A performing songwriter by trade, Matthew Perryman Jones is actually a seeker, at heart. With each entry in his discography, his musical and moral compass points toward an artistic horizon he has yet to explore. Sometimes, he turns his gaze to examine his own inner world. Other times, he looks to the inspirations found in the letters Vincent Van Gogh penned to his brother Theo, in the idea of duende as proffered by Federico García Lorca, and in the poetic verses of Sufi poets Hafiz and Rumi. Of his most recent release, American Songwriter wrote that, “MPJ’s songwriting acumen could easily be used as a musical template to demonstrate how less can be so much more. [He] sounds cinematic and slowly worms its way inside your brain, feasts upon your emotions, and ultimately burrows down into your soul.” It could be said that Matthew makes soul music — not based on how it sounds, but on where it originates and where it resides. Originally from Pennsylvania, Matthew grew up in Georgia and cut his artistic teeth in the Atlanta music scene before heading north to Nashville. His debut release, Nowhere Else But Here, dropped in 2000, followed by three subsequent albums — Throwing Punches in the Dark (2006), Swallow the Sea (2008), and Land of the Living (2012) —  and three additional EPs as well as a handful of singles. Songs from across his catalog have been featured in dozens of film and TV placements, and tours have taken him across the U.S. and abroad to share stages with legends like Shawn Colvin and Patty Griffin, as well as the Ten Out of Tenn songwriter collective of which he is a part. Now, Matthew is gearing up to release his fifth album, alongside producer Josh Kaler, focused on genius loci — the spirit of place. Written across the country throughout 2017, and funded by generous fans contributing to a Pledge Music campaign, the record was finished in early 2018. As he chases the ever-retreating horizon, Jones will stop, listen, and capture when and what the spirit of each place calls out to him.

Born and raised in Jonesboro, GA to a family that had little exposure to music apart from a church hymnal, Molly Parden’s career in music is something of a mystery—something that happened to her more than it was ever anything she set out to achieve. When none of her siblings took a particular interest in music at a young age, Molly inherited a violin built by her great uncle—discovering her lifelong love for music through the haunting simplicity of melodies, long before she ever heard pop music, picked up a guitar, or started singing songs of her own. In spite of a natural middle-child diffidence and reluctance towards the spotlight, it didn’t take long for Molly to establish herself as a promethean musical force in Nashville’s vibrant underground and beyond. Since relocating to Music City in 2013, Molly has toured the world as a bassist, guitarist, and singer—joining the backing bands of Atlanta's indie songstress, Faye Webster; west coast troubadour Sam Outlaw; and Austin Texas’s boozily existential poet, David Ramirez. While at home in Nashville, Molly paid her bills as a waitress, and in the studio with her voice—providing her uniquely fragile and captivating harmony vocals on over 50 records in just a few years. Though Molly rarely recorded or performed her own songs since her first album “Time Is Medicine” (2011) that she made with the help of Kickstarter backers and friends, the few songs she did release garnered millions of plays on streaming platforms and a small body of devoted listeners throughout the world. Her growing number of fans and champions encouraged Molly to team up with longtime friends Juan Solorzano and Zachary Dyke, both having made their marks on Nashville’s indie music scene as producers and multi-instrumentalists themselves, to properly release another record of her own. The result was “Rosemary”—an EP of fragile indie tunes that are as haunting as they are comforting, beautifully raw and yet just out of reach.From the effortless, transcendent melancholy of “Feel Alive Again,” to the flirty pop nostalgia of “Who are We Kiddin’,” each of Molly’s songs enchants the listener with a disarming union of aloofness and intimacy—timeless tunes in a postmodern soundscape. If it weren’t for the persistent reminder of a distressed 808 snare loop, a tune like “These Are The Times” wouldn’t be out of place on one of Chet Baker’s classic records from the 50’s: I wonder if you think of me I hardly ever think of you Only when I use my legs to walk Only when leaves do somersaults You know it’s just on days the mail goes through These are the times I think of you  These unassuming phrases and searching melodies drift and whirr in your head as you listen—staking their claim on your memories long after her songs have gone silent. But for all its unapproachable beauty, the heart of Molly’s music is humble and profoundly human. They are songs that remind us that heartbreak isn’t simply another marketable human emotion, but is more like a familiar place—a sacred space within all of us. We are all born with a deep sense of loss, and great art has a way of articulating our personal tragedies—both the ones we’re born into, and the ones we write and direct ourselves. It makes listening to “Rosemary” feel like falling into a dream or a distant memory—a beautiful reminder of something we’ve known all along. -James McFetridge Wilson