In the lo-fi indie folk tradition, a deeply personal meditation on grief and loss by the Omaha, Nebraska-based singer-songwriter.
There is something deeply intriguing about an artist who has, through the 30-plus years of his career, sought to sit outside the constraints and compromises of the music business, yet despite this, has succeeded in developing and continually enhancing his reputation. Not only has Simon Joyner achieved this, but he has also been regularly feted by established, quintessential artists, cited as being highly influential in their own works.
Tough Love is Joyner’s 19th studio album, the first appearing in 1992. He has a formidable body of work, remarkable in its uncompromising honesty. This latest offering is no exception, and its forthrightness makes it, in some places, difficult listening. Joyner drew on the tragic death of his son Owen very specifically in his 2024 album Coyote Butterfly, but also in a less direct way, on this record. The title track, Tough Love, which closes the album, is a 20-minute tour de force of introspection. It explores some deeply painful thoughts and questions, left hanging and unresolved after the passing of a loved one. A simple guitar motif provides the backdrop, nagging at you, digging into you, forcing you to reflect on your own pain whilst ripping your heart out with Joyner’s. The album is long at 80 minutes, the 13 tracks, culminating in Joyner’s epic meditation. Some tracks are more obviously autobiographical than others, yet the themes of loss and grief are never far away.
Drawing from the heavyweights, Dylan, Reed, Cohen, Joyner infuses their stylistic mannerisms and tics with his own idiosyncrasies. As an example, the first track Annelie immediately brings Lou Reed’s almost half-spoken drawling delivery to mind. In 2025, he released a 6-song EP of Dylan and Lou Reed covers, artists he identifies closely with, acknowledging their influence. “My goal in covering a song is for it to sound like me singing a song I love in a way that seems fresh”, Joyner observed in an interview at Asheville Stages. Tough Love consists of Joyner originals, yet he wears his influences openly and honestly. His style is often heavily narrative, as in Wild Palms, and yet he is also not afraid of moving away from more familiar forms, introducing some experimental flourishes, such as at the start of Drowning Man and Winter Says. The vibe of Isn’t This How the Story Always Begins is pure Velvets, with a tentative, underdeveloped grungy guitar, always threatening a solo but never fully delivering, maintaining a delicious drive and tension, a Verlaine-esque solo, tantalisingly close. At the end of the track, the strangled sax takes us to the final chorus, or is it a verse, not sure, who cares.
Joyner invests heavily in selecting precisely the right words to serve his purpose, and in places it almost feels like the music is incidental. His well-crafted poetry compels and draws the listener in, sometimes to places which feel uncomfortable, exposing. “Your wild eyes are window shades/I pry open on good days” from How To Talk To Your Man says so much with so few words, beautifully illustrating his lyrical artistry. The often minimalist approach is evidenced on In A Room Like This. Few words, limited instrumentation, and a physically restrictive scene suggest a solipsism and isolation which is perhaps both comforting and frightening. Allegiances meditates on the politics of the day and the decline of decency as he ironically says, “Ain’t it magic when the sacred yields to the profane”. Anniversary Song breaks the mould by letting the music/sonics do the heavy lifting, the simplicity of the repeated 4 lines of the lyrics having an almost transcendental quality, the voice echoing and reverberating.
The closing track, Tough Love, is the hardest listen of all. Joyner sings the imagined words of his son as he receives a harsh assessment of his failings. He allows the anguish and excruciating self-analysis to pour out. “You want to know me/now that it’s too late/ Isn’t that a sad enough lullaby” hits as hard as anything you’re likely to hear. Ten minutes in, and I needed a break. The song closes with Joyner beautifully recounting a scene in a play park with a young child, a scene that many will recognise. “I watch you turn away and just like that, you’re gone”. Intense doesn’t really cover it.
Joyner has been cited by various acclaimed artists, such as Conor Oberst, Kevin Morby, and no less than Gillian Welch, who said that “Omaha has given us the reigning heir to Henry Miller’s dark emotional mirror, Townes Van Zandt’s three-chord moan, and Lou Reed’s warehouse minimalism”. A songwriter’s songwriter is the well-worn acclamation, which sometimes appears to be a cop out for lack of commercial success and visibility. Joyner, however, seems to make a point of not being visible, pursuing his career without management, publicists or the pressures from major labels. The focus is on pursuing his art in a raw and visceral way, not worrying if there’s a hook or a big chorus to fall back on. This is a powerful, raw album from an artist whose mission is highly personal. Too intense for some, I expect, yet if introspective, raw emotion is your thing, then check him out. And if you like this, you’ve got another 18 albums to immerse yourself in.
