Men are socialized to dislike vulnerability, to think of public humiliation like death. Yes, many men are socialized to endure all forms of physical discomfort, pain, and danger. When met with physical or emotional pain, we are told to stop crying, to bite our tongues until blood comes up.

Alaskan singer/songwriter Josh Fortenbery writes danceable, cry-worthy, and heartfelt music that will make you think.

Alluringly anonymous Austin-based alt-country/indi-folk quartet Boomershack sounds somewhere between Buddy Holly and The Deslondes, crossed with a stop on the continuum between Houndmouth and The Band of Heathens.

In some sense, a singer/songwriter’s most essential function is observation: to collect and catalogue the ordinary and extraordinary into relatable stories. They’re set to music, and sung out loud just so, so that the listener feels something and maybe, if they — or the songwriter is extra lucky — learns something, too. Durham, North Carolina-based musician Lou Hazel inhabits this role as curious spectator, with a particular bent toward minute and absurd circumstances, and evoking with his slightly-twisted kaleidoscope of revealing, thoughtful ruminations, the likes of John Prine and Dave Van Ronk.

Raised in the high desert of Idaho, Valley James found refuge from her turbulent family life in the vast landscapes of the American West. Her cinematic blend of Gothic country, Americana, and alt-pop meditates on themes of liminal space, death, and redemption.

Relentlessly traversing Wyoming for the past 15 years has given Laramie-based singer/songwriter Shawn Hess a remarkable collection of country music under his leather belt; every location adds a new layer to his his vintage-tinged, often acoustic sound and deepening a devotion to the age-old charm of physical media, which lingers across his records.

The first time I crossed paths with Shane Smith & The Saints was nearing midnight at the Great Northern Bar & Grill on Central Avenue in Whitefish, Montana. The high-octane alt-country act jumped onstage during the late-night party for the 2023 Under the Big Sky music festival. 

Last summer, Kentucky singer/songwriter Cole Chaney played Tyler Childers’ Healing Appalachia music festival. On stage at the Boyd County Fairgrounds, which were built on top of reclaimed coal strip mines — and the very same land where Chaney’s fellow teenagers used to go to run trucks, light bonfires, and mess around away from adult supervision — Chaney performed his song “Shadow of the Mountain,” the title track from his 2025 sophomore album:

I was barely a boy when the devil crept in
First he took my Pa and then hе took my friends
Be it by way of a pill or by way of a mine
Thеre were many good soul would be relieved of their life

In an early video released on Western AF’s YouTube, Kiki Cavazos sits by the Flathead River in Montana strumming her guitar at sunset. Fire crackles in the background as Cavazos sings low and earnest, facing the river more than the camera, “Heart slain, hard rain and I’m walkin’ home / Five blocks, it ain’t far, but always long / It’s the end of the song, you never sang along.” Her song “Cold Love” is small scale heartbreak, simple and true: “A cold love ain’t no love at all / Now it’s too hard to call.”

“Who heals the healer? / Who bandages the bleeder / who will sing to the empty theater,” wonders singer/songwriter Abbie McAllister in her song “Jester.” McAllister writes inquisitive, cerebral songs, which she delivers in a high, clear voice, riveting for its airy lilt, and readily setting up the 21-year-old West Virginian as a magnetic musical force. In “Jester,” an allegory for self-worth, she imagines both sides of a defiant conversation between a king and his court jester, singing, “slip your shoes on, and dance until you’re done / waiting alone, by a throne, with freedom as your gun.” Delightfully unexpected, the song lands in part because of its theatricality.

Beneath the pitched Gothic revival ceiling of Saint Ann & the Holy Trinity Church (which doubles as an independent arts venue in Brooklyn), singer/songwriter Cristina Vane is trying out an unreleased song; “Just here sitting thinking about quitting / Once I’ve had just one more smoke,” she sings, accompanying herself on slide on her ivory-colored National resonator guitar.

