emotional songwriting

Favorites of 2025: Kim Ware and The Good Graces – Grand Epiphanies

your tuesday afternoon alternative 2025 Faves, Best Of , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I’ll just say it: Grand Epiphanies is one of the most human records you’re going to hear in 2025, and maybe one of the few that doesn’t insult your intelligence along the way. While many releases this year seem hell-bent on either drowning themselves in studio varnish or hiding behind hipster irony, Kim Ware walks in like someone who’s survived a few things and isn’t afraid to speak plainly about the bruises. These songs don’t howl, they don’t posture—they breathe. And in an era when pop throws confetti over every emotional breakdown and calls it catharsis, Ware has the guts to sit with the silence, to let the ache settle, to make music that’s actually about feeling something and not just Instagramming the wreckage. This is a record that believes in sincerity, and for that alone, it hits like a revelation.

Deepening the craft: Why Grand Epiphanies matters

When Grand Epiphanies was released in September 2025 via Fort Lowell Records, it arrived not as a gimmick or a throwback — but as an earnest statement from a songwriter who has spent nearly two decades refining her voice. For fans of Kim Ware and The Good Graces, the EP represents both continuity and evolution. It retains the emotional honesty and Southern-tinged indie-folk roots listeners have come to expect, while embracing fuller arrangements, sharper lyrical clarity, and a maturity of perspective that only time (and living) can provide.

What emerges is a collection of songs that treat heartbreak, regret, longing, and self-doubt not as melodrama, but as shared human truths. Ware doesn’t write to shock, to boast, or to gloss over. She writes to reach — to offer a mirror to listeners, and maybe a little company in whatever dark or quiet moment they find themselves. This EP is a reminder: vulnerability doesn’t have to be pretty. It just has to be honest.

The team: musicians behind the music

Although Kim Ware remains the creative heart of The Good Graces — vocals, guitar, and songwriting — Grand Epiphanies is a collaborative effort, supported by skilled players and producers who understand how to highlight nuance rather than mask it.

On this release, producers and multi-instrumentalists Steven Fiore and Justin Faircloth play central roles, adding guitar, piano, keyboards, bass, and even backing vocals, and in doing so, help shape the record’s rich but still intimate sonic layers. Their presence builds on a long tradition within The Good Graces: throughout previous albums, different collaborators have drifted in and out of the lineup, each contributing something distinct to the band’s evolving sound. That kind of fluid membership has always been part of the project’s identity, keeping Kim Ware’s songwriting deeply personal while allowing the music itself to remain open, flexible, and continually renewed rather than fixed in a single form.

This flexible model echoes what Ware once said about the band: not as a fixed entity but as a “very talented group of friends,” coming together when inspiration, time, and circumstance allow.

In practice, this means Grand Epiphanies doesn’t feel overproduced or manufactured. Instead, it feels like friends gathered in a room, listening, playing, and creating together — a mood that invites trust and intimacy rather than distance and gloss.

Sound and style: picking up old threads, weaving new ones

Listeners familiar with earlier Good Graces albums — from Sunset Over Saxapahaw (2008) through Ready (2022) — will find much that’s familiar on Grand Epiphanies. Ware’s Southern-tinged twang, her blend of folk, country, and indie-rock sensibilities, the unhurried melodies, the earnest vocal delivery — these remain essential.

Yet this EP also feels more expansive than some earlier efforts. The production, led by Fiore and Faircloth, layers guitars, piano, subtle harmonies, and occasionally banjo or other acoustic touches to build a richer emotional landscape around Ware’s voice. Although personal taste will always shape which tracks linger the longest, several songs on Grand Epiphanies stand out for the way they crystallize what the record does best. Take the track “Old/New”: its guitar strumming and vocal lines evoke late-afternoon melancholy, but as the song unfolds, piano and backing instrumentation widen the space — giving the listener room to sink into memory, longing, and possibility. unfolds like a gentle meditation on what we leave behind and what we carry forward, its subtle layers of instrumentation creating room for genuine emotional reflection.

“Wish I Would’ve Missed You” approaches heartbreak without melodrama, turning regret and longing into something more like the experience of leafing through old photographs—quiet, tender, and unexpectedly overwhelming. And then there is “Missed the Mark,” a song that speaks directly to the insecure, the hopeful, and the uncertain, offering both an appeal for human connection and a confession of imperfection that feels disarmingly honest.

