Colter Wall travels 1800 miles from Music Row to sit down on a cattle ramp, where the absence of any production is meticulous. The big city’s left in the dust, faintly audible on the radio. What we hear instead is a master musician turned inside out, telling the story to himself: quiet, reflective, and carving into the rhythm like a backhoe. It’s a raw, transfixing window into what the world might feel like if we took a breath, took a load off, and just watched the sun set.
Discussion about this post
No posts


