Best Country and Americana Albums of 2023 

Alabama native Riley Green proves that his very good debut wasn’t a fluke on Ain’t My Last Rodeo, which is as satisfying a set of songs as any to hit the country mainstream this year. Green has an amiable everydude personality — he’s fond of hunting, fishing, and family, but he also has an uncommon ear for memorable hooks. “Mississippi or Me” puts a lingering question about what happened to an old flame, “Damn Country Music” resuscitates a Tim McGraw cut from a few years back, and “Copenhagen in a Cadillac” is a riotously fun collaboration with Jelly Roll, all backed by Dann Huff’s punchy production. “My Last Rodeo” is also a winner — an affecting tune written in the aftermath of both his grandfathers dying that leaves space to dream about a reunion in the great beyond. —J.F.

After three years lost in the woods on hiatus, the Turnpike Troubadours got their shit together and reunited for A Cat in the Rain, a no-holds-barred comeback record that paired the Red Dirt band with Grammy-winning producer Shooter Jennings. Frontman and songwriter Evan Felker was an open book about his marriage, his need for a tour/life balance, and his hard-won sobriety. “I don’t miss the taste of liquor, or really anything about it, but the temporary shelter was a welcome compromise,” he sang in “The Rut.” In “Mean Old Sun,” he dared the day to ever set on him. A Cat in the Rain is a man confident in his newfound discipline, and to Turnpike fans who feared the end of the band, it’s all but a gift. —J.H.

Georgia native Brent Cobb continues to stake out the space between mainstream country and mainstream Americana on his sixth album Southern Star, which he self-produced and recorded at Capricorn Studios in Macon. At times, he comes across like a microdosed Don Williams (“Southern Star,” “Patina”) and others he’s a little more like Paul Simon fronting the Meters (“Livin’ the Dream,” “Devil Ain’t Done”), but always with a keen sense of the interplay between rhythm and melody. At one point, he crafts a lovely ode to the bygone Nashville scene that shaped him (“When Country Came Back to Town”), but he really excels when he’s pouring his domestic contentment into song, as he does on “It’s a Start” and “Shade Tree.” —J.F.

One day, when the Cadillac Three are legit rock stars decamped for L.A. or London, Nashville is going to realize they let their native sons get away. On The Years Go Fast, the taken-for-granted trio deliver one of the most aggressive albums of their career. They have a lot to be pissed off about: They’ve watched artists who’ve opened for them become superstars, struggled to get recognized by the country awards, and weathered all sorts of personal loss. Nonetheless, Jaren Johnston, Kelby Ray, and Neil Mason persevere, staying true to their hardscrabble roots in monsters like “Double Wide Grave,” the “country Strokes” vibe of “Young & Hungry,” and the ominous stomper “Hillbilly.” But it’s “This Town Is a Ghost,” which Johnston wrote about the death of his father, that will sober up even the most hardened members of the TC3 Drinking Club. It’s Johnston at his most vulnerable. —J.H.

It’s the album the California singer-songwriter has been ready to make her whole career, one full of sharp hooks, piercing folk-punk, reflective roots ballads, and meandering melody. Shuffles, ballads, barroom rockers, folk prayers — Name a type of song and War has likely included it on this record.  From one track to the next, War switches from the lonesome blues duet of “Swear to Gawd” with Chris Pierce (and David Rawlings on guitar) to the mystical musing of “Earth” (with Jim James). It’s the sound of a singer-songwriter hitting their stride in real time. —J.B.

Jelly Roll’s breakthrough album Whitsitt Chapel, named after the church he grew up going to, tells you exactly where the Tennessee rapper-turned-country-rocker is from. The record sees the singer finding redemption from his Chevrolet truck in “Church” — the song, like “Halfway to Hell” and “Hungover in a Church Pew,” is bookended with pieces of brimstone sermons as Jelly Roll juxtaposes them with testimony of his inner demons. Here and throughout the record, he embraces the outcasts, telling stories of addiction and the grief left behind by loved ones lost to it. From “She,” which delivers an uneasy portrait of a woman who “was the life of the party,” to the allegorical “Behind Bars” sung alongside Brantley Gilbert and Struggle Jennings, Whitsitt Chapel is both a celebration and a revival. Jelly Roll is relentless in his pursuit to honor his origins and fellow outcasts — and that’s where the joy of his music burns bright. —C.M.

