The Musical Divide

Photo credit: Danny Clinch

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I‘m taking a bit of a different approach to list season this year. In the past, I’ve always compiled a top 50 list of my favorite songs of the year, which has always acted as a love letter to the music that shaped my year. Due to reasons I’ve explained already, I will no longer be able to cover the same amount of releases as I have in the past (even this year took a hit in that regard compared to other years, as if my sporadic posting schedule wasn’t evidence of that enough already), so I want to experiment with a style that will work regardless of how next year shakes out.

And so … well, I found that I can still do that. I just have to loosen up my restrictions on how I craft this list. The biggest change to this year’s list is that there is no actual “list,” necessarily. I’ll still have a ranking of my favorites at the very end of this piece (split into two parts), and you’ll certainly know my top songs regardless of that. But given that I write very long-winded reviews for what I love, I decided it’d be fun to take a more essay-based approach to this year – to truly reflect not only on what I loved this year, but what also actually stuck with me.

Ultimately, I placed no restrictions on what I’d include here (I’ll actually end up highlighting more music this year, with a total of 68 songs, even if, again, things make take a more drastic hit from here on out, hence why this may be the only year which I split into two parts). The essay itself will go through the songs in order of when I heard them this year, hence why I’m saving the more traditional ranking for the very end, during the second part of this retrospective. I hope this style feels more loose and casual and sets up a good, unique template henceforth, though I do understand if some may be disappointed in the change. If you are planning on sticking around, though, well … let’s get started.

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January

As always, January tends to be a quieter time of year – one in which I’m more willingly on the hunt for new material to listen through, before I inevitably fall behind in the never-ending deluge of releases. It’s a time of discovery, hence why my first project covered always tends to be new to me, and one I enjoy. That remained true with Brandon Ratcliff’s Tale of Two Towns project, with a title track that really caught me off guard. I just love how he tackles a quintessential, cliché topic in country music from both perspectives, in that he can acknowledge what his hometown did for him in shaping who he is even after he’s left it, while also being aware that not everyone is fortunate enough to break very familiar cycles that trap them to one location forever. It’s a really striking improvement from his past work, and I can’t wait to hear what’s next.

Another surprise that caught me off guard came courtesy of Margo Price. I’ve never been a huge fan of her work, even if I’d say I like this year’s Strays the most of her albums thus far. But “County Road” was an immediate highlight for me, a smoky track wrapped in a spacious, dark elegance that took a heartbreaking look at a past friend who died young in a tragic accident, in turn saying goodbye to reckless days and old ghosts. Whitehorse did the same, through the breakup-centered “Division 5,” which is a track that excels off its dark humor in having its character go to the Mounties for help in tracking down an old lover, even though there ain’t a goddamn thing they can do for this sad sack. It’s cutting but also a bit uncomfortably hilarious at the same time, and it’s further proof that Canadian country music can truly provide some bizarrely creative, off-the-wall moments of magic like this.

And the new discoveries didn’t stop there. I’ll likely have more to say on JD Clayton in my eventual essay on favorite albums of the year, but for as much as I connected highly with his warm melting pot of ‘70s-inspired southern-rock and country, it’s a quiet little folk tune like “Different Kind of Simple Life” that gripped me most. I tend to gravitate toward atmospheric, hazy songs like this most, especially considering how this coasts off the warmer bass, liquid keys, and pedal steel and restraint overall in its empathetic view for the struggles of everyday, common people, until it’s allowed to soar through that incredibly soulful chorus and hook. In terms of my most played songs of the year, this is up near the top.

Speaking of artists who can craft great scenes and stories, we have Tyler Childers, a name I’ll revisit for his own work in the second half of this series later, but one who also helped to pen another song featured here: “Jersey Giant.” This song has taken on a surprising amount of forms and covers, and while it’s surprisingly not the most popular one of the bunch, my favorite is Elle King’s, if simply because her smoky, weathered delivery helps in lending a sincere weight to the strung-out character here hoping to reconnect with an old lover. That they only have their memories of what once was to lean on, though, even despite the plucky melodic flow … it’s cutting. Furthering that, too, we have Pony Bradshaw back with his magnetic blend of wistful country-folk, where the poetry is always what steals the show, even if he also knows how to actually put a good melody and groove behind it, too. I’m going to go with “Holler Rose” as my highlighted pick for him, if simply for that great burst of melody on the hook, and for how it grapples with questions of legacy and what one’s work is really worth in the end. Heavy stuff, even for an artist as philosophical as Bradshaw, and a perfect song that takes me back to a frigid time of year like this.

