harmonies to drift together, producing a wall of sound that reflects the theme of feeling trapped in life and wanting to make changes but not knowing how to. Naja approaches a similar theme in Forward: “Lately I’ve been swimming in all the things that could have been. And it’s holding me back from moving forward.” Anderson’s electric slide guitar solo adds a spiky counterpoint to the words.

The Asebrook, Anderson, Naja order of the first six songs does make the album sound like a songwriting competition at times, as all three have very distinctive styles. When that sequence is broken with Anderson’s I’m Not Afraid, the band’s identity becomes clearer. A driving indie tune with duelling guitars and high-energy drums from Tyler Thompson, it is the point at which their assertion that “songwriting took place during collaborative sessions” as it’s clear Naja had a big hand in the writing. The vocal showcase of the album’s title song is where Shwan Apley’s Cello is shown off to best effect.

The brass additions to Somewhere Down The Line enhance the soulful strand to Fruition’s sound. Bass player Jeff Leonard pushes the song forward with a Motown lick, and Miriam Naja adds a little wry humour to the lyrics. After a few listens, this is the song that becomes most anticipated. It slides into the only co-write on the album, By Now, where all three singers join together across the song. The harmonies are what set Fruition apart and where their core band identity sits. The guitars of Naja and Anderson fill up the sound once again as the song closes in a squall of feedback. After that, All Over is something of a palette cleanser, a simple drum machine and acoustic guitar tune.

If this album has a problem, it is in the sequencing; lumping the more “indie” songs in the later third of the album gives the earlier part a less distinctive band sound than it might have had if one of the more punchy songs had been moved up to provide an “ooh what’s this” moment. It’s possible to imagine listeners looking for a bit more grit, listening with finger poised over the skip button. That would be a shame because this is a really good album, and certainly a point to go and investigate the 20 years of Fruition’s music that you may have missed.

Liverpool singer-songwriter John Jenkins and is one of our “most compelling voices in folk, Americana, and country,” as his press accurately describes him. Having seen him play live with his regular musical partner, Pippa Murdie, in a pub in Bath some time ago, I can understand where the inspiration for this story came from. John tells us that his ideal image to go with this would be of Willie Nelson queuing up to see a Willie Nelson tribute artist. You can find his latest song, Too Many Roads, at the bottom of the story.

Just One of Those Nights
by John Jenkins

One of these days, I’ll get around to telling my story, the whole sweep of my life experiences. I won’t be telling it because I’m famous. I’m not. Am I known? Not really. So why burden anyone with the story of my life? A relatively unknown music artist, and more to the point, who would read it?

Well, I’ll answer the last question first. You may read it, as you’re reading these words right now, this very minute. Which goes to show that something I’ve written can find its way into the hands of the most obscure people. Don’t take that last bit personally, by the way.

So why write it? Well, I’m a writer, a songwriter first, and writing is what I do. “Three chords and the truth,” they say over here in Nashville. I know about ten chords myself, so sometimes the truth and imagination can blur.

It’s a strange old life, being in the music business, especially as an Americana singer-songwriter. For a start, I’ve never been any good at explaining what Americana actually is. People ask, I stumble through a description, and they look at me as if I’ve just tried to explain the NFL rulebook to a houseplant. Truthfully, they wouldn’t care even if I could explain it. Being a performer is a life of highs and lows. The lows are low enough to make you consider calling it quits, and the highs, when they do arrive, are just bright enough to convince you it’s all worthwhile. I like to tell people it’s “an even field,” but if I’m honest, my field slopes gently toward the sadder end of the scale.

I tell this story at shows, and it always gets a laugh, though I wish it weren’t true. Once, I put ten CDs out on the merch table. When the show was over, there were eleven. I still don’t know whether I miscounted at the start or whether someone quietly returned one they’d bought earlier out of pity. Either way, it’s not the sort of thing that builds confidence.

Confidence is a strange beast. I’m brave enough to put myself forward for events and opening slots, but the non-replies, the polite promises that never materialise, they chip away at whatever confidence I’ve managed to gather. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard, “Oh yes, Matt, I’ve got you down for a future spot,” only to never hear another word. Even musical friends who get bookings easily, the sort you’d imagine might think of me for an opening gig, never seem to send anything my way.

