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After nearly a decade in New York City, alt-country rocker Whitney Lockert finds refuge and renewal in Los Angeles and classic country/rock songcraft on his sophomore LP, Long Way to California (out July 15). The record plays like a series of musical postcards from pasts and futures, both real and imagined, and draws on Lockert’s varied work with artists like Nigerian reggae star Majek Fashek, and former lead guitarist of The Black Crowes, Marc Ford. 

Long Way to California is about recognizing where you are and searching for something new, learning from mistakes and triumphs, and seeking contentment among the confusions of modern life. Lockert pens wry and deadly honest lyrics, lightened with occasional touches of levity. His musical brilliance stems from an encyclopedic knowledge and reverence for stalwart Americana bards like Neil Young, Tom Petty, Merle Haggard, Steve Earle, and Buck Owens. He toys with classic country tropes, subverting them with humor and modern insight, while blending them with anthemic folk rock, psychedelic guitar leads and the occasional Bakersfield lilt.

Album opener and title track “Long Way to California” lays out the album’s themes of seeking contentment and a place in the world. It contemplates leaving everything behind and hitting the road “in an old dirty car,” in search of a place to “build something old.” It’s about looking for love, stability, and room to grow. The song basks in Lockert’s layered guitars and velvety, baritone vocals. The subdued organ, punchy guitar leads and synced piano melodies build into an anthemic love letter to a Golden State of the mind, free of the cramped confines of the city. 

“I grew up in the Bay Area, then lived in New York for a long time,” says Lockert. “Through Hurricane Sandy, good and bad roommates, and many other ups and downs, I sometimes  felt more connected to humanity than ever, and sometimes more isolated… I came to see the dream of California and the frontier of the West in ways I never had before, the appeal of its open spaces, its freedom from a certain kind of history. I was also imagining finding the right person to settle down with, and it just worked out that long after writing the song, I found that person, packed it up and headed west.” 

“Girl On a Train” is a New York love song, a tale of gentle flirtation across subway platforms. There’s hope and melancholy in Lockert’s voice as he sings of two strangers, who never were and never will be, sharing a moment before going on to lead their separate lives. The “Girl on a Train” video finds Lockert drifting in and out of consciousness in a theater, dreaming about what could be. Hypnotic found footage and classic horror film clips simulate the subway experience as strange characters, some beautiful, some disturbing, come and go. Lockert makes peace with his journey as a gorgeous harmonized chorus lulls him to sleep. The transient, warm pedal steel brings him back to life as he reaches his last stop on Myrtle Avenue.

Album closer “Staten Island Blues” was written after Eric Garner’s murder at the hand of NYC police officers on July 7, 2014. Sadly, the song seems only to gain relevance with the passage of time and further events. Lockert’s guitar speaks as poignantly as his lyrics on this song, building from quiet lyricism to a full-on howl of emotion at the song’s climax. 

“I Think I Blew It” is driven by a mellow yet propulsive guitar hook coupled with lyrics full of humorous hindsight; its wry self-effacement and psychedelic touches suggest the hazy rock of Kurt Vile. It’s a song about laughing at one’s own “a-ha moments,” realized just a little too late. Grunge-infused cosmic country track “Not to Judge” stems from an off-handed comment thrown out by a companion in a New York taxi cab between bumps of cocaine. It’s about the choices we make in the moment and their consequences. 

“Everyone Makes A Mistake or Two” is an alt-country ballad about learning emotional intelligence, wrecking relationships and cars, and maybe drinking too much along the way. “We Were There” reflects on growing older and nostalgically looks back at growing up in a small town and simpler times. “This Disguise” continues the theme of growing up and figuring out “how to live” in a chaotic world. It pulls no emotional punches, showcasing Lockert’s undeniable ability to make his guitar sing with its own tragic voice. He invokes the spirit of Duane Allman jamming with Crazy Horse as he strangleholds blue notes that dance and shriek with transcendent ecstasy.

“The Desert and the Sea” finds Lockert envisioning life in Los Angeles, while still unsure if it’s time to go. Its gentle, West African-inspired fingerpicking and country pedal steel complement Lockert’s lulling vocals in this vacation-ready ode to rebuilding. Contemplating the push and pull of relationships, Lockert sings, “You want to go and I want to stay/And sometimes it feels like it’s slipping away/But I come around every once in a while/Back to the place that I found in your smile.” Maybe the time for construction is over for Lockert, who says that he wrote this song for a friend, as he settles into his new life of temperateness and relaxation.

A longtime champion of guitar-driven rock & roll, Kurt Deemer responded to the modern moment with 2021’s World Upside Down, whose songs examined the seismic changes that shook American society during Donald Trump’s presidency. One year later, he looks toward the future with Reclaim the Night. It’s an album about new beginnings and fresh starts, with Deemer — who pulls triple-duty as Reclaim the Night’s frontman, songwriter, and producer — embracing his solo artistry after an acclaimed run as frontman of The Kurt Deemer Band.

“We could leave tonight; leave it all behind in the dead of night,” he sings during the album’s opener, “Dead of Night.” A lean, sinewy rocker whose guitar arpeggios ring throughout every chorus, “Dead of Night” unfolds like a Springsteen-sized summons delivered by a man hellbent on a midnight car ride out of town. For a songwriter whose work has always nodded to the heartland rockers and classic craftsmen who came before him, it’s an appropriate start to the most dynamic record of Deemer‘s career. 

Reclaim the Night offers a mix of the mellow and the mighty, the introspective and the anthemic, the acoustic and the electric. Having played with the same group of Baltimore-based musicians for years, Deemer found himself in need of a change after World Upside Down’s release, having written a handful of acoustic songs that didn’t seem to match his band’s amplified stomp. Looking for new collaborators, he assembled a small band and headed to a local warehouse, where Reclaim the Night was recorded in a rehearsal space whose cozy confines mirrored that of a bedroom. It wasn’t fancy, but the space suited the new songs perfectly.