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February

This month was a bit lighter in comparison, but to be fair, January was a month surprisingly packed with nice surprises. This month started that way, too, with the return of Sundy Best. I’m forever going to champion 2014’s Bring Up the Sun whenever I mention these guys, but Feel Good Country – even despite the name – was a more settled affair, even if it also had its moments of darkness. “Bad Imagination” is quite the different shake-up in that regard, where the newfound faith and stability found throughout the album is shaken by a mental health step back, reinforced by its muted nature and generally claustrophobic atmosphere. It’s cutting in a way that feels hypnotic and primal, where the less said about it, the better – because it’s a track you really just need to experience, provided you can emphasize with the character in question.

And from something as deeply complex and grown-up as that, we turn now to … well, damn it, Chase Rice. The cynical part of me wanted to leave him off of this entirely; no one would have cared otherwise. But I can’t deny his album this year didn’t have some genuinely great moments on it, or that it wasn’t even a pretty good effort as a whole on its own. Granted, “Oklahoma” doesn’t actually do anything revolutionary for him, given that it’s a pretty stock look at the archetypal rambling man. But there’s also a surprising amount of darkness and regret on display, where the execution is actually what sells this for me, right down to that extended outro courtesy of Southall that, like other tracks before it, feels overall primal in its resonance for me. And it looks like we’re staying in that territory, given that we now turn to Lucero – the first act here in which I’m highlighting more than one song, because the featured album is one of their best in a long time. The two tracks I’m highlighting, though, couldn’t be more different from one another. “Time to Go Home” is one of their classic sadsack, fuck-up songs in which our character just has to admit he’s beaten and needs to reset after a hard night. Nothing new for them, but damn, I just love that melodic blast of accordion after the hook.

“Macon If We Make It” is probably more immediate, with its glistening sheen riding off the keys and galloping groove that lends itself to one of their best-ever hooks. That’s the simple reason it’s here and, in general, one of my overall favorite songs of the year, because when they make their screw-ups sound this catchy and magnetic, there’s hardly a band that does it better.

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March

This tends to be the point every year where the release schedule picks up steam with more notable albums, and that was true for this year, as well. My first selection for this month surprises even me, though. I don’t think The Panhandler’s Tough Country album got enough love this year, but the album’s most stunning moment comes courtesy of the artist (I admit) I would have deemed the weakest link of this group prior to hearing this: Josh Abbott. Not just because it’s one of the most heartbreaking depictions of homelessness I’ve ever heard in a country song, told through a character with only a stolen harmonica to his name, but also because he can look around at the people who walk past him and see that they’re suffering as well on hard times. Empathetic, for sure, but more key to the point in establishing the universal suffering and odd sense of perseverance that defines the album as a whole. It’s dark, it’s atmospheric, and it hits like a sledgehammer – for the longest time, this was my favorite song of the year, and that it’s still managed to hold up pretty highly … well, look, if you slept on the album, at least don’t let this song pass you by; it’s a stunner.

Anyway, let’s pivot to something a bit easier, with the opening title track to The War & Treaty’s excellent Lover’s Game album that’s a jam and a half from beginning to end. If anything, I wish they had leaned a little more on the southern-rock muscle evident here a bit more throughout the album, because this is a glorius little firestorm. It’s wily, rambunctious, and just an overall fantastic showcase of both Micheal and Tanya Trotter’s anthemic howl. Hell if I know what they’re trying to convey with “margarita, hot chicken, strawberry wine,” but I get it anyway, you know? It’s another cut that landed extremely high in my most played of the year category. And hey, let’s throw one more cut out there, with the slower but no less stirring or soulful “Ain’t No Harmin’ Me.” I’m shocked I didn’t mention this cut in my initial review, but let’s make up for that by spotlighting a track that’s a little darker in comparison, where the lover’s game here is a little more dangerous and sensual, and every bit as alluring in its slow-burning glory.