Ivorian singer-songwriter Peter One released his debut album, a classic in West Africa, nearly 40 years ago. In the interim, he emigrated to the United States (to Nashville, as it happens) and embarked on a career entirely outside of music. Come Back to Me is his long overdue follow-up, and it demonstrates that Peter One hasn’t lost a step. He sings sweetly — in English, French, and Guro — on a set of jazzy folk-pop songs that deal with love, loss, and the struggles of post-colonial Africa. Allison Russell joins him on “Birds Go Die Out of Sight,” a gorgeous, hymnlike meditation on aging and mortality that closes the album. —J.F.

Stapleton’s 2015 debut Traveller was a game-changer for both him and the genre. But some of his albums that came after had a tendency to feel strung together. Not Higher. Despite a meaty 14-song tracklist, it’s a concise, urgent, and deliberate project that reminds us why Stapleton is so beloved — by country, rock, and R&B listeners alike. Lead single “White Horse” is an epic you can sing along to, “The Fire” is an irresistibly rhythmic come-on, and the album-closing “Mountains of My Mind” stands as one of Stapleton’s most graceful vocal turns (and, yes, that’s saying something). Even “South Dakota,” a slow-burning jam of blues-rock that could lumber in lesser hands, crackles with verve. Now, if only the title track were a Creed cover…come on, you know you’d love to hear it. —J.H.

Her second album may not have had the type of obvious shout-along-from-the-rafters hit that Reckless did in “Wilder Days,” but Psychopath shows that Wade has a distinct knack for millennial heartland country-rock (heavy on Alanis, Eighties nostalgia, and honesty about mental health). This collection goes deeper than Reckless, mining the textures and range of Wade’s cigarette-weathered Virginia vocal. And with co-writers like Natalie Hemby and two-thirds of the Pistol Annies (minus Miranda Lambert), Wade’s latest shows off her expanding vision as a songwriter willing to tackle any number of heavy topics, from sobriety to suicide. —J.B.

Marty Stuart could’ve made classic country and bluegrass albums for the rest of his career and everyone would’ve been perfectly happy. Instead, the Mississippi performer is going the extra mile by taking scenic detours down all of country’s forgotten byways. Altitude continues Stuart’s recent exploration of cosmic country sounds and the American West, a journey inspired by the Byrds, Gram Parsons, and even the British Invasion with an abundance of 12-string jangle (“Sitting Alone”) and hazy psychedelia (‘The Sun Is Quietly Sleeping”), linked together by a suite of nifty instrumentals. Most artists are putting out albums; Marty Stuart and the Fabulous Superlatives are putting out cinema. —J.F.

Inspired by thinking about songs that Elvis Presley might’ve cut, Tyler Childers’ Rustin’ in the Rain compiles seven originals and covers, accomplishing more in that short stretch than most of the 30-plus track behemoths so common today. The raucous title track barrels out of the gate and modulates upward for its final vamp, while “Phone Calls and Emails” links its modern subject matter to a Nashville Sound-style arrangement. There are stunning covers as well, of fellow Kentuckian S.G. Goodman’s haunting “Space and Time” and Kris Kristofferson’s “Help Me Make It Through the Night.” And, of course, there’s the breathtaking “In Your Love,” which would be a giant radio hit in a perfect world, and its landmark music video created in collaboration with Silas House. With each new release, Childers is cementing his reputation as one of his generation’s most important voices. —J.F.

Ashley McBryde’s follow-up to last year’s concept record Lindeville opens with a rousing stomper about how un-rousing the real life of a touring musician can be. It sets the tone for an album that’s similarly about people forced to live inside hard truths and ironies. “Learned to Lie” is about someone who can’t love because they never saw it done at home. “Single at the Same Time” is about two people who agree to pull away from the brink of infidelity. And “Blackout Betty” and “6th of October” are as unglamorous as drinking songs get. Producer Jay Joyce places McBryde’s tough-minded songs in the right unadorned setting, so every truth she delivers hits home just as directly as it should. —J.D.