“Feels damn good today / To be a thousand miles away,” country singer/songwriter Summer Dean observes in her song “A Thousand Miles Away.” Though superficially a breakup song, it easily doubles as a reflection on Dean’s career, as well: “I guess I could have settled down / and kept pretending I was someone I couldn’t be / Lived my life in just one town / But who’s to say that’s what a woman really needs,” she sings.

Singer/songwriter John R. Miller’s just returned home with some 30 used CDs. Over the phone, from the thick of the tedium of ripping the disks to his computer for his personal music collection, he’s reveling in the haul: The Jesus and Mary Chain, Tom Waits, Sparklehorse, The Outfield’s Playing the Field, Sunny Day Real Estate, Iron Maiden, Levon Helm, and a couple of sealed Replacements CDs. Like his listening tastes, Miller’s artistry resists any neat descriptor, and he chafes at the country label he’s sometimes stuck with, preferring folk, if necessary; Miller is wary of simplistic assumptions.

To return is to come back to, to realign what came before with what comes next. For country musician Hunter Park, to return is also to become her best self, in spite of it all. On stage, Park goes by “She Returns From War,” a moniker that keeps the act of healing and becoming close to her heart, and conveys both her own struggles and triumphs over them.

When life gets going, sometimes it goes fast. For Fort Worth-based singer/songwriter Claire Hinkle, that’s exactly what happened. In September last year she called an acquaintance in the music community (now manager Blue Barnett) to ask for help because she felt stuck. By December 2024, she was at Sunset Sound Recorders cutting four singles with Shooter Jennings. A few months later, she performed at Willie Nelson’s 2025 Luck Reunion (on the Fort Worth Stage), and this fall, she played Americanafest.

At the end of July, bluegrass supergroup Big Richard emerged onto the Kennedy Center stage dressed in gaudy, skimpy, and sequined outfits and wigs to ape the Founding Fathers. Though they considered cancelling their appearance (as many artists have, in protest of President Trump’s takeover of the storied arts institution), after careful consideration — and nixing the idea of burning the American flag on stage — the group decided to keep their show date. They had something to say.

Country music was never supposed to be a regular part of Austin-based singer/songwriter Hayden Butler’s life, but it ended up saving him, in a way. Growing up in Austin, Butler was well removed from the city’s honky tonks and more likely to listen to grunge and punk, and played in a hardcore band. But after a hiatus, when he returning to playing music in his late 20s, Butler discovered an affinity for country music’s hard luck characters and began learning cover songs and dabbling in songwriting. At the time, he thought he’d just write as many songs down as he could until he inevitably destroyed himself.

In Cherokee tradition, music and dance entwine with daily life. They’re both inherent to cultural celebration and to rituals, including preparing for a good hunt or harvest, and asking for rain. In many cases, American folk and country music (albeit with a notably shorter history) also remain an essential means of gathering and forming community. For Cherokee language country singer and teacher Agalisiga ‘Chuj’ Mackey, combining the two traditions felt daunting, but worthy.

Growing up in Paris, France, Austin-based country singer/songwriter Theo Lawrence was surrounded by pop and hip-hop music. His affinity for old country music distinguished him from his peers, and drove him to spend hours pouring over albums and concert recordings checked out from the local media lending library. While his peers listened to modern pop, Lawrence devoured Hank Williams, Loretta Lynn, Elvis, Carl Smith, Jim Reeves, and Kitty Wells.

“I have to play music with her,” singer/songwriter Melissa Carper thought the first time she saw fellow singer/songwriter Brennen Leigh play live, circa 2009. Listening to Leigh on stage at the Evangeline Café in Austin that night as she played her way through old country and bluegrass tunes, Carper felt a kinship, immediately. She too knew and loved the same songs. When they met, Carper offered to play bass for Leigh; soon, they started swapping in and out of each others’ bands, Carper on upright bass, Leigh on mandolin.