Raised on a cattle ranch in rural West Texas, Hayden Redwine comes by that sound honest. To my ear, his voice carries some of the same grit folks hear in Ryan Bingham—but I don’t hear imitation. That’s just West Texas dust settlin’ into a man’s accent. I’ll choose roots over mimicry every time.
I’ve had Redwine in steady rotation lately, especially after seeing his name listed as the supporting artist on Colter Wall’s upcoming tour. That show I’ve been circlin’ on the calendar? It’s about to come alive in Fort Worth weekend after next—and if the room’s got any sense, it’ll show up early and listen close.
Y’all—do yourself a favor and check out The Quiet, the latest release from Hayden Redwine, pulled from his Southbound Sessions.
This one’s been stickin’ with me. It’s stripped down, heavy in the chest, and honest in that way West Texas songs tend to be when they ain’t tryin’ too hard. No flash, no filler—just space, silence, and the kind of weight that settles in after the last note fades.
I’m diggin’ this one a lot.
Turn it up.
Then sit still and let it do what it does.
Some songs don’t need much—just a voice, a truth, and enough quiet to let both breathe. This is one of those. If you’re passin’ through Fort Worth soon, get there early. The good stuff usually happens before the lights come all the way up.
Looking back on the records, the roads, and the nights that stayed with me.
2025 was one hell of a year for music — the kind that doesn’t just play through your speakers, but moves into your bloodstream and starts living there. And when I look back, a few records rise above the rest like campfires burning bright on a long West Texas night.
Albums that will live in the canon.
Matt Moran’s The Ba’ar led the charge for me. A record rough as cedar bark and tender in the right places, the kind that feels like a man telling you the truth he didn’t want to say out loud.
Then came Colter Wall’s 1800 Miles — all dust, distance, and heartbreak stitched together with that ancient-sounding voice he carries around like an heirloom.
And Turnpike’s The Price of Admission may be their most lived-in record yet… full of scars, wisdom, and the kind of writing you only earn the hard way.
Vandoliers Life behind bars Took me back into the sunlight knowing damn well not everybody’s rooting for ’us But here’s the trick: We quit living for other people. Every song carries a tone of we survived you, and we’re still here.
Jason Isbell’s Foxes in the Snow capped off the list — quiet, cold, honest, and heavy in the way only Isbell can pull off. A winter album that finds the warm places in a man’s heart and sits there awhile.
Singles That Stopped Me in My Tracks
This year had its share of one-off punches too:
Gedda’s “Thick as Thieves” — a song so sharp it practically demanded an album around it, which he delivered with South of Mars.
Turnpike’s cover of Todd Snider’s “Just Like Old Times” — the kind of cover that wakes up every demon you thought you’d already sent packin’.
James McMurtry’s “South Texas Lawman”— dry as mesquite smoke and smart as a whip.
Best Concerts of the Year
I caught some unforgettable shows this year:
Ryan Bingham, burning hot as ever, Robert Earl Keen, returning like a long-lost uncle who still knows how to hold a crowd in his hands, Red Shahan, wild-eyed and wonderful.
But the night that will stay with me long after 2025 is gone was standing beside my wife and two of our grandkids, listening to Ray Wylie Hubbard howl, joke, stomp, and testify like only he can.
That wasn’t just a concert — it was a memory carved in oak.
If the music we love says anything about the year we lived, then 2025 was full of grit, grace, and damn good stories.
Bingham Packs the Tailgate in Midland Texas- The All Night Long Tour with Ryan Bingham and The Texas Gentlemen.
You can get your ass kicked at Pease Elementary- Ryan Bingham
“You can get your ass kicked at Pease Elementary.”
That’s how Ryan Bingham closed out his set tonight at The Tailgate in Midland, Texas, and brother, you could feel that line hang in the air like West Texas dust after a hard wind.
He wasn’t just talkin’ about a schoolyard scuffle. He was talkin’ about where he came from — oilfield towns strung along the highway, where toughness ain’t a posture, it’s a way of breathin’. He told stories from his childhood, growin’ up from boomtown to boomtown, and one of those places just happened to be right here in Midland.
That hit home.
Because this ain’t just his story — it’s ours.