Am I lousy? Am I good? I like to think I’m pretty decent, but not everyone is honest. Occasionally someone will say, “That was wonderful,” or “Your songs are super,” and I cling to those moments. Then there was the time a friend held one of those “special” shows, an album launch, or perhaps a celebration of being sober for a month. He invited practically every mutual musician friend to play. Except me. Then he told the audience, “I was going to get Matt up, but he can’t sing.” Everyone laughed. I laughed too, though I felt like crying. He’s still wondering who cut his guitar strings later that night. You’d think he’d have guessed.

Every now and then someone tells me my voice is wonderful, and it confuses me all over again.
I went to see Shelby Breeden at a new venue just down the road from Henson County train station.
It’s called The Falls, and it’s a great place. I had the usual pointless conversation with the owner.

Me: I’m a singer. Here’s my card. Any chance of a gig? Him: How many followers have you? Me: In
Henson County? I don’t know. Him: Don’t know? You need a following before I can give you a gig.
Me: How do I get a following if no one will let me play here so people can decide they want to
follow me? Him: That’s your problem.

And off he went to restock the beer cooler. I stood there with no gig and no beer.

My buddy Dan, who loves young female country singers with a twang in their voice, just smiled at
my determination. “I don’t know why you bother,” he said. “They only want young, pretty girls in
cowboy hats and boots. You don’t fit the job description, the unwritten one.”
“But what if I were Willie Nelson?” I asked, still eyeing the beer cooler hopefully.
“Willie Nelson wouldn’t get a gig if he were starting out now,” Dan said. “Maybe in a nursing home,
but he’d have to play songs they knew.”

I pondered this. Would they remember the songs? He’d only need to play one all day. Dan was right.
If Willie Nelson were ‘Bob Stewart’ and wanted a gig at The Falls, he’d struggle. Good job he started
seventy years ago.

I know I come across as getting the short end of the stick, but it’s difficult not to. I’m a glass-half-empty
empty kind of guy, and this business seems designed for the glass-half-full crowd.
We performers can play to an empty room and wonder why no one will pay five dollars to hear
original songs. Meanwhile, some half-assed tribute band sells out every night. You imagine a
Fleetwood Mac tribute would pack the place, but if the real Fleetwood Mac were starting out today,
no one would pay five dollars to see them.

“I doubt it,” Dan said. “They’d probably be doing boring blues instrumentals.”
He can be sarcastic, that Dan. If he were a guitarist, I’d cut his strings too.
“There’s no spirit of adventure,” I rambled. “People don’t want to hear new music.”
“They need to know the songs,” Dan replied.
He says I’m a whiner, and maybe he’s right.
“Is it wrong to play only original songs and no covers?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “They need something familiar.”
“If they came back a second or third time, they’d know my songs,” I muttered, though with less
conviction than before. The beer cooler was finally restocked, so we shut up.

Not all my friends follow Americana or country or folk. One friend, Cal, who moonlights as a rodeo
rider, loves Steely Dan and Joni Mitchell.
“But Joni is Americana, Cal,” I said. “No she isn’t,” he replied.

He loves good lyrics and appreciates that Nashville writers care about words; though not,
apparently, about chords.
“C, F and G have a lot of mileage,” I told him. I don’t know why we discuss music; he hates
Springsteen and the Beatles, which should disqualify him from any musical conversation.
Ben, who loves Joni, tells me not to worry if Cal doesn’t like my new songs. “I’d be more worried if
he did,” he says.

So the three of us were out one night at a bar downtown. There was one of those writers’ round
events, four people doing a song each. Ben was already halfway to oblivion; I can’t remember the
last time I saw him sober. Cal wore his signature cowboy hat and shirt. I, meanwhile, am a man who
tolerates his reflection but hates his selfies. I have no signature look. I’ve tried hats, caps, suits, shirts
tucked in, shirts untucked hanging down near my knees; I still feel like an impostor.

Since COVID, I wear glasses instead of contacts. Once, at a gig, I wore sunglasses. I wanted to look
cool. I played a new song, and because I needed the lyrics and chords in front of me, halfway
through verse one, I realised I couldn’t read a thing. I had to stop mid-song and run backstage to
change my glasses. Totally unprofessional. I apologised afterwards, though the audience had
switched off after my first song, so fortunately no one noticed.

