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Archive for November, 2025

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There’s a certain kind of twilight that only happens on the road — that breath between leaving and arriving, when the light turns forgiving and every story feels almost finished.

Evening Run at the Bluebird Motel is the third and final chapter of my Bluebird Trilogy, following Night Shift at the Liar’s Club and Day Shift at the Heartbreak Café.
It’s a cinematic Americana album about release — about that moment when you stop looking for redemption and start finding peace in motion.

From the lonely hum of “Vacancy Sign” to the dawn epilogue “Bluebird Light,” each song carries a little humor, a little heartache, and a lot of light.
There’s laughter in “The Ice Machine’s Lullaby,” memory in “Polaroid in the Drawer,” and motion in “Half Tank of Faith.”
The title track, “Evening Run,” drifts like a waltz into forgiveness — the kind you don’t ask for, the kind that just happens when the road quiets down.


Artist’s Reflection – Bill Leyden

When I started writing Night Shift at the Liar’s Club, I thought it was about other people — the lost, the restless, the ones who couldn’t sleep.
By the time I reached Evening Run at the Bluebird Motel, I realized it was about me learning to let go.
These songs were never meant to fix anything; they were meant to forgive something — the past, the road, myself.

The Bluebird trilogy began in confession, passed through redemption, and ends here in release.
Now the motel is miles behind, but I still see its glow sometimes in the rearview.
That soft neon blue isn’t a place anymore — it’s a reminder that peace can find you anywhere, even on the way to somewhere else.


This record closes a long circle for me — one filled with stories, late-night neon, motel walls, and the quiet company of the open road.
It’s a film for the ears, and I hope when you hear it, you feel that same Bluebird light rising somewhere inside you.

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There are some stories that never really end — they just find a new song to travel through.
Gringo Corazón II: Amor y Olvido is that kind of record.

It picks up where the first Gringo Corazón https://bill-leyden.bandcamp.com/album/gringo-coraz-n left off — with laughter still in the air, a little more mezcal in the glass, and the same tender curiosity for love, memory, and the people who remind us who we are.


These are stories told across tables, train cars, and plazas — half in Spanish, half in English, always from the heart.

Across nine songs, we meet friends and ghosts, wander old streets, and toast to everything we meant to forget but never did.
From the playful chaos of Whiskey and Prayer Beads to the smoky elegance of Still Laughing in Spanish, and the dreamlike mystery of La Mujer del Tren, each track carries a piece of the same truth: the heart does what it wants — in any language.

The album closes with The Heart’s Got Its Own Plan, a wry, warm farewell that reminds us we’re all just maps without compasses, pointing south beneath the moon.

This project wouldn’t exist without all those nights of music, stories, and the laughter that followed.
Gracias to everyone who’s joined me on this road — from Monterrey to Colima, from memory to melody.

So pour something good, turn up the volume, and enjoy the next chapter of the Gringo Corazón story.

(A la vida, al amor, y al destino que ríe de mí.)

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by Bill Leyden
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Some songs start as stories, and some stories sneak up and turn into songs. Don’t See That Everyday is a collection of nine of those moments — little snapshots of life that surprised me, made me laugh, or stopped me long enough to notice something ordinary turning into something bigger.

These songs all came out of small towns, quiet roads, and late nights where things don’t look all that special until you slow down. There’s humor in a broken-hearted oil change, grace in a laundromat, a ghost in a barroom, and an angel who may or may not have been there at all. Each track has its own kind of truth, told with the mix of disbelief and gratitude that seems to come with getting older and paying attention.

I didn’t set out to write about miracles, but they kept showing up — not the thunderbolt kind, just the small ones that hide in everyday life. The kind that look like forgiveness, a wave from a porch, or someone refilling your coffee without asking.

“If you’re lookin’ for a miracle, this one’s small — but it’s everyday, after all.”

The album moves from curiosity to peace, from wonder to acceptance. By the time the last song fades, I hope it feels like driving home after sunset — headlights stretching down a familiar road, heart lighter than it was a mile ago.

Thanks for listening, and for finding yourself somewhere inside these stories.
— Bill Leyden

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