Indie music review

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

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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: Snocaps – Snocaps

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In 2025, twin sisters Katie and Allison Crutchfield re-emerged in a manner few anticipated: not as members of a reformed punk band, but as collaborators on a new project called Snocaps. That reunion — their first musical partnership since their former band P.S. Eliot broke up in 2011 — signifies more than just nostalgia. It feels like a reconciliation of two distinct yet complementary musical sensibilities: Katie’s reflective Americana-influenced songwriting (familiar from Waxahatchee) and Allison’s sharper, hook-filled indie-rock instincts (from Swearin’). The result — the self-titled debut album Snocaps — is timely, heartfelt, and full of promise.

What makes this record especially compelling is that it doesn’t just rehash old chemistry. Instead, it showcases seasoned musicians playing with honesty, restraint, and an unexpected sense of freedom: the freedom to create music on their own terms, unburdened by expectations or commercial pressures. This essay examines the unique strengths of Katie and Allison — both individually and together — the role of their collaborators (notably MJ Lenderman and Brad Cook), and how Snocaps stands as a testament to their growth, creative synergy, and lasting relevance.

Katie Crutchfield: Americana roots, emotional clarity, evolving maturity

Katie Crutchfield has spent the past decade establishing herself as a compelling voice in indie rock, especially through Waxahatchee. Her songwriting typically centers on emotional honesty, rooted in real-life experiences, memory, love, regret, and self-discovery. On Snocaps, those qualities are very much present — but there’s also a heightened sense of reflection and acceptance, as if she’s writing not just from memory but from hindsight.

Tracks like “Wasteland” and “Doom” showcase this evolution. On “Wasteland,” Katie delivers alt-country grit and a sparse sense of solitude: the song explores themes of self-awareness, guilt, and longing. Meanwhile, “Doom” becomes a slow-burning reflection on fractured relationships and emotional burden — a gothic, folk-influenced breakup song where her voice conveys both resignation and defiance.

What’s remarkable is how she uses simplicity to maximize impact. Rather than relying on overly ornate arrangements, Katie often leaves space — a sparse guitar, a steady rhythm, a quiet harmonic — so her lyrics and voice can hold the listener’s attention. That restraint makes the emotional beats hit harder; you hear every inflection, hesitation, and sigh of regret or longing.

On Snocaps, there’s also a sense of emotional clarity and self-acceptance. These songs don’t fix everything — but they acknowledge pain, longing, and change without flinching. In that sense, Katie’s contribution feels mature, grounded, and painfully human.

Allison Crutchfield: hooks, energy, and a return with sharpened instincts

Allison Crutchfield has long been celebrated for her talent for catchy, guitar-driven hooks, a sharp indie-rock sensibility, and straightforward lyrics. With Swearin’, she built a reputation for raw, energetic songs. On Snocaps, she comes back with some of her most powerful and urgent material yet.

Her tracks on Snocaps — including “Heathcliff,” “Over Our Heads,” “You In Rehab,” and “Avalanche” — showcase her talent for melody and momentum. The album sometimes gains speed, urgency, and even a hint of recklessness: a fresh contrast to Katie’s more reflective moments. As one review mentions, songs like “Over Our Heads” move quickly, blending sharply crafted hooks with a laid-back, slacker-rock feel that keeps the music both well-structured and effortlessly loose.

Take “Heathcliff”: jangly guitars, picked bass, and a hook that seems to grow stronger with every listen — it evokes echoes of earlier indie-rock favorites while carving out new territory. And “You In Rehab,” alternately gritty and tender, carries a raw emotional weight: lyrics about recovery, regret, and ambiguous hope, delivered with heartfelt sincerity.

What’s impressive is how strong Allison sounds here: not as a nostalgia act returning to her former glories, but as an artist who has evolved, refined, and matured. Her vocals cut through clearly, the guitar hooks feel immediate, and the arrangements—whether fast or slow—all seem purposeful. Snocaps proves she’s lost none of her edge—and perhaps has gained a bit more clarity in her aim.

Together: complementary strengths, revived sister synergy, and a joint vision

If Katie brings introspection and emotional weight, and Allison brings energy and melodic drive — together, they create a balance that feels surprisingly natural, even after 14 years apart. As some critics note, the record feels like “a throwback and a vision of two brilliant songwriters in the here and now.”

Their vocal interplay — along with alternating songwriting credits — adds diversity and emotional depth to the album. Katie’s softer, more atmospheric songs sit beside Allison’s edgier rockers; together, they weave a tapestry of moods: from regret, longing, and reflection to restlessness, defiance, and passion. This variety keeps the album lively: it features no single tone or message but a chorus of lived experiences, emotions, and memories.

The fact that Snocaps was recorded in a burst — the sessions reportedly completed in a matter of days — adds to its rawness and honesty. The sisters described the project as a way to reconnect with the earliest, purest versions of their music-making selves — and you can hear that in the looseness, spontaneity, and emotional immediacy of many songs.

In some ways, the album operates like a conversation between two people with shared history but divergent paths — two versions of self, reunited. The result is both familiar and new: siblings making music again, but with years of growth, distance, and experience behind them.