I could relate the rest of our night’s misadventures, as they seem fairly typical of my music nights,
but I’ll save that for another time… if you want. One thing I will say is that I went home that night
with a spring in my step, and it wasn’t just the beers giving me light feet.

Despite all my moaning about the industry, I got a message from Brent Brenton; you may
remember he was the songwriter who won Grammys four years in a row for his songs. Somehow,
on social media, I’d been listed as one of his top fans, and as this appeared on both my profile and
his, he messaged me to thank me for being so loyal. Completely out of the blue, too, as I was
flicking through my phone whilst, er… watching the support act.

Yes, I’m terribly guilty of being one of those people who endlessly scrolls through his phone when
he should be focused on the artists performing in front of him. I might actually learn something if I
did.

Out of the blue, as I’ve said, he got in touch to say, “Thank you for your loyalty.” I thanked
him for thanking me, he thanked me for thanking him for thanking me, and so on. Somewhere in
the exchange I must have mentioned that I’m a songwriter and performer, and he came back later
saying he’d check me out.

As the beer flowed, I got more adventurous, and in a fit of madness I asked if he fancied writing a
song together. By closing time, he’d replied: “Yeah. I’ll get my manager to contact you over the next
few days to set something up.”

Dan was impressed, the barman was impressed, the manager was impressed, the performers were
impressed. Everyone I spoke to was impressed. Yes, I had boastingly passed around my saved
screenshot to everyone with a pulse in the venue. Walking home, I had a very high opinion of
myself. The glass was now half full.

It didn’t take long to bounce back to earth, though. Brent Brenton put out a message saying his
social media had been hijacked, and fraudsters had been pretending to be him.
Life goes on. I’m still here, trying, waiting for the next misadventure, looking to get my glass half
full again.

Stunning traditional songwriting on instant folk classic.

This is the second full-length release by singer-songwriter David Coller this year. His first, When Summer Comes, was given a glowing write-up in these pages, and now comes Blue Water, which is shot through with maritime influences: hardly surprising, as Coller has spent a very significant time on his own schooner, which he has recently given up. So this is something of a requiem as well as a celebration of all things sea-connected. 

The album is wholeheartedly in the folk genre; the production is naturalistic and light of touch, mostly based around Coller’s own guitar and vocals, with some really stunning harmonies from his life partner Diane Chodkowski (herself a long-time doyen of the folk scene). There are some lovely additional instrumental touches when they are needed, though, with hammered dulcimer, fiddle, accordion, pedal steel, drums, and producer Mark Dann joining on bass, too. 

This is a record full of beautifully crafted songs, some of which sound like standards already. All bear repeat listens. Indeed, this is a collection that begs for the old-fashioned concept of listening to in full and in order, as the artist intended.

The Rigger’s Apprentice could have emerged from the Ewan MacColl songbook, with a shanty-feel padded out with full storytelling. Roseanna treads similar ground, but this time with a lullaby feel. It is not the only song that sounds like an actual traditional song, a tribute to Coller’s knowledge of the form, and ability to bend it to his own songwriting shape. 

Let Your Love Roll Easy, the heartbreaking lost-love narrative of Love On A Lee Shore and the absolutely captivating Just Another Day have more of a gentle, country songwriting feel to them; think Kate Wolfe, Bill Staines or Nanci Griffith, and you won’t be far away. Diggin’ For Clams and We’re Sinking demonstrate a nice sense of humour, shading the light and dark into the album’s feel. 

So, if the likes of Wolfe, Staines, Tom Paxton, or Pete Seeger are mentioned, it is only to give the idea of what you might hear, but Coller is no one’s copyist. He has composed an album full of wonderful, timeless songs that could have appeared any time over many previous decades, even previous centuries in some cases. The understated production means you could easily imagine sitting in the corner of a folk club and hearing them delivered with pure intention, just the songs and the connections, with no musical smoke and mirrors. This is a lovely record for those who like their music to be equal parts soothing, thoughtful, truthful, and unadulterated. 

Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band’s Land of Hope and Dreams American Tour, called by Time Magazine –  “one of the most unflinching acts of musical resistance in the nation’s history”, has released an official video featuring in sequence from the first seven songs of the tour’s Philadelphia finale. The 30th of May show was filmed in its entirety and is planned for release in three additional, in-sequence segments through the end of the year. The release is streaming free on most platforms and below, and is in memory of Dave Marsh.

