Vincent Neil Emerson

Vincent Neil Emerson has become a staple among folk and country music fans nationwide, celebrated for his honest tales of life on the road, heartbreak, and struggles of all sorts. His first LP, Fried Chicken & Evil Women, from 2019, established him as a refreshing voice in the modern country music landscape. The songs from that first album were charming and playful songs, but didn’t reveal the entirety of Emerson’s story.

On his brilliant new album, The Golden Crystal Kingdom, Emerson transcends the role of a honky-tonk country singer and becomes a chronicler of his history. The album is a bold continuation of the story he tells on Vincent Neil Emerson, with songs like the title track exploring the feelings he was left with after his days spent playing in Texas honky-tonks and dancehalls, and the track “The Time of The Rambler,” inspired by the early days of living in his car and busking on the streets.

He was born and partly raised in East Texas, around his Choctaw-Apache family, and spent most of his life moving around the state. Raised by a single mother, he lost his father to suicide when he was nine. Emerson dealt with those feelings of abandonment and loss on his self-titled album, with the track “Learning to Drown” in particular.

His grandmother and grandfather brought the family to Texas when Emerson’s mother was a child, leaving their ancestral Choctaw-Apache homelands in Louisiana behind to try and build a better life for themselves and their children. Emerson always identified with his Native American roots, but it wasn’t until 2021’s self-titled album that he examined and tried to shed light on the devastating history of his tribe with the song “Ballad of the Choctaw Apache.”

Sonically, The Golden Crystal Kingdom finds Emerson expanding his scope into rock and roll territory, tapping into the storied sounds of folk music gone electric, and following in the footsteps of artists like Bob Dylan and Neil Young. On the album, Emerson retains his diamond-sharp storytelling while imbuing the work with a freewheeling rock and roll aesthetic, creating an album as fun as his live shows and as cathartic as his previous work.

With production from Shooter Jennings, Emerson wanted to establish some sounds as touchstones but emphasized following his own intuition for the aesthetics of his record. “I didn’t really want to model this record after anybody else’s music, but I’ve been heavily influenced by a lot of old rock and roll music from the sixties and seventies singer-songwriter music,” Emerson explains.

The album wasn’t necessarily created as an opposing force to the country and folk sounds his fans have come to expect, but he did want to make a record that showcased another side of himself as a writer. He also leaned on friends and collaborators like Jennings, Steve Earle, and Rodney Crowell to help him flesh out this album.

Emerson has been able to call these one-time heroes friends and mentors, and it is these relationships that have helped the songwriter find his confidence in writing about his personal history and standing up for the causes he believes in. Emerson wrote “Man From Uvalde” after the horrific and tragic mass shooting in the city of Uvalde, Texas, and he was initially hesitant to include the track on The Golden Crystal Kingdom. “It’s a daunting thing to try to dive into social issues in songwriting because I wasn’t sure how people would really take it,” Emerson says. “I recorded a rough demo version of the song, and I sent it to Steve [Earle]. I just wanted to get his thoughts on it and see if it was worth anything. He got back to me, and he said he really liked the song and thought it was great. He gave me a few ideas and ways to look at the subject differently, and it really helped me finish the song. That encouragement gave me the confidence to include it on the album.”

The Golden Crystal Kingdom also pays tribute to some of the peers Emerson cut his teeth with in the music scene. He covers the Charley Crockett song, “Time of the Cottonwood Trees,” and is quick to pay tribute to his labelmate and dear friend Colter Wall. “Those two had my back since day one. They’ve been some of my biggest supporters, and they’ve always inspired me to write better songs and encouraged me to pursue this,” Emerson reflects. “Especially at a time when I was starting out and I didn’t really have a lot of encouragement or even self-confidence to do this, they were always there for me.”

As a kid who grew up in a trailer with a single mother, went through bouts of homelessness as a young man, and grinded through countless shows to get where he’s at, Vincent Neil Emerson is never quick to praise his own work ethic. He always refers to the friends, family members, and collaborators who have shown their faith in his vision.

But humility doesn’t mean Emerson isn’t one of the hardest working, most talented songwriters to emerge from the alt-country underground in years. His style is one of a kind, and his ability to blend tales of the everyman with tributes to his past, present, and future make him a peerless songwriter. On The Golden Crystal Kingdom, Vincent Neil Emerson carries on the torch of his singer-songwriter forebears while infusing the legacy with his unique and thrilling point of view.

Kassi Valazza

“Sometimes it takes four or five tries to realize something just isn’t working,” says Kassi Valazza. “I wrote this after my thirteenth try.” She’s referring to the song “Roll On” specifically, but the stagnating pull of repeating patterns — and the brutalizing work of breaking them — inform every song on her new album From Newman Street. “In songwriting and in life, you can’t keep expecting the same thing to work every time.”