Undoubtedly, though, the big release of this month was Luke Combs’ Gettin’ Old album, a remarkable step forward for him artistically. It’s also the first release here in which I’m spotlighting three songs: “Fast Car,” which I’ve already written about in context of his cover elsewhere; “Where the Wild Things Are,” for being one of his most atmospheric and wildest story songs, about a brother who moves out west to California to live a fast life on his own terms, and one where, despite ending in tragedy, it’s framed from Combs’ perspective as a life at least lived in celebration of what his brother loved – hard to call it a tragedy in that regard, really; and finally, “Joe,” another song told through an empathetic frame of mind for a former alcoholic simply looking to pick up the pieces of his life and move forward. He might not be living the most glamorous life, but he’s at least still around to tell the tale and make amends. Again, perspective is the key there. I think that’s why I love all three songs, because they take unconventional looks at equally unconventional characters who nevertheless exist in real life and become forgotten in favor of more appealing heroes. That it comes from one of the genre’s current biggest superstars is just inspiring.

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April

Each month thus far has started with some sort of surprise, and April is no different. I was glad to see Caylee Hammack make her return, seeing as how “Small Town Hypocrite” is one of my favorite songs of the decade thus far. It’s a shame she debuted right around the beginning the decade, though, because she remains very under the radar. Oh well - we can still recognize her in circles such as these, especially when “History of Repeating” is another excellent showcase of her talents. It’s terrifically balanced across the board, with the opening watery acoustics translating to a pretty fiery chorus off the underplayed electric axes and drums.

But really, it’s a song that’s elevated further by its writing, in which Hammack’s character’s history of repetition refers to how she can’t let an old partner go and continuously stumbles trying to get them back, with enough sharp self-deprecating jabs thrown her way to make it all the more heartbreaking, even though it’s not her fault. What sticks out for me is the self-awareness, where she’d knows there’s no chance of a reunion anyway but can’t help falling back into old habits. I’m not surprised to see the Ashley McBryde assist on this, either – another artist we’ll undoubtedly discuss in due time.

For now, let’s pivot to another country heartbreaker … well, at least in terms of framing. Really, Mae Este’s “Thinkin’ ‘Bout Cheatin’” has to be the most unique song I heard all year, framed around a woman bored with her current relationship. It’s ostensibly a tempered, even-keeled country song, but the actual lyrical sentiment is far more direct in how confessional it can feel between Estes’ character and her partner as she examines neglect and a general malaise that segues into the titular phrase, even if she hasn’t actually crossed that line yet. It flips the script on a well-worn concept in a really interesting way, where it’s not so much about wanting to cheat so much as wanting a greater level of commitment that might have once been there but has since petered out. I wish Estes had signed to a better label, but I’m happy for her success, all the same.

Speaking of tracks that slip into seedy territory, however, we have a great collaboration between Amanda Fields and Ryan Culwell in “Trail of Unforgiveness,” from the former artist’s excellent What, When and Without album. That’s a more traditional affair overall, with a lot of slow-burning moments of heartbreak delivered impeccably. This is a tad different – a spacious, nearly hypnotic song with a strangle, ghostly allure to it, where its abstract framing works to its benefit in letting it simmer. It’s a fallout that truly sounds like a downward spiral, and it’s another case of making something unique out of a familiar theme.

Speaking of strange offerings, we have Robbie Fulks, who got back to being zany and wonderfully weird with a detour into bluegrass, through the aptly titled Bluegrass Vacation! Despite the setup, though, it’s a surprisingly deep project in plenty of places, including the abstract, coming-of-age story told through “Angels Carry Me.” It’s also a bluegrass song about youthful rock-star worship (in mentality, at least) and father-son tension over wanting to pursue an unsteady profession, inspired by the sort of youthful magic that can completely shape who a person becomes. I think that’s what helps it provide such an adventurous rush overall, where those angels of inspiration are what carry it, indeed, right down to my individual favorite musical moment of 2023: through the “tonight, I’ll shout my story” line. The thing is, it’s all just a dream, but it’s the sort of dream we’ve likely had at one point or another – maybe even in adulthood – to imagine being more than what we are; I found a personal resonance with that sentiment this year.