The film “Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band: Land of Hope and Dreams American Tour (Philadelphia Freedom Cut)”  (snappy title there Bruce!) is available now, and features performances of Born in the U.S.A., Death to My Hometown, No Surrender and Darkness on the Edge of Town alongside covers of the Motown classic War”(written by Barrett Strong and Norman Whitfield) and The Clash’s Clampdown.

“I’m thrilled to be releasing our final show from the Land of Hope and Dreams American Tour — recorded in the birthplace of American freedom, Philadelphia, USA,” said Springsteen. “On the tour, we rocked the house from one end of the country to the other and, while we were at it, we spoke up everywhere in defense of our Constitution, our Bill of Rights, and our sacred democracy — which are under attack by a lawless President and his regime. It’s all captured on our Philadelphia Freedom Cut — hope you enjoy it.”

Musicians on stage included the E Street Band’s Roy Bittan (piano, synthesiser), Nils Lofgren (guitar, vocals), Garry Tallent (bass guitar), Stevie Van Zandt (guitar, vocals) and Max Weinberg (drums) with Soozie Tyrell (violin, guitar, vocals), Jake Clemons (saxophone), and Charlie Giordano (organ, keyboards, accordion). They were joined by The E Street Horns and Percussion (Anthony Almonte, Barry Danielian, Eddie Manion, Ozzie Melendez, Curt Ramm) and The E Street Choir (Ada Dyer, Curtis King, Lisa Lowell, Michelle Moore). Tom Morello performed with Springsteen and the E Street Band for each of the tour’s 20 shows as a special guest.

The film is directed by Chris Hilson and Thom Zimny, edited by Zimny and Sam Shapiro, and produced by Bruce Springsteen, Jon Landau, Zimny and Adrienne Gerard. Sound was mixed by Jon Altschiller and recorded by John Cooper, with lighting design by Jeff Ravitz and Todd Ricci.

“Land of Hope and Dreams American Tour” tracklisting:

1. War
2. Born in the U.S.A.
3. Death to My Hometown
4. Clampdown
5. No Surrender
6. Darkness on the Edge of Town
7. Streets of Minneapolis

MF Tomlinson’s new EP would place him at odds with Ben Rumson, who famously claimed to be born beneath a planet, and asked the rhetorical question “Do you know where hell is ?”  By comparison Tomlinson would like it to be known that in his opinion Heaven Is Other People.  It’s an attitude he’s willing to back up saying “Sometimes the power of a song is to reach for meaning words cannot access. At other times it’s a gift that lets you name something profound – so simply – that it feels effortless. It’s too easy to forget in the cynicism of our day-to-day that it’s people who make our lives what they are, and people that we will see in our dreams.”  Speaking specifically to today’s song, he add that “My experience of becoming a parent has all been quite unexpected.  Having something so powerfully and wholly wonderful and good in my world that just blows all the fears that used to monopolise my time away. I’ve got something better to live for now – now, I am free.”

Heaven Is Other People is Tomlinson’s first body of work since completing a remarkable self-produced album trilogy with 2025’s Die To Wake Up From A Dream.  Written following the birth of his first child and recorded during impromptu sessions at his studio in Poplar, London, Tomlinson describes Heaven Is Other People as “a collection of lo-fi gestural pieces on human connection“.   On the EP he is joined by regular collaborators (the “MFs”): Ed Grimshaw (drums), Ben Manning (bass), Gail Tasker (flute) and Kayvon Nabijou (keys and saxophone).

There’s a wonderful energy and an infectious positivity in the new single from Anna Moon & The Stars. Oh my God! It’s a resurrection full of warm, swirling melody, reminiscent of the immersive tunefulness of The War on Drugs. Paul Doyle’s fast-paced drums and Lucky Diaz’s rapid strum contrast with sustained notes, creating hypnotic, absorbing layers of sound. Over the top, Moon’s joyful performance and dynamism are transmitted to us, and we are swept along.

This is an anthemic song that soars, documenting the transformative moment when a healing process takes you beyond just survival, and you become someone entirely new. Moon explains: “Oh my God! It’s a resurrection, was the last song I wrote for the record, and in many ways it unlocked what the album had been trying to say all along. The moment we finished it, I knew the album already had its title. Sometimes healing feels a lot like dying before it starts to feel like freedom. This song is about realising you’re still standing and you’re better than ever.”