The choice to include a cover — a reimagined version of Some Guys Have All the Luck — also signals the confidence in balancing reverence and reinvention. On this EP, the cover doesn’t feel like a novelty; instead, it sits comfortably alongside Ware’s originals, transformed gently to align with the EP’s mood and tone. “Some Guys Have All the Luck” serves as a bridge between past and present, inspiration and reinterpretation. It doesn’t overshadow the original; it complements it, reminding listeners that songs evolve just as people do.

Overall, the sound of Grand Epiphanies suggests maturity without restraint, emotional depth without melodrama — the kind of record that lingers long after the final note fades.

The gift in the songs: everyday life, honest reflection, and human connection

What often sets the best singer-songwriters apart is a gift for translating ordinary moments into emotional touchstones. On Grand Epiphanies, Kim Ware exercises that gift with clarity and courage. Rather than lean on clichés — heartbreak melodrama, romantic tropes — she mines the subtler, messier terrain of real experiences: regret, nostalgia, second chances, self-doubt, hope, and quiet resilience. Many of these themes resonate universally: longing and loneliness, memory and loss, the ache of roads not taken, the fragile optimism that hums beneath everyday life.

In “Wish I Would’ve Missed You”, Ware reflects on regret and longing with a spare lyricism that strikes more powerfully than most breakup ballads. “Spent it all on grad school… every now and then a memory stops me in my tracks,” she sings — not flaunting heartbreak but confessing to being human, vulnerable, flawed.

Elsewhere — in songs like “Missed the Mark” — she turns the lens inward, wrestling with feelings of inadequacy, uncertainty, and the desperate hope to connect. “I scan the room and hope the messages I send / Somehow reach a brand new stranger, and they become a brand new friend,” she confesses, exposing the artist’s fear and longing behind performing.

The album doesn’t promise closure. It doesn’t pretend that “everything works out.” Instead, it offers companionship: a voice that says, “I feel a lot of this too.” In that way, Grand Epiphanies avoids insulting the listener’s intelligence by offering simplistic solutions. It acknowledges complexity. It honors pain. And it believes in healing — not as a fairy tale but as a slow, sometimes messy process.

How Grand Epiphanies compares to previous work

To appreciate Grand Epiphanies, it helps to see it against the backdrop of Kim Ware’s musical journey. The Good Graces began in 2006 after Ware picked up an old acoustic guitar and started composing songs rooted in Southern indie-folk traditions.

Earlier records, like Close to the Sun (2014), showed a willingness to experiment — to mix folk and country, to play with ambient touches, drum machines, and subtle electronic textures. But even then, the core remained familiar: Ware’s voice, simple guitar patterns, emotionally candid lyrics.

With Ready (2022), the songwriting felt sharper, more intentional; melodies caught between wistful longing and restless urgency. Yet Grand Epiphanies pushes further. The songs are more cohesive; the instrumentation more deliberate; the emotional stakes clearer. Listeners can trace how time, experience, and loss have deepened Ware’s perspective.

This latest EP also suggests a renewed trust in collaboration. Rather than relying solely on acoustic minimalism — the refuge of vulnerability — Ware embraces fuller arrangements. The result isn’t flashy, but it feels abundant in feeling. It’s as though she’s saying: “These aren’t just my stories alone anymore; they are ours.”

Why Grand Epiphanies feels especially relevant in 2025

We live in a time when noise is constant — in our politics, our social media, our media cycles. Simplicity and quiet reflection often feel like luxuries. In that environment, an EP like Grand Epiphanies doesn’t just matter musically; it matters morally. It represents a kind of resistance — not flashy or confrontational, but human.

Kim Ware doesn’t demand answers; she offers empathy. She doesn’t pretend life gets clean after the hard parts; she reminds us that even when scars remain, beauty can survive. For listeners who feel worn down, uncertain, or haunted by memory, these songs can be small lamps in a dark room. For those simply seeking honest songwriting in a sea of glossy distractions, the EP offers relief.

Moreover, the collaborative, evolving model of The Good Graces — weaving friends, producers, rotating musicians into a living tapestry — speaks to music as community, not commodity. In an age of streaming algorithms and viral hits, that matters.

A few honest limitations — and why they don’t hurt the EP’s purpose

As with any release built around vulnerability and introspection, Grand Epiphanies may not cater to all tastes. Listeners expecting polished pop hooks, glossy production, and immediate gratification might find its pacing too slow, its mood too muted. The EP’s strength lies precisely in its restraint — in accepting that some feelings don’t come wrapped up neat and loud.

And with only five tracks, Grand Epiphanies can feel more like a snapshot than a full portrait. Themes are introduced, emotional arcs hinted at, but not always resolved. The sense is less of closure and more of continuation. Which, in many ways, may be the point: life rarely offers tidy endings.

