To understand Kassi Valazza’s latest album, ‘From Newman Street,’ you have to understand the feeling of being stalled. The album arrives under the shadow of its predecessor, the psych-country triumph ‘Kassi Valazza Knows Nothing,’ (Fluff And Gravy Records, 2023). Where that record felt like a live wire performance fueled by the rowdy energy of her collaborators, ‘From Newman Street’ is a more insular, pensive affair. It is an exercise of an unsparing self-audit. Valazza isn’t just looking for a new zip code; she is attempting to outrun the more abrasive qualities of herself, only to find that the baggage of the soul is the only thing that survives the move intact. After a decade in Portland, the very things that once felt like home—the grey skies, the familiar bars, even her own basement apartment—started to feel like a weight. This record is the sound of Valazza finally picking up her guitar and driving away. It is a travelogue split between two worlds. Half the songs were written in the isolation of the Pacific Northwest, while the other half came together after she decamped to New Orleans. You can hear that physical move in the music; the A-spatial psychedelic experiments of her previous work have settled into something more grounded, leaning into a classic, 1960s-inspired folk-rock sound.
The album opens with “Better Highways,” a track that perfectly captures that restless itch to be anywhere else. It’s built on bright, jangly chords that feel like a sunrise on a long drive, signaling her decision to leave the material world behind for something simpler. However, the reality of being stymied is best captured on “Weight of the Wheel.” Backed by the crying sounds of Erik Clampitt’s pedal steel, Valazza describes the heavy inertia of depression. It’s a slow-motion country ballad that feels like staring at the ceiling for hours, unable to move even when you know you should.
As the album progresses, we see the influence of her new surroundings and a slightly tweaked band lineup. “Roll On” finds Valazza finding her footing. It’s a meditative track where the fiddle and pedal steel create a two-step rhythm. It’s technically a breakup song, but it feels more like she’s breaking up with a city than a person. “Your Heart’s a Tin Box” shifts the energy with driving 12-string acoustic guitar and percussion. It’s a rare, blunt look at the life of a touring musician. She doesn’t romanticize the road; she sings about the frustration of selling out shows but never seeing the money, and the mental toll of people telling her she is too cerebral. “Market Street Savior” and “Shadow of Lately” showcase her intricate finger-picking. These tracks are stripped back, letting her airy, vibrato-heavy voice take center stage. They feel like personal conversations or words of encouragement she’s giving to herself.
Ironically, the record ends exactly where the story began. The title track, “From Newman Street,” is a solo acoustic performance. It’s a quiet, kitchen-sink moment—Valazza washing dishes and thinking about an old life while maintaining her composure. It’s a sentimental goodbye that acknowledges that even when you move on, a part of you stays behind in those old rooms. She rejects any notion of a grand rock star exit. This isn’t just a change in genre; it’s a change in the weight she carries. ‘From Newman Street’ doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel. Instead, it’s a forensic study in mood and atmosphere. It’s an album for anyone who has ever felt the need to outrun their own head, only to realize that the best they can do is find a better view to look out at.
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