This is the title track from Anna Moon’s debut album, which is due for release on 18th September 2026. Although it was the final song written for the album, it is clearly the emotional heart of the collection, a song that charts personal growth and change and celebrates finding the strength to move on. The songs were inspired by a solo trip through the American Southwest that fuelled Moon’s music: “I wanted to make a record that I’d listen to over and over again,” Anna says. “Life is heartbreaking, beautiful, messy, and miraculous all at once. This album embraces all of it.” This is music that lifts you up and flies with you, music to be played on long drives, blasting from open windows. Enjoy.

The Man from Another Time tackles modern-day America with hope and fury.

Veteran producer and singer-songwriter Seasick Steve requires no real introduction. A journeying musician for over five decades, a producer for bands like Modest Mouse and an established name on the scene since his 2006 breakthrough at Jools Holland’s Hootenanny, which brought him worldwide fame, Steve has been steadily releasing record after record. His last release was 2024’s A Trip A Stumble A Fall Down On Your Knees.

This year, the man who is consistently billed as someone out of a distant past, a long-bearded, denim-covered, train-hopping heartland past, has his sights steadily aimed at the present and the future with The Last Season of America. And while you might not have known exactly what to expect, on the eponymous opening track the indictment is clear:

“It’s the last season of America/And we’ll never watch again/The show that we loved/And there’ll be no reruns/All the sponsors have gone home/They’re shutting the whole thing down/All that’s left is the theme song.”

The tone is mournful, a foray into acoustic balladry that occasionally stumbles over its own words, but it shows that though he’s been away from the US for quite a long time since a move to Norway in 2001, Steve is still watching the show back home, and he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. The album’s second track, Bad Things, kicks things into overdrive with backwards guitar solos and a funky rhythm guitar, but if you had any doubts about just what it is that Steve doesn’t like about modern-day America, well, this should make it clear:

“we got a criminal/running this place/he got lies/written all over his face/all he wants/is just to divide/he don’t care /if our country live or die/ as long as the money keeps rolling/up to the rich /a keep rolling/without a hitch/i’m gonna sing/bad things”

The tracklist then swerves into more familiar territory: if you were expecting makeshift-guitar rompers, then you bet you’ll get them. Above Ground Boogie is a slow-building, fuzz-drenched, bad-to-the-core paean to life: “Another day above ground and it’s good“; and yes it is, Steve. It’s good.

But there’s more acoustic material, a foray into surf rock with Surf’s Flat, the hellraising Somebody, and the last track of the album, Feel the Sun, which puts Steve’s previous harangues into perspective to the tune of a hard-to-resist riff: “we got the power/to change the writing/yeah on the wall/it’s in our hands/yeah whether evil/gonna rise or fall/so don’t lose your faith/it is the night/but the dawn gonna come” From someone whose mysterious background points to a life lived at just about every level, these are words to remember.

All in all, a range of styles and emotions in an album that heralds a death that’s only a new beginning; a night that’s at its darkest just before a new and better dawn.

The excitement was almost tangible amidst the rather irregular queue that had formed early outside the entrance to The Chapel, upstairs at The Angel Microbrewery in Nottingham, for the return to the city of possibly Austin, Texas finest contribution to the Americana music scene in a very long time. Thanks to the tireless work of promoter James Windsor and his team at Cosmic American Music, tonight’s headline act was Carson McHone; across in the UK, for a handful of shows promoting her most recent album Pentimento, that came out last year to rave reviews across the music press, with words such as “dazzling”, “career-defining” and “truly special” being used to describe a body of work that to these ears was most definetly album of the year. Of course, receiving such plaudits is nothing new for Mchone, with her sophomore album Carousel named by Rolling Stone Magazine as one of the 40 Best Country and Americana Albums of 2018, while her following album Still Life received a whopping 9/10 from these very pages.

Tonight, Mchone was accompanied by a quartet of musicians, including two members of the band Hollow Hand: Max Kinghorn-Mills on guitar and bassist Leo Clarke, whose own fourth album Wish Road South was only hours away from release. Alongside them was Chris Boot on drums and Fliss Horrocks on harmonium and backing vocals, who, in company with Mchone, all managed to successfully take their place on the relatively small stage here at The Chapel, without knocking any of the instruments or microphones over. However, a good level of flexibility, not to mention sobriety, was clearly an asset.

