Angela Easterling’s new album, Witness is a triumph of songwriting. Easterling masterfully ducks in and out of the best subgenres Americana has to offer while holding on to one important kernel: radical vulnerability. Whether she’s slinging skronky blues or heartfelt folk, Easterling’s songs cut to the quick.
The album sets out with “California,” a dreamy folk rocker with deliciously distorted slide guitar. It starts off as a road song before Easterling divulges why she had to go. It’s nostalgic and liberating, evocative of California highways. But there’s an edge to that sunlight, and Easterling delivers it as gently as possible.
“Little Boy Blues” finds Easterling making demands of the patriarchy. Her blues snarl mocks society’s expectations for her two sons, even as she questions how to get them to adulthood unscathed by toxic masculinity. The song brings down the house, but invites food for thought. “Baby Bird” is similarly breathtaking in its depth: a seemingly meditative folk song turns tragic and deeply personal.
It’s not all shock and awe, though. “Middle-Aged Dream” is a hilarious self-effacing story song about Easterling’s attempts at a straight, 9 – 5 life. (Spoiler: it doesn’t work out.) “Grow Old” is part pandemic plea, certainly, but also replete with warmth and love: a mother’s fervent wish for her children.
Easterling has a gift for commuicating her inner self clearly. Even if these are not your experiences (they’re not mine) you’ll find yourself with a new appreciation for walking a mile in someone else’s shoes: a rare and all-too-necessary feat.