Still — if you’re open to being held in uncertainty for a little while; if you’re willing to sit with a guitar, a voice, and a few gentle chords — the EP offers something rare: a place to breathe.

Kim Ware and The Good Graces — still speaking, still feeling

In a musical climate often dominated by spectacle, loudness, and overstated sentiment, Grand Epiphanies stands out not because it demands attention, but because it deserves it. Kim Ware’s songwriting remains a gift: honest, gentle, unguarded, but never cloying or insincere. Backed by The Good Graces, she continues to prove that folk and indie rock can still speak to our messy, uncertain lives with clarity and heart.

For longtime listeners, the EP will feel like a meaningful evolution — a band maturing, growing more confident, more open to collaboration. For those just discovering Ware, it offers a doorway into a catalogue full of stories that don’t hide behind cliches or affectation. And for anyone longing for music that reflects rather than distracts, that comforts rather than commodifies — Grand Epiphanies is a small, glowing jewel.

In 2025, when the world often seems determined to overwhelm us with noise, Kim Ware and The Good Graces invite us to slow down, listen, and remember: we are not alone. We are human. We are trying. And maybe — just maybe — that’s enough.

Favorites of 2025: The Kyle Sowashes – Start Making Sense

your tuesday afternoon alternative 2025 Faves , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

We could have easily titled this column ‘Making Sense of It All: The Kyle Sowashes and the Enduring Power of Indie Rock Honesty,’ because the band’s new record not only showcases their musical growth but also highlights how their plainspoken sincerity continues to resonate in a genre often crowded with irony and affectation.

Independent rock has long thrived on the margins—small rooms, frayed gear, and bands that carve out meaning from the ordinary. Few groups embody this spirit as honestly and as energetically as The Kyle Sowashes, the long-running Columbus, Ohio outfit centered around singer, guitarist, and songwriter Kyle Sowash. Their terrific new record, Start Making Sense, feels both like a culmination of years of steady work and a refreshed sense of purpose. It is an album that sounds lived-in yet ambitious, familiar yet surprisingly expansive.

Like so many of their releases, it is driven by a collaborative band spirit, anchored by Sowash’s unmistakable songwriting voice. But on Start Making Sense, the musicians around him play an especially notable role. This is not merely a collection of songs written by a single songwriter—it is a group effort in the best sense, marked by thoughtful arrangements, spirited performances, and a chemistry that can only develop after years of making music together. The result is a record that feels warm, wry, cathartic, and deeply human.

A Band Made of People, Not Parts

The Kyle Sowashes have always been a band that foregrounds musicianship over mythology. No one is placed on a pedestal; every member shapes the sound. On Start Making Sense, the interplay among the musicians is central to what makes the record feel so alive.

At the center, of course, is Kyle Sowash, the principal songwriter, guitarist, and narrator of the band’s emotional landscape. His style has always blended self-deprecation with sincerity, humor with frustration, resignation with hope. He writes songs the way people talk when they’ve stopped trying to impress anyone. That honesty, paired with a gift for sticky melodies and driving chord progressions, continues to anchor the band.

But the supporting cast expands and elevates the material. The rhythm section, always a strength for the group, is especially tight on this release. The basslines give songs bounce and propulsion, while the drumming adds both momentum and nuance—capable of big-room punch but also subtle shifts in tone that mirror Sowash’s lyrical turns. Together they give the album its shape: urgent when needed, contemplative when the songs pull inward.

The guitar arrangements, too, show a band deeply comfortable playing with space. There are moments of noisy celebration, fuzzed-out riffs, and guitar lines that nod to 90s indie rock and power pop without ever feeling derivative. But there is also restraint when the songs call for it—arpeggiated lines, single-note phrases, and open-chord patterns that accent Sowash’s vocal pacing. The band understands when to push and when to stay out of the way, and that mutual sensitivity is one of the record’s quiet triumphs.

All of this makes Start Making Sense feel less like a front-person project and more like a snapshot of a genuine musical community. The band members are collaborators—not session players—and the record reflects that shared vision.

Sound: An Indie Rock Dial Tuned Just Right

The defining pleasure of listening to The Kyle Sowashes is the feeling that the band knows exactly who they are and that they approach their sound not as a limitation but as an expressive engine. Start Making Sense follows this tradition, delivering songs that are rooted in classic indie rock but refreshed through craft, energy, and emotional clarity.