Everyone in place, Mchone opened the evening proceedings with a cover version, the only one of the night, and a rather obscure one at that, with The Circle Is Unbroken, which first appeared as the closing track on the 1968 album Wee Tam and the Big Huge by The Incredible String Band, but here in the hands of Mchone and her bandmates delivered with a different level of intensity as it ran almost seamlessly into the infectious bryds-esque jangling guitars of Downhill, the first of seven songs to be performed from her latest album. Two tracks from the Still Life album followed, with the atmospheric Spoil on the Vine preceding the hypnotism of the title track. At this point, one became aware of the subtle variation in the arrangement of the last two tracks, compared with the album versions, with additional musical layers accompanying the dual distortion of the electric guitars, creating an indie vibe more in keeping with the newest release. One could rightfully argue that the album Still Life was very much a musical stepping point, connecting to both the more familiar country and folk influence of Carousel as well as the broader musical palette of Pentimento. Interestingly, the accurate meaning of pentimento is “a visible trace of earlier painting beneath a layer, or layers of paint on a canvas”, which perfectly matches the album’s countless musical touchstones whilst using both time and space as creative tools to sculpt something truly unique.

The fruits of that labour were experienced in greatest depth during the next twenty minutes as Mchone and her musical partners for the evening delivered four songs from the latest album back-to-back, starting with Idiom, a song infused with the dark overtones of old folksongs and an angelic, almost hymnal chorus. The brooding opening guitar riffs of The Canvas again offer the perfect juxtaposition to Mchone’s ethereal vocal delivery, which extends into Vision in the Verse, a song that adopts a greater intensity in this live setting.

From here, the set list took us back to the Still Life album and End of the World, featuring some delightful accompaniment from Horrocks on the harmonium, while Folk Song teases with its familiar melody and reflective narrative that feels both timeless and of its time. In between, the opening song from Pentimento, Winter Breaking, gently increases the tempo and sees Mchone pick up the tambourine on a song that gradually builds to a crescendo with some deft guitar support from Kinghorn-Mills, while the harmonica is the instrument of choice for Mchone on Fruits Of My Tending, with its almost pastoral beginnings, Mchone singing, eyes tightly closed, before the song morphs into an almost grunge fest of distorted guitars and intricate rhythmic support.

There was time for one more song, with the rocking Someone Else inducing the audience into a mix of shuffling feet, swaying bodies and nodding heads, before the final notes from the band were met with a raucous response demanding an encore that was rewarded with a fabulous rendition of Hawk’s Don’t Share that opened up the Still Life album. Here again, Mchone held the crowd in the palm of her hand, as she had done for most of the show, her relaxed between-song interaction feeling much like a conversation with old friends, and in truth for many in the congregation this was a return visit, and one I am sure they will be keen to make again and again, every time Mchone returns to these shores.

There was a sense this evening that proof was delivered, if in fact it were needed, that Carson Mchone is the real deal. Whether with her sublime multi-faceted musical creation or her mesmerising performances, she is ushering in a new dawn for the Americana music genre, and I, for one, can’t wait to see what she does next.

Josh Rouse has signed to New West Records and will release his label debut, Museums and Women, on October 23rd. The 10-song set was produced by Brad Jones, who also produced Rouse’s critically acclaimed 2003 album 1972. The album promises to showcase Rouse at his most hopeful and romantic, balancing casual poetry and wry humour in equal measure as he conjures up a cast full of drifters and dreamers moving through life with quiet satisfaction. Rouse says, “I was drawn to these songs because they’re so observational. They’re full of characters and stories I dreamed up from little moments that sparked my imagination on the road. At the end of the day, though, it’s inevitable that I’m in there somewhere, too.”

The sessions for the album were quick and apparently raw, with Rouse on guitar, Jones on bass, and Fred Eltringham (Sheryl Crow, The Chicks) on drums. The trio would record live in the morning, cutting multiple songs in a row before returning in the afternoon to complete overdubs while the music was still fresh and new. “At a certain point, Brad had this folder full of recordings on his desktop, and he asked me what to call it,” Rouse remembers. “I suggested Museums and Women because it was the name of a John Updike book I’d always loved, and it just felt right for the kind of stories I was telling.”

