The Musical Divide

Photo credit: Brooke Stevens

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And now, my final list of the year – a celebration of the albums that provided the soundtrack to my 2023, and got me through a very weird year. As with my list of favorite songs of the year, I’m going to take a different approach from my traditional top 25 ranking of albums that I’ve done in prior years. But it won’t quite follow the same month-to-month recap that my list of favorite songs did. Instead, the following albums are going to be discussed within separate categories, tethered by certain philosophical attributes, as well as just together by standing as my favorite listening experiences of the year. This way, I’m talking about them as I experienced them on their own and in relation to others, showing how good music connects in various ways without having to turn it into a competition. Like with my list of favorite songs, that’s allowed for a slight expansion this year, with a total of 31 albums featured here.

Really, part of the reason behind this transition – beyond just needing to find a more suitable alternative in the coming years – is because I just found it hard to rank my favorites this year anyway. I wouldn’t call 2023 so much scattered as I would oddly lopsided, featuring a very quiet first half that opened the floodgates for a very packed second half. I also feel like there was a greater distinction between excellent individual standalone songs this year and albums that worked as a complete package; there may be some surprises here in that regard, compared to that aforementioned list of favorite songs of the year.

Now, for those who prefer the traditional ranking system, I will still have my top 5 ranked at the end of this piece. But again, I just couldn’t rank them beyond that this year (no matter how hard I tried). That’s enough blabbering for now, though. Let’s get started!

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Better With Time

A category for albums that grew on me over the course of the year, and reward repeated listens.

We’re starting with perhaps the most complicated category, in that these are the albums that I initially loved, then somewhat forgot about, only to roar back around in their favor by the end of the year. And the first album I want to highlight in that regard is Dierks Bentley’s Gravel & Gold (Favorite songs: “Walking Each Other Home,” “All the Right Places,” “Cowboy Boots” (feat. Ashley McBryde). I’ll admit to shortchanging Bentley in general this year, and I don’t quite know why. During the height of the bro-country movement, he was one of very few mainstream artists pumping out quality material, even if he’s always taken a smartly pragmatic approach to reaching comfortable star status.

Maybe that’s why he’s just sort of faded into the background over time as the genre continues to improve and he stays in somewhat comfortable territory. Then again, he’s also 20 years into the game – no small feat in itself – and in many ways, I’d say Gravel & Gold is his best studio album since Riser, an album anchored in more acoustic-driven, neotraditional and bluegrass-inspired tones that also marked his 2000s albums to great degrees. And that gives way to an album that’s overall very enjoyable and breezy, tempered with writing that can also carry the weight of maturity and a sense of contentment on its best moments as Bentley finds solace in Colorado. I admit it faded on me over the course of the year, but the warm, natural rollick on display definitely makes this an underrated album of the year; I’m glad I went back to it.

Speaking of acts with long-established histories I do quite like, Sundy Best released their great comeback album this year, with Feel Good Country (Favorite tracks: “Bad Imagination,” “Escapee,” “Walk By Faith”). This is another case where I was somewhat conflicted, as while I was thrilled these guys were back, I did miss some of the zany, hangdog charm of their earlier releases when listening to this one. Then again, when you factor in the natural passage of time, that’s part of the point with Feel Good Country, as outside of the goofy opening track, it’s a more mature, settled affair that feels good based on how relaxed and easygoing it is overall. It’s a lighter, more acoustic-driven affair with plenty of fiddle and gentle keys augmenting the mix that can almost sound a bit tired and underwhelming at first … until this band’s signature cajon adds a lot of subtle but pulsating momentum to the mix, and until you notice the excellent writing on display, with a settled focus on fatherhood and a grounded perspective on togetherness. Kind of a fitting way to mark a comeback, now that I think about it.

Similarly, that sense of growth and maturity is also what I really like about Luke Combs’ latest effort, Gettin’ Old (Favorite tracks: “Where the Wild Things Are,” “Joe,” “Fast Car”). Sure, it runs way too long – as do most albums this year –  but it also shows him aging gracefully with his music, and in a way where he’s still at his commercial peak, no less; most artists don’t reach that point until after the hits have faded, and even then, it’s rare that they actually ever accept it. Even with that in mind, Combs lives up to the title in a way that still sounds like a fresh step forward for him, in a way where he can still push very middle-of-the-road ideas and sounds to the forefront, but in a way that can be genuinely earnest and heartfelt, too – even damn-near potent with some of his best-ever songs to date. And when combined with a lot of great, rollicking neotraditional flair and more fun pivots than one might otherwise expect, this became a real grower over the course of the year for me.

