The shadow of stardom practically engulfs the entire Kentucky roots scene in 2025. It’s a mile past its “Bluegrass State” moniker by now, and almost entirely responsible for the roots revival of the late 2010s that’s exploded into something far more frenetic than the sum of its parts. Sturgill Simpson is busy filling genre gaps with jammy bridges, while Tyler Childers is in kahoots with modern music’s most prolific arbiters of abstraction; and lest we forget, Chris Stapleton is stepping out of his pickin’ posse to bring his woodland wails to the world’s stage.
The multi-dimensionality of the state’s biggest stars is arguably its greatest asset, and its aspirants’ best sounding curse. The version of the genre, its new crop is exposed to rewards innate earnestness, coated in second-nature variety, presenting your product as a mash-up of multiple sectors rather than adhering to the hard-line rules of the road. With all eyes now pointed past its borders, it’s not enough to glean the sunlight; you have to preserve it.
But Cole Chaney didn’t just sprout out of the soil as a nutritional replacement once his predecessors hit the road. His 2021 LP Mercy effectively reached cult status after the singer went radio silent as soon as the rubber felt like it was hitting pavement. It almost adds to the mystique of the character to glean a more pointed effort after a hiatus of half a decade. While Mercy all but unleashed his big, brawny rasp and working-class woes under the thin veil of neo-traditionalism, the record was an establishment of deep-seated identity rather than creative dispositions. In The Shadow of the Mountain still speaks to one of those traits while fully announcing the other. As easily as the message could have been lost in translation, this grunge-peppered, backwoods-driven effort is almost intrinsic to the kind of tune that swirls in Chaney’s bloodstream, intentionally or otherwise.
It’s a tall order, and that’s even coming from the horse’s mouth. In a recent interview with Rolling Stone, Chaney acknowledged his stake in the game and, with some trepidation no doubt, admitted that he has some “big shoes to fill.” The pause bleeds over into his writing in the most earnest of senses, rarely touching but always expressing his inspirations with striking poise. That raw and real writing, which draws so many Appalaicha advocates, keeps demanding focus through big and engulfing production choices concocted by Duane Lundy and Zachary Hamilton. It’s felt almost immediately, though gradually, on an opener like “Into,” where peppered percussion begins to pulsate through the very veins of what’s to come. The record’s title track, feeling ready to burst into West Coast, flannel-laced revelry at any minute, Chaney’s demanding delivery restrains it back into a collective reality. Familiarity that’s been carried from the Steeldrivers to the Soggy Bottom Boys is second nature again in the hands of the 25 year old, flavor-filled bits of his own record collection completing the full meal. It’s impressive to get your hands on all the toys while restraining the giddiness to smash them into each other.
Maybe more than his predecessors, Chaney has some awareness of his innate sense of rambling. Those ants in the pants of every southern songster are often revealed along the byway, but for our songwriter in question, the warning was heeded not long after he took his first steps. On “The Uncertainty,” under a real trot and chug tempo, the songwriter details the amalgamation of plenty of hearth-huggers he gave him along the way, veering towards agreement with the notion, rather than giving it a half-hearted shoulder shrug. There’s a whole mix of sober emotional cues on the record that conflict and contrast his Joe small-time attitude with the larger-than-life aspirations he faces. “It seems I’ve lost myself again / and all I want is to go back home,” he exhales on “Feels Like Rain,” toying with ideas of grandeur yet slow to get any closer to the vacuum of worldly desires. It’s that clash that seems to define the brunt of the sophomore project, and fill in the blanks of his brief career with some endearing woes and worries.
In a world of content and curation infiltrating artistic expression, Chaney’s unwavering approach to creating a body of work that’s reverent, true to form, yet sprinkled with deviations from the southern status quo is perhaps the most impressive feat of anyone with such a short career. The shaggy-haired star accessorizes the highlights of acts like Stone Temple Pilots or Soundgarden through melodic mimicry on “Let the Love Die” or “Alone.” Still, he never fully switches gears into foreign territory. Chaney’s refreshingly constant fortitude and approach to the craft keep their own set of checks and balances, sure to make ears perk while simultaneously inviting sighs of relief. Even amidst giants in his own craft, Chaney manages to be a standout in his own regard, uncompromising in his attitude yet constantly curious about where the boundaries can be pushed next and how far that shadow still has to extend.