The most existential release of the year goes to relative newcomer Stephen Wilson Jr., whose debut Son of Dad was released on the five-year anniversary of his father’s death. Over 22 tracks, Wilson wrestles with grief (“Father’s Son”), rural life (“Billy”), and his place in a chaotic, contradictory universe (“Twisted”), while the music frequently situates itself somewhere along the grungy, detuned Sabbath-Nirvana continuum — “Holler from the Holler,” in particular, churns out a thunderous squall. But it’s not all doom and gloom. “Patches” finds something like joy in being a survivor, and if you listen closely, you’ll hear the work of a master craftsman versed in all manners of pop music. —J.F.

The legendary country singer’s ode to a better American future is a history of past and present righteousness. Mahalia Jackson, Jesus Christ, John Lewis, the Chicks, the Squad, Daddy — all of them are the warriors of love that make up the 62-year-old DeMent’s country-gospel treatise, her first album of fully original music in 10-plus years. Workin’ on a World is the thrilling sound of a vocalist energized and never defeated by her own despair, singing the gospel of justice to anyone willing to listen. —J.B.

Playing “The Wild,” Gabe Lee’s opening track on his fourth studio album Drink the River, sounds like both coming home and saying goodbye in one soaring tune. Even as he sings, “I’m a reckless child, born to the wild,” you can feel him being pulled back in by that “aching smile.” It’s a sentiment that echoes the album’s predecessor, The Hometown Kid, while journeying deeper into his exploration of Americana. Throughout Drink the River, the singer-songwriter offers listeners a gift: a bare look at love, loss and healing — the truth, delivered with compassion and Lee’s skill at weaving what we hold closest to our hearts in a song. From the record’s title track that shines with hope in the face of misfortune to the slow and somber “Merigold,” Lee continues to build a legacy as one of the heartland’s most crucial storytellers. —C.M.

Brothers Osborne fully unlocked new aspects of their personalities and sound on their self-titled fourth album, produced by Mike Elizondo (Carrie Underwood, Eminem). TJ Osborne’s voice still rumbles, John Osborne’s guitar still shreds, but somehow they’re tighter and more exploratory this time around. “Nobody’s Nobody” and “Back Home” are prime radio meat and potatoes, but the duo also spins off into other dimensions, like ZZ Top-style electro boogie (“Might as Well Be Me”), country disco (“Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That”), slinky country soul (“Goodbye’s Kickin’ In”), and greasy funk rock (“Sun Ain’t Even Gone Down Yet”) with ease. The best part is, even on album number four, they’re still just getting started. —J.F.

Price’s best album yet kicks off with one badass introduction: “I got nothin’ to prove/I got nothin’ to sell.” Throughout these 10 tracks, you’ll see that she means it, whether on the Mike Campbell-featured scorcher “Light Me Up,” the devastating “County Road,” or the whimsically trippy “Time Machine.” Price can sing country songs, but don’t bother boxing her into a genre. Strays is a fusion of country, rock, folk, Americana, and straight-up stoner jams. “I wanted to separate myself from what everybody thinks I’m supposed to be, getting lumped in as just a country singer,” she told us. “I want people to take me seriously as a writer. Women, we have to work so much fucking harder to prove it.” —A.M.

For Russell’s second solo album, the singer-songwriter expanded even deeper upon the generous roots blend of her debut, Outside Child. This time around: breakbeats, heavy bass grooves, potent percussion, and 10 songs bursting with joy. The “Springtime of my present tense,” is how Russell describes it on the welcome call that is the opening track. The subsequent nine songs make up a triumph of a record, full of uplift (“Requiem,” the title track) even as it tackles past pain (“Demons,” “Eve Was Black”). —J.B.