The last album I’m going to highlight for this category isn’t so much an album that had to take much time to grow on me – I’ll admit to maybe being underwhelmed on my first listen, but by the second listen I was hooked – so much as an album that’s met with some oddly divisive fanfare over the course of the year. For me, the Turnpike Troubadours’ A Cat in the Rain (Favorite tracks: “Chipping Mill,” “Brought Me,” “The Rut”) sounds as if the band never missed a beat, even if it is an album about fallouts and forgiveness, both on a personal level for lead singer Evan Felker in regards to his marriage, and for anyone who would say they’re a fan of the band. At least for me, all is well, given that I think this band did here what they’ve always done best: which is to create comforting but still engaging country music that’s melodic, easy to revisit, and excellently written. It didn’t take long for songs like “Brought Me” or “Chipping Mill” to get stuck in my head, and while I will say the album probably does run out of steam after the excellent title track – one reason why I’m more excited for what’s next – this is still an excellent comeback effort by one of the best modern country bands around. I don’t want to take that for granted.

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“They’ve Still Got It!!”

A category to celebrate long-established acts still delivering greatness.

In some ways, this could be the most difficult category to unpack, mostly because – as much as no music writer of any capacity wants to admit this – it can be hard to find new things to say about established favorites, especially when you’re me and have written multiple reviews for them over the years. That’s not quite the case with this first entry. Jason Eady pivoted away from his usual acoustic-based, singer-songwriter style of country music to deliver an old-school blues album, with Mississippi (Favorite tracks: “Mile over 45,” “Once Upon a Time in New Orleans,” “Way Down in Mississippi”). Still perhaps a bit too sleepy and dry for some, but for those of us who have long enjoyed Eady’s work, there’s a slow-burn sizzle present that makes for an excellent tribute to early blues music, along with a general warmth and veteran’s poise that makes it feel refined and potent throughout.

Even then, it’s also his most varied album across the board – not just sonically in how it also reaches across the spectrum to incorporate gospel, R&B, and, of course, country into the mix– but also in how oddly cantankerous, humorous, and playful it can be at its best. The title track is still one of the catchiest songs I’ve heard all year, and “Once Upon a Time in New Orleans” is one of those wild story songs you just need to hear for yourself. And again, it’s all coming from an artist whose usually reserved and executed greatly. It’s an overall lighthearted journey about venturing into uncharted territory, and it’s just so charming across the board; one of Eady’s best albums in years, really.

In similar lighthearted, charming territory, we have another pivot, this time by way of Robbie Fulks’ foray into bluegrass with the aptly titled Bluegrass Vacation (Favorite tracks: “Angels Carry Me,” “Momma’s Eyes,” “One Glass of Whiskey”), a listen that’s full of heart and flat-out fun, hilarious, and energetic from beginning to end. But beyond that, it’s an album that honors bluegrass tradition but also is delivered exactly the way Fulks remembers his musical upbringing – featuring the long-haired revolutionaries and all – bringing in an eye for detail that’s as warm, mischievous, and empathetic in its storytelling as ever. It’s perhaps a bit campy and niche – even more than usual with this particular artist – but that it’s stayed with me as a needed listen that brightens my day whenever I revisit it … well, yeah, I guess it makes for one hell of a vacation, indeed.

Of course, there’s fun escapism, and then there’s the trip back down to reality, which of course is where we’re going to discuss Lori McKenna’s excellent 1988 album (Favorite tracks: “The Town In Your Heart,” “1988,” “Letting People Down”). Her albums tend to get better for me with age – on their end and my own, to be frank. And while this one does tread familiar ground and arcs through songs about the devastation of real life … hell, she’s still one of the most detailed writers working today who can make her scenes and characters feel lived-in and relatable. And with this probably acting as her most robust and sizzling set of songs in terms of groove and composition, there’s a warm potency to this album that I’d argue also makes it one of her easiest albums to revisit. It’s taken me a long time to appreciate McKenna’s work – longer than I care to admit – but this is another shot of greatness from a veteran still in her prime.