We’ve all walked those same cracked sidewalks, caught that same mix of diesel and red dirt in our lungs. The kind of place where your old man taught you to work before you could drive, and your mama prayed you’d make it home in one piece.
Bingham’s the real deal. Always has been. He’s carried the scars and the soul of this country in his voice since the first time I heard him belt out Southside of Heaven. You can tell he didn’t learn that from Nashville — he learned it from life. From gettin’ knocked down, dustin’ off, and singin’ through the ache.
When he talked about Pease Elementary, it wasn’t nostalgia — it was testimony. Proof that this dirt raises ‘em rough and honest. And in a world full of filters and polish, it’s a damn relief to hear somebody remember where the bruises came from.
The Tailgate Was Packed Tight
The Tailgate was shoulder-to-shoulder — sold out on a Wednesday night — which tells you everything you need to know about how starved Midland folks are for a night like this.
Ain’t much to do in this town once the sun drops and the rigs quiet down, so when a guy like Ryan Bingham rolls through, you bet your boots the whole town shows up.
There were roughnecks still in their work shirts, young couples two-steppin’ in the dust, and every ol’ cowboy with a beer in his hand shoutin’ the words to Hallelujah. Even the bartenders couldn’t stop watchin’ when he hit those first notes of Southside of Heaven.
The wind was calm, the lights were low, and Bingham had that crowd in the palm of his hand — the same way he’s held his guitar all these years: firm, honest, and with a little bit of pain behind it.
The Hook That Caught Him
Before the house lights came on, Ryan shared one last story.
He said his mama bought him a guitar once — just a simple gift, no master plan behind it. He didn’t really know what to do with it at first. It sat there like most things do when life keeps you movin’ from one dusty town to the next.
Then one day, down in Laredo, one of his dad’s buddies — a real-deal mariachi — showed him a proper lick. Just a few notes, but they carried a world of soul in ‘em. That was all it took. Ryan started messin’ around with that guitar, findin’ his own rhythm, his own stories, his own way of tellin’ the truth.
And from that moment on, he was hooked.
That’s the thing about music born on this side of the Pecos — it don’t come from classrooms or labels. It comes from moments like that. A hand-me-down guitar. A dusty porch. Somebody showin’ you how to make a sound that says what words can’t.
Tonight in Midland, we got to see what happens when that kind of spark turns into a wildfire — when a kid who learned his first lick in Laredo comes home to a sold-out crowd, singin’ his heart out beneath the same sky that raised him.
That’s Ryan Bingham for you — proof that even the roughest roads can lead you Southside of Heaven.
’Til Next Time
Keep your boots dirty, your songs honest, and your stories loud enough to wake the ghosts of the oil patch.
The first time I heard “Deportee” was from The Highwaymen — Waylon, Willie, Cash, and Kristofferson harmonizing like the wind itself carried that Guthrie sorrow. Woody wrote it in 1948 after a plane crash near Los Gatos Canyon, where Mexican farm workers were dismissed in death the same way they were in life — called “deportees” instead of names.
Now, Ryan Bingham and Joe Ely have brought it back, and man… this version hurts right. You can hear every mile of border dust in Bingham’s voice, every torn heartland page in Ely’s. No polish, no pretense — just two Texas souls giving breath to Guthrie’s ghosts.
This isn’t nostalgia; it’s resurrection. A reminder that some songs ain’t meant to fade, because the truth they carry still rides shotgun in this country.
Some songs grow old. Deportee just keeps growing roots.
Those Marfa lights are real y’all. I will never forget the first time I saw them and they still have me wondering just what they are. The mountains in that wide open region of the Big Bend of Texas are more magnificent than anything else on this earth. Take a drive out to Presidio or Lajitas or Terlingua. Even Ft Davis or Alpine can offer an exciting getaway to nowhere and sometimes somewhere.
Scott Ballew has written a song that takes me back to the simplest times in life. The soulful sounds and soothing lyrics are an instant soothing experience. Much like that breath of cool breeze from those desert mountain passes.
Ballew is an Austin, Texas native, but the song “Border Kid” takes him out of big city life and into a desert oasis. The song features Ryan Bingham who’s music centers from that high desert Texas.