The role of collaborators: building texture, grounding raw ideas, enriching musical depth

While Katie and Allison are the heart of Snocaps, the contributions of their collaborators — particularly MJ Lenderman and Brad Cook — are essential to what makes the record work so well.

The project features veteran musician-producer Brad Cook, who produced and engineered the record and also played instruments. His involvement ensures the album stays cohesive despite the varied voices and styles; he helps craft a sound that feels unified, intentional, and warm rather than scattered or inconsistent.

Then there’s MJ Lenderman: a multi-instrumentalist, guitarist, and drummer who plays on many tracks. His guitar work—electric, 12-string, atmospheric or gritty—adds depth, texture, and sometimes a rough edge that balances the emotional weight of the Crutchfields’ voices. In songs known for their melancholic or intense emotional content, his instrumentation often frames the song to amplify its impact rather than overshadow it.

This minimal guitar-bass-drums setup gives Snocaps a raw, intimate feel. There’s no unnecessary decoration; everything — from instrumentation to vocal delivery to production — feels intentional, genuine, and rooted. The result resembles a living room recording transformed through careful yet subtle craftsmanship: authentic, imperfect, and deeply personal.

In a musical moment often driven by maximal production and glossy polish, that restraint feels refreshing. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most resonant art comes from simplicity, collaboration, and genuine connection.

Lyrical themes and emotional resonance: nostalgia, growth, regret, resilience

One of the most compelling aspects of Snocaps lies in its lyrical honesty. The album treads familiar emotional territory — relationships, regret, addiction or recovery, longing, identity, roots — but does so with nuance and maturity. The years between P.S. Eliot and now show: these are not songs written in youth’s raw vulnerability, but with the awareness and reflection age brings.

For example:

  • On “You In Rehab,” Allison confronts the messiness of recovery and personal breakdown: regret, gratitude, and cautious hope co-exist in the lyrics.
  • In “Over Our Heads,” there is a sense of displacement and longing — a reflection on leaving hometowns or previous selves behind: “no hometown, no home state anymore.” That ache feels real, lived, universal.
  • Katie’s “Doom” brings out themes of disillusionment and heartbreak, exploring the weight of memory and the difficulty of moving forward without erasing the past.
  • In lighter moments — albeit tinged with bittersweetness — the songs deal with nostalgia, dreams, and the tension between youthful ambition and adult reality. The tracklist’s sequencing balances heavier songs with ones that have a glimmer of hope or wistful acceptance.

Throughout it all, the lyrical voice is understated but very emotional, exploring longing, regret, desire, and a stubborn kind of resilience. The recurring image of movement — roads, cars, leaving, returning — acts as a metaphor for inner journeys: navigating memory, home, identity, and growth.

In that sense, Snocaps doesn’t offer closure or easy answers. Instead, it offers accompaniment: a companion through uncertainty, regret, and hope. It’s less about fixing things than acknowledging them — and surviving.

Why Snocaps matters — for fans, for the sisters, for indie rock

Snocaps arrives at a moment when much music can feel calculated: long lead-ups, social-media-heavy rollouts, marketing, and image crafting. The fact that this album was released as a surprise — with no big campaign and no elaborate preamble — feels like a statement in itself. It’s an album made out of love, for sisterhood, for music.

For longtime fans of Katie and Allison — and their early band P.S. Eliot — this reunion is a welcome sight. But beyond nostalgia, Snocaps shows growth. It’s a reminder that time changes artists but doesn’t necessarily dull their voices. In fact, it can make them sharper.

For the broader indie-rock scene, Snocaps stands out as a subtle yet powerful example of what happens when experienced artists collaborate without pressure, allowing music to flow naturally, embracing imperfection, and prioritizing emotion over production polish. The album combines indie-rock hooks, Americana introspection, and raw honesty in a way that feels meaningful to listeners seeking authenticity and emotional depth.

Finally — for Katie and Allison themselves — Snocaps might be a one-off, but it feels like a reopening of a conversation: with each other, with their past, with their musical selves. It’s a moment of reckoning, reconciliation, and renewal — and it’s done with grace, restraint, and love.

Conclusion: The Crutchfields, reunited — and the power of making music on your own terms

In the whirlwind of 2025’s music scene — with flashy releases, social media buzz, and polished production — Snocaps arrives quiet, unassuming, and yet quietly insistence: this is music made for feeling, not for trending. It’s a record that trusts listener patience, emotional depth, and the power of simple instrumentals to carry weight. It’s flawed, honest, alive.

Katie Crutchfield brings her soul — subtle, wounded, hopeful. Allison Crutchfield brings her edge — sharp hooks, restless energy, unfiltered emotion. Together, their voices, histories, and instincts blend into something that feels both like a reunion and a reinvention. Adding collaborators like MJ Lenderman and Brad Cook — who contribute with taste, restraint, and shared history — results in an album that seems born out of necessity: a need to reconnect, to create, to speak.

Snocaps is more than just a project or a band. It’s a moment: a brief window into what happens when two talented siblings reclaim their story, their music, and their shared past — and turn it into something new. If you listen with your heart, you’ll hear history, honesty, and hope woven into jangly guitars, melancholic melodies, and voices that understand loss, healing, and resilience.

So if you’ve been waiting for something real, something personal, something without pretense? Snocaps is more than worth your time.