Of course, consistent greatness is one thing. But when an act delivers their best album in probably over a decade? That’s a cause for celebration as well. And that’s exactly how I’d describe Lucero’s Should’ve Learned By Now (Favorite tracks: “Macon If We Make It,” “Time to Go Home,” “Drunken Moon”), an album that inspires very little anything close to intelligence or nuance, but also doesn’t need to in order to be one of this band’s liveliest albums to date. And that’s what I love it. This thing is just so much fun from beginning to end, shedding the darkness of most other recent releases and showcasing the band having a lot of self-aware fun with themselves this time around along the way. In many ways, it feels like a career retrospective album and something of a celebration for just sticking it out this long, where despite their heavy amount of wily screw-ups on display – even just on this album alone – they’re still rocking. It’s rambunctious, energetic, and a pure blast of euphoria that made for one of the easiest albums for me to revisit this year.

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Heavy-Hitters

A category for albums that might not be for everyone and do lean on the heavier, slower side, but will no doubt offer rich, rewarding listens, if given the proper chance.

I think this will be the most interesting category to discuss, mostly because these albums are not easy sells but have provided me with deeply rewarding insights with every revisit, even if those revisits admittedly come infrequently. These are the albums that will challenge any newcomers to the fold, and ones I’d argue truly make for excellent art because of that.

I mean, for his first album in eight years, Slackeye Slim certainly didn’t make it easy. But Scorched Earth / Black Heart (Favorite tracks: “Everything Follows This,” “Mama’s Favorite Son,” “I Took You Up the Mountain”) is a turn toward something different that deserves the praise. If previous projects of his were all about crafting exaggerated tales and outlaw fables for made-up characters who one might nevertheless feel a tinge of empathy for, this newest album is somehow darker and personal, a turn inward at Slim himself that dives heavily into fraught territory concerning poor mental health and the scars left from old traumas, from everything to abuse and neglect to so much more. It’s also another album where you can hear the windswept cracks breezing through an album set on its own lonesome journey, which feels so vulnerable and open that calling it uncomfortable is a vastly wild understatement … until you realize how much catharsis can be gained from confronting old demons – whether they’re yours or someone else’s. Even in just telling a story like this, there’s a little victory to be found. A long time coming, but worth it every step of the way (kudos for the year’s best album art, too).

Speaking of other artists who take their time to craft new material, we have the self-titled effort from Brandy Clark (Favorite tracks: “Northwest,” “She Smoked in the House,” “Come Back to Me”). Compared to the more grandiose splendor of her previous two albums, this one strips things back to the very bare basics, almost akin to her excellent debut from 2013, 12 Stories. And while that does mean it can be a tad sleepy in spots, when you pair Brandy Clark’s mature, cutting writing with Brandi Carlile’s more restrained touch, it’s almost guaranteed to work by design (and does).

And I do think this album has gone underrated because of that, as it simultaneously houses some of Clark’s most compassionate and darkest moments to date; another album to focus on personal reflection and self-healing, which, again, can be rewarding for others even when presented in a deeply personal manner. It’s raw, unflinching, and genuinely potent at its best, perfectly complementing Clark not only as a writer, but especially as a fantastic interpreter whose weathered touch adds bite and weight to her work. Again, it got slept-on this year, but Clark at least got my time and attention this year with this beautiful album.

Of course, with her, I had high expectations and wasn’t disappointed, given her incredible body of work thus far. I didn’t have those same expectations for Jaimee Harris, an artist who was new to me and whose latest album I only checked out through a recommendation right before the mid-year point. But with Boomerang Town (Favorite tracks: “Boomerang Town,” “Missing Someone,” “Like You”), I was blown away right out of the gate – not just because it starts with a crushing seven-minute epic that’s among my favorite songs of this year, but because of superbly detailed writing that pretty much defines the entire project. As to be expected, it’s another slow-burn of an album, but what differentiates this one is just how willing it is to take its time to establish its scenes and characters, which is what adds tension and weight to the moments of intense passion and emotional devastation; goes without saying that it’s another album in this category to feel starkly lived-in and real because of that, too. It’s just a very human album at its core, able to draw a lot of unfortunately relatable scenes with empathy for the characters who have to endure their forced hardships: in life, love, and everything in between.