“At first, we weren’t sure if we were making demos or the final product,” Deemer admits. The group worked quickly, letting instincts lead the way, capturing each song without excess fanfare or frills. Honest and heartfelt, the recordings were then transferred to 2-inch tape for analog warmth, with Deemer recruiting DC post-punk veteran J. Robbins (Jawbox, Government Issue) to mix the songs. “We left some of the rough edges.” he says of the finished product, taking pride in the album’s raw, real, unpolished punch. “We did it the hard way. We did it old-school.”

Years before he released records like 2016’s Gaslight and 2018’s Antenna Like a Lightning Rod, Deemer grew up in inner-city Baltimore. The FM radio was always on, filling the family household with a soundtrack of rock, pop, folk, and soul songs. He sang along to his favorites, laying the foundation for a career that would eventually find him sharing stages with Larkin Poe, Jesse Malin, and others. Before long, Deemer was making music of his own, graduating from the noisy clatter of his earliest recordings — which he strummed on a three-string guitar discovered in the back of his sister’s closet — to the focused sounds of his first professional bands, including the Shadowmen and Vulgaria. 

Vulgaria gradually morphed into the Kurt Deemer Band, whose ranks included longtime collaborators like drummer Steve Rose and guitarist John Christensen. Both of those musicians had been playing with Deemer since Vulgaria’s heyday, resulting in a rich, deep chemistry that brought albums like World Upside Down to vivid life. Laced with electric guitar, organ, gang vocals, driving grooves, and harmonica, those records nodded to Deemer‘s heroes — including Tom Petty, Warren Zevon, and the Replacements — while exploring new territory, turning his classic influences into something singular.

Reclaim the Night turns a new page, with songs that focus not on the forces that threaten to pull us apart, but the love and hope that can bring us back together. “I wanna wrap my arms ‘round this world, hold her like a lost little girl, tell her it’s gonna be alright,” Deemer sings in “Reclaim the Night Part 1,” displaying an optimism that wasn’t always so easy to find on the fiery World Upside Down. Likewise, “All the Love” is an open-armed anthem about compassion’s ability to repair the burned bridges between us, while “Sweetness and Light” creates its own uplift with jangling guitar chords and a meteoric chorus. On “Weeds,” he even extends a helping hand to someone lost to addiction, promising that “real love is free…you can call on me.” 

Philly-based R&B powerhouse Suzanne Sheer combines experimental electronic music with soulful, sexual and surreal ballads on her debut LP, The Blue Hour (out June 10 via Cake Productions). Her works suture our deepest wounds, pinning loneliness to the ground. Dark synths and grimy drum and bass grooves mesh with Sheer’s heart crushing balladry and artful pop sensibilities, syncing effortlessly with producers 3XPO – who’s shared stages with DJ Premier, Mobb Deep, The Pharcyde, Jadakiss and more – and LOTITS, both of whom manifest kaleidoscopic beats and silky co-production that might just make Timbaland proud. 

A Pittsburgh native, Sheer once found herself recording with producer Ricky P and Wiz Khalifa, partying in L.A. with Taylor Gang at age 18. “That was an insane time in my life; it helped inform my time spent in the studio, and how I think about recording these days,” says Sheer. Philly favorites, Simon Martinez (Jazmine Sullivan, Flanafi) on guitar, and GRAMMY-nominated drummer Steve McKie (DJ Jazzy Jeff, Killiam Shakespeare) appear on select tracks, resulting in a debut record that pulls no punches. On The Blue Hour, Sheer champions sex positivity, hoping to instill confidence in those discouraged by media or the endless loop of disenchantment granted by the double-edged nature of our dear friend, the internet. “It’s important for people to feel sexual. Music is such a beautiful and comfortable way to enjoy sexuality, whether it be by yourself or with someone else.” 

“Godly” incorporates this sentiment in lockstep with Sheer’s divine vocals, where – in the chorus – she sings, “The way that you work my body/Got me ready to hurt somebody/You must be evil/‘Cause there’s just no way somebody godly could do this to me.” The sheer amount of pining is enshrined in the track’s crystalline falsettos, elastic synth bass, and mercurial fuzz guitar, seething under the surface, as though ready to rip right through the atmosphere. “Down For You” continues with swirling synths and cosmic swells, suffusing glitchy textures and skittering rhythmic fixtures, while Sheer commands, “Why don’t you claim your prize/Come for me/I see it in your eyes.”

Then there’s “Girls On The Internet,” an about-face, flushed with bitter resentment, ultimately sharpened by Sheer’s solidarity with women. “This one’s for the girls out there. It’s a callout song. Let it make you feel a little bit angry, but also a little bit feisty,” says Sheer. The accompanying visual shines a stark spotlight on Sheer’s periphery, wherein she migrates from jealousy to admiration for the women flickering into the foreground of her apartment, showering them with words of affirmation as they dance to the beat of her ethos: “Soft lips, flawless/Blonde tips, heartless/Gorgeous, goddess/Run them pockets.”

Though The Blue Hour is ensconced in darker, dance floor-ready hooks, its euphoria lies in Sheer’s ineffable emotive ability to cast brilliant, incandescent choruses that are bound to turn heads, whispering “begone” to all our demons. An ambitious debut record from the collective, The Blue Hour is just the beginning of an era from Sheer and her crew, who adopt The Weeknd’s futurist pop methodology and Adele’s iconic vulnerability, with foresight into their own collagist masterwork.