Music

FRIDAY

SATURDAY

ROB LEINES

ABOUT

"I'm burning down the interstate," Rob Leines sings halfway through Headcase, an album that finds the road warrior occupying the intersection of blue-collar rock & roll and outlaw country. Pulling triple duty as a songwriter, southern storyteller, and modern-day guitar hero, Leines fills his third album with tales from the fast lane, punctuating each song with amplified riffs and a voice sharpened by a heavy touring schedule. The result is a record for dive bars and dance halls, for highways and honky-tonks, for wheels that spin and and horizons that linger just out of reach.

Headcase shines its light on more than surface-level road songs, though. Leines digs deep beneath the blacktop, delivering music about love lost, chances taken, and life lived between the mile markers. Songs like "Double Wide" still raise plenty of hell, but there's vulnerability here, too — a sense that you can't outrun your problems, even at 80 miles per hour. "Headcase is about doing whatever it takes to navigate the roads in your life," Leines explains. "It's about the things we do to just keep on trucking."

Before recording Headcase with co-producers Mike Harmeier (the longtime frontman of Silverada, formerly known as Mike and the Moonpies) and Adam Odor, Leines quit his longtime job as a welder and hit the road in support of his 2021 album, Blood Sweat and Beers. The record became his breakthrough release, earning Leines a year's worth of gigs with marquee acts like Dwight Yoakam and The Mavericks. Night after night, he hit the stage with his power trio, mixing rock & roll bang with Telecaster twang. "After putting in all those hours and all those miles, we became really confident with our ability to put on a rock show," he remembers. "That's what this music is: it's rock & roll with a cowboy hat."

To capture the rough-and-rowdy spirit of those concerts, Leines and his two bandmates — along with guests like organ player David Percefull (owner of Yellow Dog Studios) and harmony singer Kelley Mickwee (a fellow Texas-based solo artist, as well as a member of Shinyribs) — headed to Wimberley, TX, where they recorded Headcase during short breaks between shows. "We toured for three months before we started tracking, and we went straight from a gig into the studio," he remembers. "It meant our chops were sharp, and everything felt familiar." For fans of Blood Sweat and Beers, Leines' guitar playing — a mix of hybrid finger-picking, blues-driven rock riffs, slide guitar, and distorted chords from a customized Gregg Tele — will feel familiar, too. Every song is rooted in that instrument, with Leines firing twin barrels of fierce fretwork and heartland hooks. At the same time, Headcase explores new territory. The breezy, bouncing "High in the Cotton" draws parallels between turbine welding and music-playing, two on-the-go jobs that require workers to spend countless days away from friends and family. Having dedicated years to both careers, Leines delivers the song's spoken-word verses in a deep, weary baritone that channels the exhaustion of a long workweek. Elsewhere, he pays tribute to his grandparents with "Goldmine," whose funky, fiery riff nods to Jerry Reed. And on the hard-hitting "Black Lingerie," he replaces the hard-charging speed of his earlier

songs for a slowed-down swagger that sounds dark, driven, and dangerous.

Together, those songs turn Headcase into an album that blends roadhouse grit with juke joint grease. It's the soundtrack for the sort of road trip that never really ends, and Leines has never sounded so dedicated to the long haul.

SAM MORROW

ABOUT

Sam Morrow spent years knocking on doors that wouldn't budge, walking through ones that led nowhere, and closing others behind him.

On his newest record, Southern Boogie, he's slammed the door shut on the Americana palate that defined his previous trilogy of releases and kicked open a new one. A cross-country move, change of perspective, and fresh outlook on life were catalysts that also steered Morrow to cross the threshold on a new sound.

Make no mistake, that’s exactly what Southern Boogie represents — raw, Texas-bred southern rock that sounds exactly like what it is: Sam Morrow, confidently evolving.

"Doors opening and closing is definitely a constant theme of the record,” Morrow says. “It's not only ending of a relationship, and a change of location, but my life was completely changing.”

For years, Morrow has made records shaped by a period spent trying to reinvent himself in California and partially inspired by the new neighbors he suddenly found himself surrounded by. His earlier albums — Concrete & Mud, Gettin' By On Gettin' Down, and On The Ride Here — earned praise from NPR and Rolling Stone for their swampy blend of country funk, and roadhouse blues.

And while those records were a huge part of his life. They also lined up to a time and place that he was leaving behind.

Southern Boogie is what happens when you shed expectations. Recorded mostly live, in Austin, with producer Jonathan Tyler, the sessions were stripped-down and analog: two guitars, bass, keys, drums. All tube amps. No click track. No safety net.

"Jonathan got it before I even explained it," Morrow says. "We just wanted it to sound gritty and raw. Like a band in a room, because that's what it is."

The result is unapologetically guitar driven. Straight-ahead southern rock with a Texas backbone — ZZ Top's grit and groove without trying to sound like anyone but himself.

That brand of honesty didn't come easy. The last few years brought its share of hard resets. After over a decade in Los Angeles, Morrow felt something pulling him away. It wasn't just the expense or the grind of touring from the West Coast. It was deeper than that.

"I just knew I didn't want to be there anymore," Morrow explains. "Both careerwise and personally it felt like a smart move.”

Relocating to Nashville gave him clarity. He's happier now. More grounded. The restless energy that defined his earlier work has given way to something looser, more self-assured.

"I'm the happiest I've ever been," Morrow says. "And I think that shows on the record. It's playful. It doesn't take itself too seriously."

That newfound sense of unbridled optimism pervades Boogie’s nine tracks, unlocked in no small part by a new relationship. After 15 years apart, Morrow unexpectedly reconnected with his high school sweetheart, ultimately falling in love and getting married.

"South Texas Women" is Morrow's love letter to her — a song about realizing "they just don't make them like they do in South Texas." Meanwhile, "Wedding Ring" celebrates the certainty of finding the right person.

The new record swaggers. It also has heart. Sometimes both at once.

"Cruisin'" begs the listener to turn it up and hit the gas, capturing the freedom of rolling down the highway when you can't see eye to eye with your partner. "Saturday Night" is a satirical rocker about a guy who feels invincible and owns the night. "In The Bag" offers a clear-eyed look at the fleeting high of cocaine. "Put It in a Song" speaks to the healing power of songwriting itself — good or bad, it all goes into the song.

"I just want people to listen to this and have a good time," Morrow says. "Don't take shit too seriously. That's kind of my mantra."

Morrow grew up in Houston absorbing ZZ Top, punk, and hip-hop before landing in rehab as a teenager. He found sobriety in Los Angeles and stayed there for over a decade, building a career and a sound. But the move to Nashville and the new album all signal the same thing: his discordant era is over.

This is chapter two.

"I've been looking for my sound for a long time," Morrow says. "Rock ‘n’ roll just feels like me. The most me possible.”

After years of searching, Sam Morrow quit looking for approval. Southern Boogie is what's on the other side — loud, honest, and exactly where he is supposed to be.