Similarly, that’s also what I love about Amanda Fields’ What, When and Without (Favorite tracks: “Trail of Unforgiveness” (feat. Ryan Culwell), “Mourning Dove,” “Without You”), another album that comes courtesy of a name new to me, but also blew me away from the start. It’s also another case of a slow-burn project that knows exactly what it is and takes its time to deliver true excellence, which is a note on the superb writing drenched in heartache, but also on everything else that envelops each moment, too. This is a lush, atmospheric listen that lets everything simmer in the mix, and one that not only puts an excellent focus on Fields’ strikingly clear-toned, hypnotic delivery, but also lets it atmosphere linger to allow room for the fuller details of each scenario to fluctuate. And that’s important to note, given that this is an album just as equally rooted in devastation as it is in healing and catharsis. Truly excellent all around; I can’t wait to hear more.

Lastly, while I don’t quite love Pony Bradshaw’s North Georgia Rounder (Favorite tracks: “Holler Rose,” “Safe in the Arms of Vernacular,”  “Notes on a River Town”) quite as much as I do 2021’s Calico Jim (an album that felt more character-driven compared to this one’s more snapshot-driven writing style), this is another album that grew on me heavily over the year. I won’t say it’s the easiest album to decipher lyrically, but there’s a primal resonance to Bradshaw’s writing and delivery, all the same. All of that is to say that he’s got one hell of a way with composing a scene and drawing in listeners from there, especially on an album comprised of shots and still frames of weary Appalachia and the simultaneous beauty that can come even through the darkness, where the imagery itself is free-roaming and rich, even if the actual interpretations and meanings will vary. Hell of a heaven, indeed.

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Easy-Listening

The opposite category of the previous one, used to highlight albums that are simple, accessible, and all the more enjoyable because of it.

We’ve got a lot of albums featured in this category, but if there’s a reason I don’t spend quite as much time talking about each album at length for this category, it’s because the general appeal is pretty easy and straightforward. These are the albums that are easiest to revisit, enjoyable throughout, and probably easiest to recommend to those outside of the fold. I wouldn’t call them simple or lacking, though – good comfort food doesn’t have to be dumb or mindless to be appealing, after all. These albums just hit a sunnier groove and awaken something primal within of a far different variety.

They also just tend to be really fun records. That’s where we’re at with our first selection for this category: Brennen Leigh’s Ain’t Through Honky Tonkin’ Yet (Favorite tracks: “You Turned Into a Dragon,” “I’m Still Looking For You,” “I Ain’t Through Honky Tonkin’ Yet”). I’ve admittedly been on the outside looking in when it’s come to loving Brennen Leigh’s recorded material, but this is easily my favorite work of hers to date. She’s always been a phenomenal performer, with a slight theatricality to her delivery that’s always aided her character sketches well. And here, that fits a lot of mischievous, seedy character sketches quite well.

Even then, I’d still call it a lonely album at heart, with a lot of self-reflection for hard living to be found in spades throughout here. But I guess when the compositions are this punchy and robust regardless, it never feels like a lonely album for Leigh, especially not when surrounded by like-minded characters wasting away in a honky tonk somewhere. It’s able to pull on tradition in a fun way yet also still tug at the lonely spirit that’s made these drinking-to-forget type of songs classics throughout the ages, and it’s a damn hoot throughout.

Of course, on the flip side to seedy territory, we have probably one of the purest albums of the year in Emily Ann Roberts’ Can’t Hide Country (Favorite tracks: “Whole Lotta Little,” “Infinity,” “Out of Sight”), and not in a bad way.  Perhaps a bit too cornpone for others, but between a sound that recalled the homespun neotraditionalism of the Chicks crossed with some of the zanier tendencies of acts like SheDaisy or Jenny Tolman – along with a tremendous natural talent through Roberts herself via her vocal delivery and natural charisma – this album was a blast from beginning to end for me, with plenty of smart lyrics and a mischievous flair running throughout this record that I’d say helps separate Roberts a bit more as a writer.

From something fast-paced and frenetic, though, let’s slow it down (considerably) and talk about Brent Cobb’s Southern Star (Favorite tracks: ““When Country Came Back to Town,” “Kick the Can,” “Southern Star”). I’ve been hit-or-miss when it comes to enjoying Cobb’s slow-rolling style thus far, but Southern Star just hits a really great groove for me between his reflective and enjoyable slow-burning acoustic moments as well as his scrappy southern-rock barn-burners – even if this is an album more about settling down and finding a more tempered groove. I do have to be in a certain mood to revisit this properly, but for one, I think that’s intentional. And two, in that more sunny, comfortable head space, this is a real gem of an album – one that’s always striving to find a comfortable balance on a personal level, however one defines that for themselves. At least for me, it’s usually a good enough time to hook me in for more.