Heh, April just kept getting weirder, given that Ruston Kelly is next up to sing to us about getting stoned and making Multiplicity references along the way, through, well, “Michael Keaton.” It’s a combination of a choppy, catchy rollick and that anthemic, idiosyncratic hook that makes it a winner, caught between being humorous and exasperated and somehow nailing that balance really well. The album itself didn’t hold up well for me over the course of this year, sadly, but this song certainly did. To turn to something far more straightforward, though, let’s take a look at the closing track to Jake Worthington’s self-titled album, “Closing Time.” This is one of those cases where a deeper analysis isn’t really needed; it’s just a fantastic slow-burn of a country song, where the windswept but still warm piano, fiddle, and pedal steel accompaniment make it feel like a long lost ‘90s cut by way of, say, Mark Chesnutt or Tracy Lawrence. And with Worthington’s equally natural and charismatic delivery leading the charge, this was heartbreak at some of its finest this year, even if his character wasn’t quite ready to leave that bar yet and just admit things were over. As it is, it’s now closing time for April, a surprisingly weird but jam-packed month.

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May

This was an overall quieter month for individual favorite cuts. I found a lot of albums to love, but therein lies the difference: Some albums just sound better as that complete package, rather than picked apart for the highlights. I think the biggest surprise for me this month came courtesy of Kip Moore. Considering Damn Love as an album flopped and is pretty much a label swan song for him, I feel a bit bad in saying it’s my favorite thing he’s done since Wild Ones and had a surprising amount of staying power for me this year – so much so, that I’m choosing to highlight three cuts from it: “Neon Blue” first, not just for that bouncy, windswept patter and rollick it captures, but for reflecting on Moore’s journey thus far and realizing there’s still more ground to cover – a song that accepts growing older with grace for the opportunities that still are ahead of him.

Elsewhere, “The Guitar Slinger” admittedly does crib pretty heavily from Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page,” but seeing as how Moore is an explosive, captivating presence in his own right, and that the blend of smokey keys and smoldering electric axes capture something all their own here, I’d say it works just fine. Compared to “Neon Blue,” though, this feels a bit more urgent and desperate, where he’s thankful for getting to live out his rock star dream but also visibly frustrated by growing older and not having as much to show for it as he’d maybe prefer. And I’d say that running theme comes to its peak with the more introspective “Silver & Gold,” with another fantastic, ‘80s-like, almost War on Drugs-esque sheen and groove (and even better melodic riff and hook to match), and an extended run time that really allows Moore to unpack his frustrations without letting them drag; another song I played a lot this year.

Speaking of artists and albums that didn’t get enough love this year, we have Brandy and Brandi: Clark and Carlile, that is, respectively. In a way, I get it. Clark’s self-titled album is a more muted affair that can be hard to connect with over an extended period of time, but I think those who said that really needed to at least listen through to “Northwest,” anchored by its rollicking uptick in groove and sunny, melodic, banjo-filled burst that I do so adore. It’s a trip back home that complements what follows it, “She Smoked in the House,” so nicely. I’ll admit to fostering a personal connection to the latter track, given my own closeness with my grandmother, and that I tend to be a nostalgic person who often relies on past childhood memories to find inner peace and happiness from time to time. If “Northwest” was the joyous journey back through that metaphorical time machine, “She Smoked in the House” is where she’s arrived at her destination and can remember in peace. And it’s quite the ride for the rest of us, too.

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June

June, much like December, tends to be a time of reflection for me. It’s always fun crafting my mid-year list and thinking about what I’ve loved this year, while also knowing there’s still plenty to look forward to in the months ahead. Even with that said, this is yet another month that opened with a surprise discovery for me, through Jordyn Shellhart’s Primrose. Speaking as someone who doesn’t consider pop-country to be a pejorative (making me an endangered species in circles such as these, I think), I have no issue calling this one of the most insightful and well-executed albums of the entire year.

The thing is, it’s a very open, vulnerable album, mostly framed by some very complex relationship-themed songs that are best taken together, in my opinion. And while that is a note on the inward reflections Shellhart makes of herself and her characters, it’s also one on how her own perspective can tackle uncomfortable situations from the other side. That’s why I still want to highlight a few cuts to showcase that, the first one being “Who Are You Mad At.” Here, she can see her current partner is still caught up on a past lover, which causes her to question her own potential role as a trigger for those memories in a way that can be heartbreaking yet empathetic and mature in noting the fuller picture on display here. And then there’s “On a Piano Bench Getting Wasted,” where she’s fully drunk, vulnerable, and even more confessional in a stream-of-consciousness manner as she tries to sort out the pieces to everything that’s gone wrong. It’s one of the most cutting and beautiful cuts I heard all year.