The album’s guitar-forward sound recalls the big-hearted crunch of bands like Superchunk, The Weakerthans, early Guided by Voices, and 90s midwestern basement rock. But The Kyle Sowashes are not imitators. Their tone is warmer, their pacing more deliberate, their hooks more conversational. They capture what it feels like to be a functional adult who still carries adolescent anxieties; what it feels like to want to grow but not always know how.

The production strikes a careful balance. It is clean enough to reveal the band’s tight musicianship but raw enough to preserve the lived-in charm that defines their identity. The vocals are present but never over-polished; the guitars are textured but not overly layered; the drums have a live-room feel that makes even the more introspective songs sound communal.

This approach is particularly effective because Sowash’s songwriting thrives on immediacy. These songs feel like they were meant to be played in small rooms full of people who understand what it’s like to try, fail, and try again. The sonic palette—guitars that jangle and buzz, drums that sprint and shuffle, bass that grounds and guides—mirrors the emotional palette of the songs themselves.

What the Lyrics Reveal: Vulnerability Without Pretension

What has always separated Kyle Sowash from many of his indie rock peers is his ability to write lyrics that feel like real conversations. He avoids metaphors that spin out into abstraction and instead leans on the everyday: the tension between optimism and exhaustion, the mundane rhythms of adulthood, the stubborn persistence of doubt.

On Start Making Sense, the lyrics feel particularly pointed. There is a thematic thread running through the record about wanting to take stock of one’s life, wanting to be better (or at least different), but also feeling the tug of old habits or long-held insecurities. This tension animates the album emotionally.

Sowash wrestles with questions familiar to anyone who has lived long enough to feel the weight of their own decisions:

  • Am I becoming the person I hoped to be?
  • Am I letting people down without realizing it?
  • Is it too late to make meaningful changes?
  • Why does clarity arrive when I am least prepared for it?

And yet, the writing never lapses into self-pity. Sowash has a rare talent for pairing difficult emotions with flashes of humor or casual understatement. His delivery—half earnest, half exasperated—adds to this effect. Even in the most introspective moments, he trusts his audience. He doesn’t sermonize or hide behind dense metaphor. He simply tells the truth as he sees it.

The Album as a Whole: Why Start Making Sense Works

The strength of the record lies not just in its individual songs but in its overall narrative arc. Start Making Sense feels like a journey, not in a conceptual or theatrical sense, but in the emotional progression from beginning to end.

The early tracks tend to have a forward-thrusting, energetic urgency—songs filled with questions, doubts, and attempts to find clarity. As the album unfolds, the pacing shifts: there are moments of introspection, acceptance, humor, resignation, and renewed commitment.

By the final songs, the album arrives somewhere quieter and more grounded. The narrator has not solved everything—far from it—but there is a sense of movement, of incremental progress. And that sense is arguably more meaningful than any dramatic revelation would be.

This emotional pacing mirrors the band’s musical pacing. The guitars pull back when the lyrics sink deeper; the rhythm section tightens when the narrator feels unsettled; the arrangements widen when Sowash leans into hopeful refrains. The band listens to the songs, and the songs reward that attention.

Why They Matter Now

There is something profoundly refreshing about hearing a band like The Kyle Sowashes release a record like Start Making Sense in 2025. In a music culture where so many albums are shaped by algorithms, trends, or online personas, this record feels defiantly human. It is made by musicians who value craft, community, and honesty over spectacle.

Moreover, the themes of Start Making Sense—struggle, ambivalence, small victories, persistent hope—resonate in a cultural moment marked by fatigue and uncertainty. Many listeners will hear echoes of their own lives in the record: the feeling of trying to recalibrate when everything seems slightly off; the desire to “start making sense” of things that once felt straightforward.

The album does not promise transformation or transcendence. Instead, it offers companionship—a reminder that confusion and self-questioning are universal, and that music can help make sense of things even when life does not.

A Career Highlight and a Quiet Triumph

Start Making Sense stands as one of The Kyle Sowashes’ most affecting and best-crafted albums. It blends the energy of earlier records with a deeper emotional palette; it shows a band confident in its identity yet open to growth. The musicianship is sharp, the lyrics are resonant, and the sound manages to be both comfortingly familiar and subtly evolved.

It is not merely a strong indie rock record—it is a document of adulthood, of persistence, of reassessment, of trying again. In its modesty, it finds profundity; in its humor, it finds catharsis; in its unvarnished honesty, it finds connection. For longtime fans, Start Making Sense will feel like a natural and satisfying next chapter. For new listeners, it offers a compelling introduction to a band that has quietly built one of the most sincere bodies of work in Midwestern indie rock. And for everyone, it offers something increasingly rare: a rock album that makes you feel less alone.