Speaking of music that made me feel good this year, we have The War and Treaty’s best album yet, courtesy of Lover’s Game (Favorite tracks: “Lover’s Game,” “Ain’t No Harmin’ Me,” “Yesterday’s Burn”). Both Michael Trotter Jr. and Tanya Trotter have always been phenomenal vocal powerhouses on their own and even better together, but I think what makes Lover’s Game feel so robust runs much deeper than that. Compared to past projects, there’s a bolder refinement across the board here, making it so that no matter what lane they choose to step into – be it crooning country balladry, roiling pop and R&B, or swaggering southern-rock – they own it with ease. And with so much plainspoken maturity that gets to come through in the actual writing, it’s just such a remarkably charming listen and easy album to enjoy, with plenty of well-balanced production to match. I always enjoyed replaying this particular game.

And hey, in terms of artists who opted for a fun melting pot of sounds that dabbled in country and southern-rock, JD Clayton provided one hell of a breakthrough with Long Way From Home (Favorite tracks: “Different Kind of Simple Life,” “Heartaches From Heartbreak,” “Sleepy Night in Nashville”). Sure, it sits pretty squarely at the altar of its ‘70s-inspired country and rock worship, but there’s so much unique anthemic heart to it that it hardly matters; I think my highest praise I can give to this album is that the “Midnight Special” cover could pass as an original here to unsuspecting ears. And a big credit for that also goes toward Clayton’s expressive, charismatic delivery and rapscallion charm, as well as the album’s big soulful bent in a lot of the crescendos and rollicking grooves.

Kind of fitting for a debut album about trying it in Nashville, where the dreamers featured here may never find what they’re looking for in the end – but damn if they aren’t going to give it all they have until there’s nothing left. It’s just so infectious and charming throughout and delivered by a hangdog performer who understands himself and his characters well – allowing him to convey a lot of roughness in the beaten-down moments, while also knowing how to cut through to lend power to actually getting through the struggle.

And from a more wide-angled perspective, I guess that’s what Margo Cilker did with her own Valley of Heart’s Delight (Favorite tracks: “I Remember Carolina,” “Lowland Trail,” “Beggar For Your Love”), too. She’s really developing her own style quite well and quite rapidly, with a scrappy, ramshackle production approach and lived-in writing style centered around snapshots of life on the road that really makes her listeners feel like they’re a part of her own journey around the world.

That’s one reason why this is yet another album that’s so easy and fun to revisit. And with the overall brighter, more lighthearted focus this time around courtesy of the jaunty keys, pedal steel and even horns incorporated into the mix, I can see why this is more of a breakout moment for her than 2021’s Pohorylle, even if I think that album’s darker, windswept edges are worth the spotlight as well. Even then, she’s so good at writing in the moment yet ensuring those moments live on through snapshots and memories, and this is another testament to that.

Lastly, one of the more recent albums I discussed: Jaime Wyatt’s Feel Good (Favorite tracks: “Feel Good,” “Fugitive,” “Moonlighter”). I mean, with that title, it’s no surprise why I’m slotting it within this category, but it’s also a feel good album that represents something of a shift for Wyatt – one from scrappy, ‘70s-inspired outlaw country to more lush, ‘60s-inspired country soul. I admit that threw me at first, but it didn’t take long to appreciate this album for what it is on its own. This is one of those albums that gets sticky with repeated listens, in part because Wyatt still maintains a strong sense of groove that benefits jams like the title track and “Back to the Country,” where even if this album isn’t playing to as many darker, haggard tendencies as before, it’s still as swaggering and fun as ever as she becomes more comfortable with who she is. And I think that’s worth respecting on its own, but it helps that the album is a smooth ride from start to finish, too.

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The Dark Horses

This is something of a melting pot category used to highlight several different factors: from albums that deserve more love than they got this year, to ones that showcase interesting new directions, to ones that are just something all their own this year. It could also just be that these albums didn’t neatly fit within any of the other categories; I don’t know. I only know that they’re all great.