Rouse first emerged with his 1998 debut, Dressed Up Like Nebraska, and in the years to come, he would go on to release thirteen more critically acclaimed albums, homing in on a distinctive, warm, ruminative sound that fused elements of vintage folk and roots rock. Q Magazine called his 2003 release, 1972, “the most intimate record of the year,” while Rolling Stone dubbed his follow-up, Nashville, “a landmark album.”

After moving to Spain, where he lived for a little more than a decade, Rouse won a Goya (the Spanish equivalent of an Oscar) for his song Do You Really Want To Be In Love, and since returning to Nashville in 2018 with his wife and children, he has continued to tour and record at a relentless clip, performing everywhere from Glastonbury to Massey Hall.

Rouse will launch his tour in support of the album in Los Angeles on October 14th, supporting Peter Bjorn and John; alas, no confirmed UK/EU dates as yet, but Josh is talking to Keith Hargreaves on the AUK Podcast soon and may well spill the beans then. Watch out for further announcements!

Museums and Women will be available across digital platforms, compact disc, and standard black vinyl. A limited Cream White colour vinyl edition and a limited compact disc edition, both autographed by Rouse, will be available at Independent Retailers and are also available for pre-order here.

“Museums and Women” Track Listing:
1. Spring
2. January Sky
3. Parnell Street
4. Short-Order Cook
5. Wanderlust
6. Things Are Looking Up
7. Museums & Women
8. Sunday in the Country
9. Other Side of the Tracks
10. Red Apple Road

A mature, accomplished and timeless debut.

A songwriter for artistes such as Levon Helm and Rhiannon Giddens, Laurelyn Dossett makes a long-overdue step towards the spotlight in releasing her debut album, How Many Moons? produced by Hiss Golden Messenger’s MC Taylor.

Dossett assembled a collection of North Carolina and regional players to help her deliver her solo debut. Players include the aforementioned Rhiannon Giddens, who sings and plays banjo on Dossett’s take on her own Anna Lee. There’s also Charly Lowry, artist and activist who lends her vocals to The Vision And The Call; Stephanie Coleman, a Brooklyn fiddler and musical partner of Nora Brown, who’s worked with everyone from Rhiannon Giddens and Aoife O’Donovan to Béla Fleck; DaShawn Hickman, whose pedal steel skills have featured on America’s Got Talent; jazz/folk bassist Jason Sypher, whose list of notables includes Irma Thomas, Kermit Ruffins, and Clarence Gatemouth Brown, among many others; drummer Nick Falk (Molly Tuttle, The Wood Brothers, CAAMP and Hiss Golden Messenger); Riley Baugus (Willie Nelson, Alison Kraus and Robert Plant) and producer Taylor, who pitches in on acoustic/electric guitars and mandolin.

Opening track The Vision and the Call features urgent, riffing Cajun-style fiddle before Dossett’s take on the standard Anna Lee, where vocally she embodies the spirit and vocal timbre of Nanci Griffith, with Giddens underscoring with a richer, deeper vocal line.

The Nanci Griffith vocal and melodic comparisons are further strengthened on War, West Virginia, which inhabits a similar worldview of observation, expanding the individual to the universal. The title track then leaps into view; How Many Moons? is a fast two-stepper with soaring fiddle breaks and has the rhythmic push of a Cajun dancehall, before the contrasting The River’s Lament slows the tempo with its greasy Daniel Lanois-ish swampy story of “a love gone wrong”.

The Mark of Kith and Kin “scars without and scars within” stays in Emmylou Harris Wrecking Ball territory, adding gentle woodwind into the sonic mix. The motif of flowing water is then resumed on the late-night jazz of Run to the River, and the tempo remains in relaxed and reflective mood with the soulful confessional of Believe Me.

The sprightlier The Year of the Perfect Garden adds pastoral metaphor and harmonica to the musical and lyrical palette. It’s then followed by the deep south bluesy wail of Tomorrow I Won’t Remember and the jaunty and catchy You and the Moon with its emotive descending runs. Closing track Glory Glory is more downbeat than its title suggests, with its minor key shifts and reflections on the natural world before the title’s mantra is repeated into the gospel-ish birdsong fade.

Laurelyn Dossett, despite being an experienced player and songwriter, has bided her time in releasing her debut, but it’s definitely been worth the wait. The comparisons with Nanci Griffith are striking, but that’s no bad thing at all. This is mature, accomplished and timeless work.