Valazza grew up between Prescott and Phoenix, Arizona. She penned her first song at age ten but in those early efforts to perform, found herself halted by stage fright of a clinical level. “I’ve gone to therapy for it,” she says, half-laughing. She didn’t stop writing music but she let less paralyzing means of expression lead the way, eventually enrolling in arts school for painting, an illustrative instinct that inevitably reveals itself in her vivid songwriting. It wasn’t until she relocated to the Pacific Northwest as an adult that Valazza picked back up the proverbial — and actual — guitar.

“Zach Bryson was kind of like the honky tonk ambassador of Portland when I got there,” Valazza says. “He was so welcoming and encouraging.” She discovered an inspiring, supportive artistic community, a less rigid relationship with musical output, and then — vocal nodules. “It was actually kind of the best thing that could have happened, because I learned about the crossover of physical and mental that takes place in performance.” Recovery entailed recognizing the reflexive functions of the voice in response to anxiety; as is the case throughout the human body, stress reactions can be damaging. “Because I suddenly understood what was happening with my voice, I could handle it, wield it. I felt more confident.” Valazza recorded an album with Bryson in an old-house-turned-studio. It was an informal, friendly endeavor, though not at all small. “I think probably thirty people contributed,” she says. “I listen back to that album and I think ‘this was me learning how to do this.’ I can hear that moment in time.”

Valazza’s debut Dear Dead Days fused the Southwest’s rustic romance with the Pacific Northwest’s rocky realism and garnered Valazza a cult following. She landed a deal with Fluff & Gravy, a label known for launching earthy, emerging treasures like Anna Tivel and Margo Cilker, and toured with folk favorites including Melissa Carper and Riddy Arman. Her sophomore album Kassi Valazza Knows Nothing followed, a glimmering set of sonic talismans among Ann Powers’ Favorite Songs of 2023 for NPR and Bandcamp’s Best Country Music of 2023, with praise from KEXP, Uncut, MOJO, and Brooklyn Vegan to boot.

By the time Valazza was ready to record her third album, she had spent a decade in Portland — and that, she realized, was enough. “As someone with anxiety, I always want to know what’s going to happen,” she says. “But knowing can be limiting. Getting comfortable with the uncomfortable, that’s growth. That’s what this album’s about, really.”

On “Weight of the Wheel,” a weepy slide guitar underscores Valazza’s listless lament: All things look the same / From the pillow on my bed / I’m stressed out I’m far away / There’s dizzy dancing in my head. The song sounds like urgency, grief, surrender, and embrace — all at once. It’s feeling like some kind of fight to outgrow / The way I fear slowing down before I’m old. By 2022, that dizzy demise of cyclical living had set Valazza still — in a basement apartment there in Portland. “You’re going to be a different person after every album,” she says. “And you have to keep moving forward.”

Sights set on Nashville, Valazza landed in New Orleans. “It wasn’t the plan. I spent three months there between tours, and it just kind of happened.” The bright newness of The Big Easy illuminated fresh inspirations and unexpected love. But it also cast a stark light on Valazza’s sense of self; in a new place, you can see more clearly what you want to be, as well as what you haven’t been. “I discovered the less likeable parts of myself in that time,” Valazza says. Album standout “Your Heart’s a Tin Box” encapsulates precisely this, with a cynical-yet-sunny likeness to Joni Mitchell and lyrical acuity: I moved down to New Orleans / Thinking love would reappear / But people tell you everything / but what you wanna hear / You relied on fixated company / Now you’re drowning in your ego’s gluttony. The patterns of her Portland life had stalled Valazza. It wasn’t the city’s fault so much as the natural consequence of complacency, the stagnance that comes with too much of the same. Valazza knew she was due for a personal evolution, and when faced with those innate, bristling pangs of change, could soothe herself with that certainty.

The track sequence on From Newman Street is audibly intentional — from a deep lull and dull itch, to a barbed clash with cognitive dissonance, to humble submission, and an ultimate, open-armed acceptance of new life. Poetically enough, half the songs on the upcoming album were written in Portland, the other half in New Orleans. Valazza returned to her former hometown to record with Matt Thomson at Echo Echo Studios, and titled the release From Newman Street in tribute to an apartment she lived in deeply and left with heavy heart. The album is as much a fond farewell as it is a fervent step forward.

Valazza made the official move to New Orleans in February of 2024. “Coming from placid, wintry Portland straight into Mardi Gras — I would not recommend it.” She recalls the time with humor, grace, and sensitivity for her past self, qualities that shine through the album. “I’ve always been a believer that music is only good if it’s really raw, really honest — probably coming from a place of hurt,” Valazza admits. “But I’m trying to embrace chaos these days, and bring a little more light into my life.”