I would say these albums are, much like the heavy-hitters from earlier, among the most difficult to talk about, if only from my personal perspective and history with these artists and their music. So this category is less tethered together than the previous ones, and the albums in general are better left discussed on their own merits. And on paper, it doesn’t make much sense to include Ashley McBryde’s The Devil I Know here (Favorite tracks: “Learned to Lie,” “Made For This,” “Women Ain’t Whiskey”). But considering it stands as the quick turnaround to the incredible passion project of last year’s Welcome to Lindeville, I think this album hasn’t quite gotten its fair due. Sure, it’s a return to McBryde’s comfort zone, but said comfort zone is still better than most artists at their best. And while Jay Joyce’s production is arguably at its muddiest in certain places here, the overall haggard, garage-band feel also complements McBryde’s road-weary writing style supremely well in others.

If anything, I think this album sports some of her best vocal performances and writing to date, a collection tempered by a lot of hard living and bad choices that make any moments of forgiveness and levity on display feel all the more potent. Suffice it to say, I still think it’s another excellent effort from an excellent artist that only continuously gets better with repeated listens – that’s the devil I know.

Next up, the biggest surprise of the year for me. I didn’t initially click with Stephen Wilson Jr.’s music off just his bon aqua EP, even if I found his style supremely intriguing. But with the expanded (if bloated) follow-up that came later in the year, søn of dad really blew me out of the water (Favorite tracks: “Grief Is Only Love,” “twisted,” “the devil”). It’s by far the most unique album I heard this year (probably in quite a while, actually), a strange blend of country, southern-rock, and grunge that often aims for coarsing, atmospheric, well-developed pounding percussion and grooves dripped in a lot of smokey texture, with enough references to heartland-inspired Americana in the writing to match.

And it’s all delivered by a singer with the rough-edged, full-throated tone to sell it and make it feel lived-in and believable. Again, it’s just unlike pretty much anything else I heard this year, but what really got me interested in the guy was his weirdly impressionistic writing style, which at least here is often employed to sketch a lot of tortured scenes in which he confronts his grief over his father’s passing and learns how to cope with it as a father himself.  It might run long, but it’s truly striking at every corner.

Again, too, while there’s not as much continuity present between the albums featured in this category, that last sentence of my previous paragraph is probably an appropriate way to describe Charles Wesley Godwin’s Family Ties as well (Favorite tracks: “Two Weeks Gone,” “Another Leaf,” “West of Lonesome”). To be honest, this is an album I struggled with for a long time. Seneca was my favorite album of 2019, and How the Mighty Fall wasn’t too far behind in 2021. But this was a far longer, more settled album about family, and I’ll admit the lighthearted touch just didn’t initially click with me as much as the darker, wide-angled shots of weary Appalachia did with his previous releases.

But beyond being just another gorgeous-sounding effort – really, in terms of Appalachian artists in this lane, I still think Godwin has the best command of tone, and Al Torrence’s beautiful production is in a league of its own – there’s something to appreciate in dealing with the deeper complexities behind one’s own personal persona in actually talking about family members this time around, with an empathetic frame-of-mind that always keeps Godwin’s perspective grounded, balanced, and always aware of the general gift of humanity. It’s overly ambitious … but that’s also part of the point in wearing your heart on your sleeve, to be fair. And considering it’s somewhat framed as a journey back home to stability – metaphorically and literally – it feels like a grand odyssey. So yeah, still excellent.

Up next, another album I struggled with this year. I quite loved the breezy, hook-driven pop-country of Kelsea Ballerini’s Subject to Change album from last year, so in switching to a more hazy, muted affair with the divorce-centered Rolling Up the Welcome Mat (Favorite tracks: “Penthouse,” “Just Married,” “Mountain With a View”), it took some time for this to grow on me. But that’s more of a note on me than Ballerini, because I can’t argue that this short little collection boasts some of her best, most cutting writing to date, focused not so much on anger or revenge as it is, well, wearied empathy. She’s still very much blunt about things being over, but considering the main culprit here is emotional detachment from time spent apart as artists and falling in love too young, she doesn’t try to absolve herself of any culpability for the way things ended either. It’s the sort of openly vulnerable project that artists should never have to make, even if in doing so, they push themselves beyond their limits to deliver something truly special. I think this is worth that attention.  

