Luke Combs, Zach Bryan, Jelly Roll – Rolling Stone- Armessa Music News

Forget the rumors about who breakout star Megan Moroney may or may not be singing about — “Tennessee Orange” is a sweet, swooning rumination on the allegiances that love can make us defy. Mom and Dad may not approve, but they shouldn’t worry: Deep down, this Georgia girl’s blood still runs Bulldog red.

This paean to plugging in to life’s spiritual vibrations travels from the cold, cozy soil all the way to heaven and visions of the great thereafter. That alone would have a brittle charm, but red-hot songwriter Zach Bryan busts the whole thing open with guttural wails that suggest a rage to live and to feel it all.

Country superstar Luke Combs delivers an unexpected cover that’s a surprisingly faithful reading of the original, female narrator and all. As good as Tracy Chapman’s? Depends on whom you ask, but a historic moment all the same, and a refreshing revival of a stone-cold classic.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Jelly Roll (Nashville’s most unexpected and all-around beloved new star) knows he doesn’t deserve to be bailed out on this heavy-riffing vamp — not that that’s going to stop him from trying to get a helping hand from the almighty. The swirl of fiddle and vocals is enough to make you believe in a higher power, or fear its wrath.

Gas-pipeline-worker-turned-country-phenom Bailey Zimmerman embraces a faith that’s slightly less literal than Jelly Roll’s, although he finds himself speaking directly to God all the same in the yearning “Religiously.” In his case, he’s lamenting the devotion of a woman that he squandered, and no amount of fame or fortune can save him from the pain of his sins.

Any Chris Stapleton guest spot promises to be a must-hear, and this time around he offers an assist to Carly Pearce — who, let’s be honest, doesn’t need the help. Nonetheless, their shared heartbreak on “We Don’t Fight Anymore” is masterful; Pearce’s sense of deadened resignation over a failing romance will leave you devastated.

Parker McCollum cycles through the stages of grief on this hard-hearted kiss-off to a failed relationship. By the time he soars into the final refrain, that scorched-earth policy feels downright cathartic. (It also sounds like what’s probably going to be his biggest hit to date, a career song.)

We’re all going to die someday, so why not live life with the throttle wide open? That’s Corey Kent’s rationale as the Red Dirt crossover hurtles through a flurry of sparking guitar riffs on “Something’s Gonna Kill Me.” Fatalism rarely sounds so freeing.

Warren Zeiders parlayed TikTok fame into a major-label deal, all the better to take his emotive country songwriting to the masses. On this ominous slow-burn ballad, the Hershey, Pennsylvania, singer-songwriter turns off his better judgment and tempts both fate and death. Why? For a beautiful woman, of course.

“The color of my neck’s still the same as my blood,” sings Kentucky wildman Elvie Shane. But “Forgotten Man” is no reactionary rant. Shane’s list of grievances includes gentrification and the bank pissing away our retirement plan, all of which he blows up into heartland-rock that’s big enough for an arena.

There are still six months left in the year but there’s not likely to be a more sensual collab in 2023 than this one by Miranda Lambert and Leon Bridges. Two Texas titans — one with a steel-bodied twang, the other all billowy soul — crackle together like a warm fire in the hearth. Pairs well with a fine wine.

Written with the sense of rich detail and hard truth that’s made Jason Isbell one of America’s best songwriters, “Cast Iron Skillet” finds larger lessons in the minutiae of everyday life. The precious moments, the missteps — those are the baked-in flavors we learn from. They should never be scrubbed away.

Kimberly Perry — formerly the dynamic front person of the Band Perry — has some real-life wisdom to impart about getting a fresh start. Her solo debut has its own Phoenix-like arc about it, and on “Burn the House Down” she fuels the domestic flames with clear-eyed purpose.

When it comes to original sin, the devil lies in the details, especially when you’re a crack storyteller. Ashley McBryde tracks the lineage of an inveterate liar with clinical precision in “Learned to Lie”; her sneakily brilliant writing will floor you by song’s end.

The year’s most unconventional country love song, “Psychopath” proves that Morgan Wade’s head-turning “Wilder Days” was no fluke. The gentle ballad captivates from the get-go and only builds from there as the songwriter ponders the universe with her hard-nosed yet devoted lover: “Was there life before there was us?”

Lainey Wilson taps into the sugary high of that first summertime romance on this woozy, transportive tune, which evokes Deana Carter’s similarly nostalgic “Strawberry Wine.” The charismatic Wilson has been everywhere of late — opening for Luke Combs, singing with Jelly Roll — and this undeniable hit proves why: She’s that damn good.

Galloping along at the steady pace of a frontier explorer, “Lowland Trail” mixes a singalong hook with a metaphor for finding your way that feels like it was carved from bedrock wisdom. You’ll want to build a backyard campfire just so you’ll have the right place to sit around and sing this one.

Bloodlines, surnames, familial prisons — on this powerful acoustic ballad, Indiana songwriter Stephen Wilson Jr. tries his best to escape the arc of family history and finds that maybe those elders (specifically his namesake) knew more than he gave them credit for. It’s an intense listen, full of fear, catharsis, and finally acceptance.

All hail the queen. Continuing her stellar later-in-life revival, Tanya Tucker rides headlong into the arthritic regret of old age and wonders what it all amounts to. But this rodeo song’s message is clear: the competition is only over when she says it is.

True-blue egalitarianism needs to come with a good guitar lick, and John Osborne knows that. Making the would-be little people feel seen lifts us all up, and TJ Osborne knows that too. On “Nobody’s Nobody,” the siblings nail that shared vision with understated pathos and one helluva groove.