On a more familiar note, though, we have Jason Isbell’s Weathervanes, which for some is a return to form for him. Speaking as someone who actually loved 2020’s Reunions, my own journey with this album is a complicated one that’s probably best left explained for the eventual album-based essay. But for now … well, I didn’t say it didn’t have its fair share of highlights; three, in fact. I’m going to group two of them together, not just because they’re real gut-punch moments for me, but because they play to similar sentiments lyrically, too.

Both “Cast Iron Skillet” and “Volunteer” address generational trauma in their own ways, the former through a series of innocent lessons and mannerisms that don’t know to speak to a new world informed by increased mental health issues and racial unity (among other things), and the latter through irresponsible parents who die and leave their child behind to bear their burdens alone, in turn just repeating a harrowing cycle in their own way. In that sense, not many of these characters make it to the other side, and the few that do don’t exactly have a lot to show for it. But they fight anyway, because they have something to prove and maybe someone to prove it to, even if it’s just themselves.

No need to insert a spoiler warning either here, I guess, but that’s part of the reason why “King of Oklahoma” is my favorite song of the year. Yes, in a surprisingly close race this year, this was the song I kept coming back to over and over – a song about someone who can’t win even despite his best efforts. It’s amazingly more complex than that, though. The character here isn’t really a good or bad person. It’s debatable whether or not he’s even really human any longer. Because this isn’t just the bottom on display here; it’s whatever is beneath even that. I guess the most appropriate term is emptiness, a depiction of a live ravaged by things both within and beyond his control, from addiction and the implosion of his personal prospects, to his marriage due for the same course because of personal neglect. And if you want to judge him for one last-ditch effort at a scrap-metal heist and prescription forgery to save whatever is left, that’s your choice.

But I think it’s also possible to foster empathy for someone who, well, knows all of this and is only now opening to his eyes to the damage around him, and how it not only has affected him, but his loved ones, too. And beyond that, it’s built upon an aching snarl and ragged, alt-country smolder. But I don’t know, in a year where I, too, felt like my best efforts at things just weren’t giving me the results I wanted … well, I can’t exactly say I directly related to this character, but I understood him, all the same, and found a personal resonance there that was just something all its own this year.

Whew, that was a lot. Feels kind of weird talking writing about your favorite song of the year and knowing there’s still far, far more to write, but so it goes. I guess it helps that I’ve got a long-winded groove established now, given that Jaimee Harris’ “Boomerang Town” is a loaded song in its own right. It’s a seven-minute-long epic filled with initial hope that slowly turns into broken dreams. And given how much it appeared in the news this year, I’m not surprised that I kept pointing back to “Fast Car” whenever I listened to this. That comparison mostly comes in how it tackles the thrill of young love and big dreams for a couple, only to have them crushed by generational traumas and failed systems that hold them back before they even have a chance to begin. And it’s all the more depressing when both partners are equally trying and just can’t climb out of that hole, leading to a feeling of hopelessness made all the more crushing by the actual lived-in details and setup given to the characters on display. The ending may not shock you, but it should gut you regardless. This is another top-tier favorite of the year for me.

Far less heavy is the closing track, “Missing Someone,” which is a simple, chipper, infectious song about, well, missing someone – heightened in the context of an overall heavy album where this acts as needed moment of reprieve. We’re not staying long in that territory, though, because up next is Tommy Prine and a track from his debut album, This Far South. Sadly, the album itself was a bit of a mixed bag, but opener “Elohim” is a different story altogether, a song that blazes through with impressive precision and punch, marked not only by the loss of Prine’s father as well as other friends to addiction, but also by his own failings in knowing how to cope or find the right direction in life, leading to a complete disillusionment of faith in general. Kind of a bleak note to end on for now, but I hope you’ll stick around for the second part, because there’s still plenty of great music to highlight.

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Read: Favorite Songs of 2023: Part Two