And now, The Panhandlers’ Tough Country (Favorite tracks: “The Corner Comedian,” “Moonlight in Marfa,” “Flat Land”). To be honest, I’m not sure if I love the entire album or if the standout “The Corner Comedian” is just doing that much heavy lifting for me. It’s admittedly a tough album to revisit, in part because it’s the second volume of a ramshackled, rollicking ode to the flat, undesirable Panhandle of West Texas, which even sounds intentionally pretty dry and poorly paced from beginning to end. But it’s also that revisit that reaffirmed why I considered this a winner when I reviewed it, and that’s because Tough Country feels more wide-eyed and self-aware, where the general focus is still there but willing to expand further and speak for everyday people that live within it and their relatable plights – character-based storytelling first and foremost that anyone can gravitate toward, regardless of their origins. It got slept-on this year, but it deserves more love.

Lastly for this category, Tony Logue’s The Crumbs (Favorite tracks: “The Phoenix,” “Rust Belt,” “Bootstraps”). Logue came on my radar last year with the incredible Jericho album, and this one picks up where it left off in being another blue-collar-focused slab of hard country and grimy southern and heartland rock – one where his characters are just barely hanging on and making ends meet, standing just barely at the edge of losing everything and having to live with the fallout. It’s a bit more blustering and direct than that album, and I did miss some of the deeper character portraits from time to time. But it also boasts one of my favorite songs of the year in “The Phoenix,” and there’s a punk scrappiness to Logue’s style that he’s quickly making his own. This is another winner, and if there’s any album within this category that fits it well conceptually as a dark horse project made for the dark horses of the world, it’s this one.

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Favorites

As the title suggests, these are my top favorites of the year, and the only category that will be ranked, as I run down my personal top 5 favorite albums of the year.

No. 5 – Jordyn Shellhart, Primrose

Favorite tracks: “On A Piano Bench Getting Wasted,” “Who Are You Mad At,” “Tell Your Mother I’m Fine”

I checked out this album on a recommendation from a friend, and I’m so glad I did, because Jordyn Shellhart’s Primrose made for pretty much my favorite discovery of the year. I haven’t seen many other outlets discuss it, which is a shame, because it’s one of the best pop-country albums I’ve heard in years, not just in its baroque-inspired, ethereal textures, but also in how it’s simply a shimmering listen stacked with great hooks. And it’s punctuated all the more by the dynamic echo and frustration that cuts through some very open, uncomfortable, and complex songs here. It’s an album where the scars noticeably run deep out in the open, but that’s what makes it feel all the braver as an album, at its most personal moments and its most empathetic ones, at that. I already discussed some heavy highlights in my other year-end list that, again, absolutely continue to floor me and really are just beautiful, but there’s so much to be in awe of throughout, which is one reason I hope this album gets some more deserved attention – because I’m definitely excited to see where Shellhart goes next.

No. 4 – Marty Stuart & His Fabulous Superlatives, Altitude

Favorite tracks: “Time to Dance,” “Nightriding,” “Country Star”

It may have started as an intended companion album to another favorite Marty Stuart album of mine, but Altitude really took flight on its own for me this year in a near-transcendental way. It’s still rooted in that ‘60s-era blend of honky-tonk and psychedelic rock and is just impeccably produced, textured, and varied throughout, but this feels more like a casual stroll through time that’s just a complete joy from start to finish. Subtle, but so effective in riding those big, roiling grooves for all they’re worth.

Even despite its few darker moments, though, it feels looser and more sprawling, ready to revel in every moment and just act as an experience like no other. Whether it’s chasing big dreams as a traveling country star of yesteryear or simply just filling that void of personal loneliness, Altitude is all about the thrill of the hunt. And whether that hunt leads to personal fulfillment in the end or not, it’s still a journey worth preserving in some form. It’s got to end at some point of course, but that ride is worth it every step of the way. For me, it provided the rarest sort of thrill for albums in 2023, and while there’s some heavier stuff to still discuss, this is the album that made me feel most good this year. Time to dance, indeed.

