Turn It Up - 8/5/2026

Justin Vernon – “Hayward, WI” (live, 2026)

At his most recent Eaux Claires festival, Vernon appeared for a surprise acoustic set to replace Kevin Morby, who couldn’t be there because he’d just had a baby. Part of that set was “Hayward, WI,” an unreleased Bon Iver song that dates back to their first album and which Vernon has rarely played live. Listening to the YouTube clip of this 2026 performance, I think the song might be one of the very best things that Vernon’s ever done. A tender tribute to a friend on graduation day, “Hayward, WI” is filled with the kind of Springsteen-ian generosity (underscored by the thematic and melodic similarity to the Boss’ “No Surrender”) and the touches of Northern Midwest specificity that mark Vernon’s writing, and he delivers the song in a gruff baritone that avoids any of the falsetto that’s made him one of indie rock’s most interesting vocalists. (In the earlier live version, he bounces back and forth between vocal registers – I’m not sure if it’s to the song’s benefit.) I’m glad for the exploratory impulses that characterize Vernon’s work with Bon Iver and other projects, but “Hayward, WI” suggests that he’s got a “heartland rock” hero in there too, a fitting duality for a Wisconsin musician of his vintage. Hopefully we’ll all get to spend more time with that guy. – Charles Hughes

Sophie Truax – “10 Feet Tall” (from Can’t Split a Worm, 2026)

I first became aware of pop-rocker Sophie Truax because of the hilarious videos about her homemade puppets that she posted on TikTok. (Like you do.) The charm and sparkle of that content extends to her music, especially newest single “10 Feet Tall,” a brief and delightful banger that pairs Truax’s winningly winsome voice with a chugging rhythm that recalls the poppier sides of the “Buzz Bin” ‘90s and the punk-pop ‘00s. The song is essentially one long hook, sliding between a twinkling intro and fuzzed-out climax with a playful ease. When Truax dances across her declaration that “I can, I can, I can, I can,” you need no further convincing that she will. – CH

Shirley Ellis – “The Name Game” (single, 1964)

Sometimes, it takes dozens of listens to hear a song for the first time. That happened to me recently while listening to a Patreon bonus episode of Andrew Hickey’s astonishing podcast A History of Rock Music in 500 Songs devoted to Shirley Ellis’ 1964 hit “The Name Game.” I’d heard this song so many times over the years, usually on one oldies station/compilation or another, but it wasn’t until Hickey discussed it at length that I realized just how much this track absolutely rips. Based around a rhyming game Ellis learned in childhood, “The Name Game” pairs Ellis’ sharp vocal with a pistol-hot arrangement driven by propulsive drums and a punching horn section. (As Hickey points out in the podcast, there is precious little information on either Ellis or the musicians she and co-producer Lincoln Chase worked with.) It rocks as hard and swings as riotously as anything from the mid-‘60s (And the best part? Her follow-up “The Clapping Song” might be even better. But that’s a story for another time.) I’m very glad Andrew Hickey allowed Ms. Ellis to reintroduce herself and this cracking reminder of how good such records can get. – CH

Shaboozey – “Cowgirl” (from The Outlaw Cherie Lee and Other Western Tales, 2026)

Shaboozey’s new album is fantastic. It work both as a conceptual reconsideration of the “outlaw” framed around the histories of Black cowboys and American racial violence and as a no-skips affirmation of the artist’s wide-open talents. Right now, I’m particularly struck by “Cowgirl,” in part because it suggests that Shaboozey’s gifts for this kind of post-stomp-clap hoedown are far bigger than the potential novelty of his breakthrough hit. (Which I loved, of course.) Over a sawing fiddle riff, Shaboozey and a cast of backup singers celebrate the titular queen of the dance floor with a joy that transcends the cliché into something warmhearted and far more fun. While he stretches across the stylistic horizon elsewhere on The Outlaw Cherie Lee, there’s something about this vibrant rave-up that eloquently confirms his desire and capability to stick around this particular party for a long time. I’m glad to hear it, because country desperately needs him in the mix. – CH

The Chantels – “Maybe” (single, 1958)

Arlene Smith died last week. Her list of famed contributions isn’t as long as some of her contemporaries, perhaps, but one is so seismic that it’s earned her an enduring place in the pop canon and the continuing wonderment of those who hear her lead vocal on The Chantels’ 1958 hit “Maybe” and marvel at its sublimity. Only 16 when she recorded the performance in a Manhattan church (an appropriate setting for a sacred text), Smith delivers “Maybe” with the yearning desperation so crucial to doo-wop, but adds an assurance that registers her as the continuing center of her world despite her lovelorn lament. Soaring over the high notes, Smith seems just short of falling to pieces without ever giving in. From both faraway and up close, “Maybe” and Arlene Smith have lost none of their power even 60 years later, and the song sounds like it will find its way around the universe for the rest of space-time. And that, my friends, is a legacy worth celebrating. – CH

Sad Daddy – “Let’s Go Fishin’” (from Ozark Shine, 2026)

