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Posts Tagged ‘1970s country homage’

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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There’s a point when all the old stories start to sound familiar — and you realize the only common thread might be you.
That’s where Maybe It’s Me begins: a smile in the mirror, a shrug at the world’s opinion, and a deeper breath of acceptance.

These nine songs wander through self-deprecation, humor, and forgiveness — from the wry confessions of “I Guess It’s Me” and “The Way I Get Around,” to the morning tenderness of “Breakfast for Two” and the quiet self-recognition of “The Mirror’s Laugh.”
By the time “Call It Grace” arrives, the jokes have softened into gratitude — not the loud kind, but the kind that lingers when the light changes at the end of the day.

Musically, the album keeps its boots in the dirt and its heart in the sky — Stratocaster and pedal steel trading glancesnylon-string warmth on the slower moments, and close harmonies that sound like friends still finishing each other’s sentences.

It’s a record about growing older, laughing easier, and letting life be funny, even when it’s true.
Grace doesn’t always announce itself — sometimes it just shows up, late but steady, with a smile.

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