Lance Cowan: Once again find him looking deep into the interior lives of his characters, many of whom are battling dark nights of the soul

By David McGee

AGAINST THE GRAIN

Lance Cowan

Lantzapalooze Muzik

So much for the fabled sophomore slump. If Lance Cowan’s debut album, So Far So Good (a Deep Roots Album of the Year last year), came out of the blue to be one of 2024’s most pleasant surprises, then his new long player, Against the Grain, tells us its predecessor was no fluke. Its 10 original songs, all Cowan solo copyrights or co-writes, once again find him looking deep into his characters’ splintered interior lives, revealing many of them to be battling dark nights of the soul. Even when he seems to be writing about the elements turning against him, as in “I Can’t Stand the Winter,” all casual, loping, Western-flavored, steel-rich vibe, closer examination reveals he’s far less concerned about plummeting temperatures than he is about the insidious chill engulfing him in his significant other’s absence, to wit: “I taped the windows up, threw a blanket by the door/but the cold wind still blows in.” There are Pinter-esque moments such as “Every time the lights go down, I think of her…” in the Eagles-ish lilt of “One More Chance” (a co-write with Sam Gay) in which the darkness is not an erotic memory but a metaphor for festering wounds of a failed relationship. There are artful, Jesse Winchester-like constructs framing heartbreaking memories, such as “God made a woman’s heart/a perfect work of art/it takes a foolish man to tear it apart” setting the stage for an intense mea culpa  in the heated drive of “Ragged Edge of Nothing,” a co-write with Terry Clayton.

‘Ragged Edge of Nothing,” Lance Cowan, from Against the Grain

‘One More Chance,‘ Lance Cowan, from Against the Grain

Produced by veterans Jason Stelluto and Scott Paschall, the album’s 10 songs were recorded in two days of sessions in Nashville and find Cowan backed by a stellar lineup of top-tier musicians, including Pat Flynn on guitar and pedal steel legend Dan Dugmore, among others. The soundscape they create blends New Traditionalist elements with country-folk flourishes in striking milieux supporting the easygoing vocals Cowan invests with disarming emotional freight.

It’s hardly all romantic disconnect here, though, as the album takes a more personal first-person turn midway through. A gentle country shuffle enhanced by the low, poignant hum of Todd Smith’s organ, “Old King Coal” provides the backdrop for Cowan’s bittersweet memories of his native Kentucky and a (his?) family’s tragic legacy as miners as it weighs on his psyche as a third-generation miner himself, looking back but not having truly escaped yet : “For the years that were stripped from my life/I’m prayin’ for the strength to say goodbye/to Old King Coal.” On parenthood, Cowan offers “Prayer for a Child,” over solemn, hymn-like sonics accented by Dugmore’s understated pedal steel atmospherics, all the better to enhance Cowan’s most beautiful and piercing lyric passage yet, to wit:

“I longed to be a father even when I was young/but I guess I never dreamed this day would come/so I’ve strengthened my commitment for this life I’ve taken on”—and here his voice rises emphatically—”God help me as I lead him down this road/May I teach the right steps to take/may he learn to see through my mistakes/this is a prayer softly spoken for a child/that he may see the hope for his time and he may grow with peace in his life…” Should a tear arise, be ye not surprised.

‘Prayer for a Child,’ Lance Cowan, from Against the Grain

‘Love Anyway,’ Lance Cowan, from Against the Grain

And to close this memorable outpouring, Cowan offers a largely acoustic “Love Anyway,” a poignant rustic ballad in half-spoken, half-sung monologue form posing the aching question, “Did we ever stand together/what tore us apart?” He goes on to offer a litany of aphorisms suggesting the chaotic state of the Union—“dark is darkest where this no light/wrong is wrongest where this no right/lies are lies and they’re never true enough/and hate is hate in the absence of/there is hope in common ground—leading to the gently, near-whispered advisory: “Love anyway, in spite of the anger, in spite of the hate/love anyway.”

You may call him a dreamer, but he’s not the only one. Whatever else he is, Lance Cowan sounds like a major singer-songwriter whose art is our blessing.