On this year’s biggest country albums, Zach Bryan’s heartland rock (“Fear and Friday’s”) and stomp-and-holler folk (“East Side of Sorrow”) is just as arresting as his classic country duets (“I Remember Everything” with Kacey Musgraves) and intimate front porch gems (“Smaller Acts”). In many ways, he’s a traditionalist, but blessedly not so much when it comes to the ways he exhibits and excavates his own masculinity. Zach Bryan feels like a counterweight to the rising tide of hyper-online, reactionary manhood, the perfect rallying cry rising out of “Overtime”: “And I want to stay humble, I want to stay hungry/I want to hear my father say that he loves me/I never gave a shit about being arrogant anyway.” — J. Blistein

The Americana legend’s 15th album celebrates the power of survival by performing with and honoring the friends she’s made through her lengthy career. Williams co-wrote all of Stories’ 10 tracks with her husband and longtime collaborator, Tom Overby; Nashville session guitarist Travis Stephens and downtown New York rock fixture Jesse Malin also assisted. “Let’s Get the Band Back Together” sets the tone, its hard-won reflection (“We were just another bunch of stupid kids/Staying up all night playing poker and pool”) melding with the sort of defiant jubilance that powers great rock & roll songs. It’s an “I’m still here” declaration that’s backed up by the music that follows. —M.J.   

Cilker is a California-born singer-songwriter whose freebooted pedigree includes time fronting a Lucinda Williams cover band while living in Bilbao, Spain. On her second LP she adds her own voice to the long tradition of Woody Guthrie-style ramblers, whether she’s bumming a toke in Santa Rosa, Mexico, enjoying the best burger ever in Texas, or literally getting a hat tip from Bob Dylan after a show. Musically, she ranges from country to folk-rock to New Orleans jazz. The friendly creak in her voice adds relatable warmth to her epic tales, which often come rooted in the understanding that usually the most important rambling we do happens in our interior lives. —J.D.

Clark has always specialized in rich character studies, and her fourth LP opens with one her most visceral, the small-town revenge narrative “Ain’t Enough Rocks.” Often, though, the character she’s studying here most closely is herself, from “Buried,” about searching for cathartic release after the end of a relationship, to “Dear Insecurity,” a raw piano ballad (and duet with Brandi Carlile) about aging, doubt, and loneliness. Carlile’s sympathetic Americana production is just the right backdrop for an album that highlights Clark’s evolution as a songwriter who isn’t afraid to tell unsparingly real stories. —J.D.

If a streaming-targeted playlist of 30 songs can be considered an “album,” then so can an EP — especially when it has such a clear narrative over its six tracks. Kelsea Ballerini released her most personal album yet with this succinct post-divorce diary, leveling up her songwriting in the process on brutal confessionals like “Just Married” and “Blindsided.” The Tennessee native expanded the project with the addition of the singles anthem “How Do I Do This” and re-released it as Rolling Up the Welcome Mat (For Good), but we hope that parenthetical isn’t really true. Because Ballerini is at her best when she’s this raw. —J.H.

One of American music’s best songwriters hit another peak with his brutally beautiful ninth studio album. The songs on Weathervanes tremble with anger, desperation, and fear; characters wrestle regret and unhealthy appetites, struggling to cut losses in the wake of bad choices and cascading consequences. Jason Isbell’s stories glint with memoir and headlines as they put human faces on head-count epidemics: mass shootings, opioid addiction, Covid-19. Even the love songs are bruised and weary, chilled by cold truth. Inextricable from all this is the 400 Unit, as essential here as Crazy Horse or the Heartbreakers to Neil Young or Tom Petty’s great moments. —W.H.

There was every reason to be skeptical of the rush-ordered debut album from an unknown 25-year-old singer named Megan Moroney. She’d gone viral with a song that traded on speculation that she might have dated a certain mega-famous Tennessee Volunteers fan. But “Tennessee Orange,” Moroney’s breakthrough chart-topper, is merely the entry point to Lucky, an album produced by Sugarland’s Kristian Bush that packs tearful piano ballads, Shania-inspired pop-romps, and forceful rockers into its 13-song tracklist. Sure, she knows how to do the normal country tropes well: cars and guitars and deceitful exes and claustrophobic Southern hometowns. But the album’s casual, youth-conversant tone makes it shine and comes naturally from a singer whose Gen Z iteration of three chords and the truth involves plenty of SEC football, self-doubt, and social-media scrolling. “Did you mean to double-tap that spring-break throwback from 2016 in PCB?” she sings in the note-perfect opener, “I’m Not Pretty.” Sad songs for sad people barely covers it: Lucky is the most exciting album-length debut Nashville has heard in some time. —J.B.