I guess you’d call Sad Daddy an old-time country band, but only if you’ll allow that “old time” takes in folk tunes and parlor ballads and ragtime, early blues and jug band sounds, plus a little hot jazz and even touches of that most modern of genres here, bluegrass. They’re a four-piece these days, with each member a singer and a songwriter and each hailing from somewhere out here in the middle of the country. They tend to gather in the Arkansas Ozarks to work out up-to-date material for their old sounds. Banjo man Joe Sundell’s “Little Ozark Cabin” is a lovely original with a Stephen Foster timelessness. Bassist Melissa Carper’s “Don’t You Take My Dollar Bill” packs real bite in these crypto times. Guitarist Brian Martin’s “Kerosene Dream” closes the set with a protest addressed to, among others, some president who’s started another pointless war. But basically after throwing a dart at the playlist, I’ll say fiddler Rebecca Patek’s “Let’s Go Fishin’” is my favorite. Wistful and wise, Patek advises us to “blow off work and come on over,” to “ride a tilt-a-whirl like when we were kids” because, after all, “we ain’t gettin’ out of debt today. There’ll always be some more to pay.” Yeah, that’s my favorite, but only for now, so just play the whole thing. It’s an absolutely easeful delight. –David Cantwell

Tift Merritt – “Someone to Watch the Band with Me” (from Sugar, 2026)

I’ve long thought of Tift Merritt as the Maria McKee of her generation. Both singer-songwriters first gained attention as young, big-voiced front women for roots rock outfits (MM’s Lone Justice; TM with the Carbines) that emerged from vibrant roots music scenes (MM: cow punk-era L.A.; TM: alt.country-era North Carolina) into which they were initially pigeonholed. Both were hyped because of their singing and songs but also, much more toxically, because they were conventionally attractive young women. They even shared a producer, George Drakoulias, on my favorite album from their respective catalogs (MM: You Gotta Sin to Get Saved; TM: Tambourine). They’ve largely toiled at different levels of the music business (MM has mostly been on major labels; TM’s recent releases have been on Yep Roc and One Riot Records), but that, too, reflects the 15-or-so year difference in their ages. Consequently, Merritt’s latest album, Sugar, is only the seventh in her two-decade career and her first in nine years. I don’t want to over-stress Merritt’s similarity to McKee, but I do want to suggest they are kindred artists, and that, if you like McKee’s music as much as I have, you should check out Merritt’s new one. I’d say start with “Someone to Watch the Band with Me,” where Merritt shows how everyday details provoke big emotions. It’s as perfect a lonely-music-fan love song as you’re ever going to hear. “Come on, baby, you got to hurry to this dive/ The band is playing loud, I want to make you feel alive.” – DC

The Opera Bell Band – “I Get a Kick Out of Corn” (from The Opera Bell Band Presents… A Salute to Corn, 2026)

In case you were wondering, my rankings for the best corn-themed songs of the 2020s are 1) “Corn,” co-written by Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally from the original Broadway cast recording of Shucked; and 2) “I Get a Kick Out of Corn” by St. Louis’ the Opera Bell Band. Both songs detail the many wonderful uses of corn in our lives and are in love with not only corn but hooks that pop. (See what I did there?) Truth be told I give the nod to Clark/McAnally simply for setting to music that age-old observation “It’s the same going in coming out.” But credit to the Opera Bell Band for not only cutting one corn song (an adaptation, actually, of a 1940 cornpone hit by Tiny Hill & His Orchestra) but for devoting an entire album to the versatile topic. Obviously, the OBB aesthetic is a, uh, pretty corny one. They self-identify as “madcap,” for goodness’s sake. But if you appreciate goofball jokes set to swingy little old-school Tin Pan Pop (see what I did again?), then you’ll get a kick out of “I Get a Kick Out of Corn.” Best paired with: A nice bourbon. – DC (Thanks to John Wendland for cluing me in)

The Rolling Stones – “Ringing Hollow” (from Foreign Tongues, 2026)

This new Stones album really is their best since [fill in the blank]. Though depending upon which Stones title you just chose, that may not be saying too much. (Charles wrote about a different Foreign Tongues track last month.) “Ringing Hollow” first jumped out from the pack for me because it returns to that cool, spare, upright-piano-at-a-country-saloon vibe, think “Far Away Eyes” (or, related, “Salt of the Earth”), that they’ve never turned to often enough for my tastes. The reason it’ll stick with me, though, is that it’s an actual protest song, or at least a from-a-distance critique of how shitty it is to grow up on American pop culture, the way these boys did—to very nearly build your entire identity on a version of it—and then to have this last decade’s [fill in the blank] make you feel as if you’ve been betrayed, however comfortably. “I was madly in love with you before we ever met,” Mick drawls. “Lady Liberty don’t look so good” now, though. “They took away the welcome mat.” – DC

case/lang/veirs – “People Got the Power (live)” (single, 2026)

I don’t believe this Patti and Fred Smith protest standard, a 2016 live version of the anthem, has ever sounded better. I mean, first, because of the way Neko Case, then Laura Veirs, then an impressively stentorian k. d. lang, take a turn, each on their own, before joining their voices to create something greater, freer, more thrilling than the sum of their individual selves. But I refer mostly to the way this song has never sounded more in sync with the mood of the world. Both this one and the one we need. – DC

Recommended reading:

-Neko Case on the history of predatory behavior from an unnamed musician who died last week, for her Entering the Lung

-Sheldon Pearce reviews the new albums from Syd and Steve Lacy, for NPR Music

-Kandia Crazy Horse on Sly & The Family Stone, for Perfect Sound Forever

-Sasha Geffen on Primus’ 1993 album Pork Soda, for Pitchfork

-Tim Brinkhof reviews Tom Sito’s Drawing Life Back into Animation: A Personal Journey Through the Toon Renaissance of the 1990s, for The Los Angeles Review of Books

-Sarah Hagi profiles I Love Boosters-director Boots Riley, for Hammer & Hope

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