For Sierra Ferrell, awareness and antiquity are two elements in startling congruence with one another compared to her peers on Music Row. A lot of the new neo-traditionalists seem to carve out a piece of their own personage as a sacrifice to those who paved the way, forgetting to blend in their own panache as they strain to emulate their influences. By contrast, Ferrell seems to have no trouble being herself while staying true to the country music she loves. Her imaginative flamboyance is shrouded in an eerie sense of familiarity that comes from a voice that’s unequivocally hers. For her, direct comparisons to past greats feel reductive as she always seems to be on the cutting edge, even with her old-school sensibilities.
In recent years, Sierra’s focused, clever artistry has garnered a lot of attention in Nashville and beyond. Her first record “Long Time Coming” was littered with that newfound whimsy that Appalachia has accrued over time, though ironically finding life online more than in the hills of her home state. In 2023, she accompanied another homegrown troubadour Zach Bryan on the track “Holy Roller” on his self-titled fourth album. On that record, Ferrell provided the record’s most understated guest appearance from perhaps its most distinct guest.
While storied instrumentalists and profound poets have helped push her toward the right ears, it’s never felt like Sierra Ferrell needs much help cultivating her character as a performer. Her newest album, “Trail of Flowers” is a shrewd reminder of this keen knowledge of self. To her, forging her own path feels like the most immediate need, first displayed by the fantastical cover of the record, adorned with cherubs, spiders, and a striking image of a winged interpretation of the singer herself. Her world, her rules.
As removed from reality as the surface of “Trail of Flowers,” can feel at times, rarely is it disengaging or trying to remove the listener from the real, prominent prose Ferrell delivers throughout these 38 minutes. “American Dreaming” opens with recollections of the road and all its trappings, knowing that her current state of being is far from what many idealize it to be. Unlike a lot of her cowboy forefathers, Ferrell appears not to want the life she’s been given but rather needs it to be fully understood. You can’t leave a trail if you don’t start stomping, something we hear do more and more of as this journey progresses.
And indeed, there is plenty of stomping and yodels to be heard as our path reveals itself. The first single for this record, “Fox Hunt,” reveals itself as the album’s third track, a gallop that replaces the trot and strut that introduced us to this strangely familiar world. Here, we break into a sprint that’s very telling of the sense of urgency we’re meant to feel, once again, it’s a feeling that Ferrell herself probably feels burdened by. For her as it is for so many, the life of musicianship is not an easy road. It’s one she’s opened up about in interviews, stressing how hard she’s worked to put food on the table by cutting her teeth on these classic-sounding bluegrass licks; she shares some similarities to a desperate hunter with a rumbling belly and quivering limbs. “Fox Hunt” is the highlight of the record not only on the strength of Billy Contrera’s sharp fiddle but also in how poignant and precise such a simple story can be. To her, this life and this world is a hunt, one she’s itching to return home from with a prized kill.
What ultimately defines “Trail of Flowers” is a blend of sophisticated influences, still soaked and coated in the eminence of her remarkable voice. As easily as her piercing alto could fall through a trapdoor of mimicry, it rarely plays too far into the influence that Loretta Lynn or Dolly Parton no doubt had on our plucky mountain girl. “Chittlin’ Cookin’ Time In Cheatham County” is steeped in a bourbon concoction that dodges the bad crowd at an old-timey saloon rather than a modern honky-tonk. “Why Haven’t You Loved Me Yet” is more akin to a heartbreak ballad that could’ve been released by her aforementioned female inspirations, yet producer Eddie Spear never fails to leave behind the most important part of the record: Sierra Ferrell herself. All parties involved seem to be in perfect harmony knowing that when Ferrell does it her way, we’re treated with sounds previously thought impossible.
As this lovely West Virginian has crept out of the woods and onto the main stages in recent years, it’s become apparent how much of a force she is both in soul and sonics. Like any thoroughbred Appalachian, a lot of her stories recount hard work and a yearning for a better version of themselves rather than their surroundings. Narratively, she emulates what hard-nosed hillbillies have been preaching for centuries now: if you want it that way, pull yourself up by your bootstraps and make it that way. Musically, it’s clear to hear how meticulously that mindset has been put into practice. While she’s not in a genre that prides itself on the magic of the studio, that room acts as a weapon where Ferrell can wield dozens of sounds to highlight how much her world and ours have to learn from one another. This stellar sophomore project from Sierra Ferrell is aptly named, and we can only hope those who follow her trail continue to plant the seeds for new flowers, rather than pick the petals off of hers.
8.7/10
