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Posts Tagged ‘Alt-Country’

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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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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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There’s a certain kind of hero who never looks the part. He spills the kibble on his pants, shows up late to the dance, and somehow wins your heart anyway. That’s the spirit running through my new album, My First Rodeo.

It’s a collection of nine songs about life’s crooked lines, where humor and tenderness live side by side. These are stories of small-town detours, unexpected brushes with fame, cheeky misadventures, and the kind of love that finds you in the middle of the mess.

One of the tracks closest to my heart is Late to the Dance. It tells the story of a guy who means well but always gets caught in the details — walking Mama’s dog, fixing her TV remote, listening to her read from Reader’s Digest — until he finally shows up to the dance a little behind schedule. It’s funny, it’s tender, and it reminds us that sometimes the latecomer sees the night in a way no one else can.

The rest of the album follows in that same wry spirit: from the big buckle bravado of My First Rodeo to the comic wisdom of Zip It! to the warm domestic humor of This Calls for Coffee. There are brushes with luck, stories of legacy, and plenty of pedal steel and close harmonies to carry the ride.

If you’ve ever felt like the stumble-bum who somehow stumbles into grace, this album’s for you.

🎵 Listen to Late to the Dance here: Track Link
🎶 Explore the full album My First RodeoAlbum Link

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