If you’re in the mood for something that lets silence speak just as loudly as melody, this one’s worth a listen.
The Lone Canary are Jesse Fox and Heather Camacho, an americana duo from Rockford, Illinois, known for crafting songs that feel worn-in and weathered. Their third album, “Dime Store Horses,” is a meditation on grief, memory, and resilience. It doesn’t shout; it murmurs, aches, and ultimately endures.
The album opens with ‘Kingdom Come,’ where swirling strings and organ evoke a dust storm rolling in. The lyrics reflect on youthful ideals and spiritual reckoning. “Say a prayer for wayward sons, marching onward to kingdom come.” It sets the tone for an album that’s more confessional than performative. ‘Sins of Our Fathers’ questions whether we can ever escape the weight of inheritance. “Why even bother, when we can blame it on our fathers,” they sing, not with bitterness, but quiet resignation. ‘Carry On’ lifts the mood slightly, with Camacho’s vocals and Fox’s strumming offering a gentle sway between two lovers trying to hold on as twilight falls.
‘Wildfire’ smoulders with longing. Camacho’s fiddle stretches across the track like smoke, while Fox pleads to be “burnt to ash” in a love that refuses to be tamed. ‘13’ is wistful and catchy, its electric guitar slicing through Camacho’s dancing fiddle lines. ‘Give It Some Time’ offers a tender moment of hope. Soft harmonies and gentle instrumentation create a space where melancholy and intimacy coexist. ‘Hard Times’ follows with dread and weariness, as Fox’s gritty vocals and Camacho’s slow, drawn-out notes conjure a storm on the horizon.
‘First to Go’ imagines the grief of being left behind, shifting mid-song into a brighter instrumental break before closing in harmony and prayer. ‘Something Real,’ written during a season of depression, doesn’t seek resolution; it simply sits with the weight, allowing the listener to do the same. The title track, ‘Dime Store Horses,’ ends the album with a lament. “Feel like we’re dime store horses… going nowhere fast.” It’s not a surrender; it’s a promise to push forward, even when stuck.
The production, by the band and Jon Martinez, is intentionally raw. Strings soar but never overwhelm. Guitars are sturdy, not slick. Piano lines warm the edges without smoothing them over. The harmonies echo like voices in an empty chapel, inviting, not polished.
“Dime Store Horses” doesn’t demand attention; it earns it. It’s grief with a backbone, memory with motion. For anyone who’s ever felt stalled while life gallops on, this album doesn’t just resonate; it rides beside you. It sits comfortably in the realm of artists like Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, Iron & Wine, or The Civil Wars, perfect for reflective moments or rainy window gazing.