No. 3 – Lydia Loveless, Nothing’s Gonna Stand In My Way Again

Favorite tracks: “French Resturant,” “Runaway,” “Toothache”

You know, that this is still maybe only my fourth or so favorite Lydia Loveless album really speaks to the quality and breadth of their catalog, and I’m so happy they returned with another slam-dunk effort in Nothing’s Gonna Stand In My Way Again. And given how it was released on a revived (and, more importantly, reformed) Bloodshot Records, it feels like a rebirth moment for them, and one where it’s just awesome to hear them in better spirits all around. The instrumentation is brighter, the hooks are sticky and among their best to date, and there’s the same mischievous rollick present in a lot of the tempos and progressions that’s always been a highlight of their work …  even if it’s also an album in which they confront growing older and getting tired of these same old frustrating stumbles in life and love. It’s simultaneously a genuine anthemic firestorm at its absolute best while also being crushingly sad at its most reflective, and even if that is familiar territory for them to cover, at least they’re looking forward this time around, rather than behind.

No. 2 – Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit, Weathervanes

Favorite tracks: “King of Oklahoma,” “Volunteer,” “Cast Iron Skillet”

I don’t know if I can really accurately depict my journey with this album. I didn’t initially hear what others were hearing in declaring this to be one of Jason Isbell’s best-ever albums – hell, for some, his absolute best to date. That it ran long and both started and ended with my least favorite moments on the album probably didn’t help my initial judgment either.

But damn it, over time this has just kept calling back to me and revealing itself to be something truly special with every revisit. After hearing Isbell fight for stability throughout the majority of his 2010s work – and especially on a frayed project from this decade in Reunions – it’s nice hearing a project where balance is found, even if there will always be struggles and obstacles beyond his control; it gets easier, but it never gets easy, as he once said.

And that’s important to note, because even nearly two decades into his solo career, Weathervanes feels like the start of a new, exciting chapter for Isbell that stands on its own two feet in so many ways. It’s another sprawling, ambitious effort in a sea of many this year, but one that feels more personally informed and far better for it, sporting not only some of his best-ever writing, but also a more experimental palette across the board in how loose and jangly it feels otherwise – no doubt a strength of him taking the producing reigns this time around. But it’s also emblematic of Isbell’s philosophy as a whole: Even at the darkest points, you just keep fighting and going, if not for yourself than for the people you care about. And if that’s where his winds of change are blowing … well, he’s as consistent, measured, and empathetic as ever, and I don’t think one can ask for too much more.

No. 1 –  Gabe Lee, Drink the River

Favorite tracks: “Even Jesus Got the Blues,” “Heart Don’t Break,” “Merigold,” really, just every other track, too…

If you keep up with my reviews – even in an admittedly messy personal year for me – I don’t think this will scan as much of a surprise. Gabe Lee made my favorite album of 2022, and he not only did it again this year, but somehow managed to surpass all highly set expectations. In some ways, Drink the River does that by pure design, given how it feels like an extension to The Hometown Kid, just minus the dustier roots-rock edges in favor of something a bit more pure. It’s another project in search of greater fulfillment by way of a more relaxed, earnest outlook on life, but also one that feels like it has a greater measure of control overall, if just on Lee’s own terms.

And while I sympathize with those who lean more heavily toward Lee’s wily rapscallion side evident on Honky Tonk Hell, for me, hearing him also be just as adept at acting as the observational poet sketching out life as it is – for him and his characters – is what gives this album such a lived-in yet optimistic core for me. It’s an album in search of simple answers that won’t come for complicated questions on life and love, made all the more evident by the amount of growth and maturity showcased on this album – especially when you compare the revisited version of a more regretful “Eveline” compared to the fresh-cut one on 2019’s farmland. It’s country music in its purest form, performed simply and beautifully and expressed simply and honestly. Not only is it the most gorgeous-sounding record I’ve heard in years, it’s just the album this year that kept me level and balanced – something I needed in a year in which I experienced a lot of personal shake-ups. Somehow and someway, Lee just knows how to keep perspective in balance and see the learned opportunities in the mistakes made.

I don’t care that it only features nine songs, nor do I care that a cover song and an older original cut help make up that bunch. It’s the album that spoke most to me this year. Hell, it’s probably the album that’s connected with me most this entire decade thus far, to be frank. Lee is the type of artist where you can’t predict where he’ll venture next, and I know that makes Drink the River likely more of a unique snapshot of time than a sign of what’s to come. But his muse has never let me down yet, and I wouldn’t have it any other way anyway. That’s the paradoxical joy of art: It hits unexpectedly upon first listen as a way for artists to share their own experiences and help us see them as ours, until we slowly start to hear them as old friends we can always revisit when we need comforted … however one defines that for themselves. That, perhaps most of all, is what Drink the River helped me remember this year.