Despite a name that’s synonymous with the barren lands they grew up on, The Red Clay Strays spent the majority of their 2023 pretending to be satisfied farmers in front porch rocking chair; seeds had been planted, thanks to their monstrously successful 2022 LP Moment of Truth, and now there wasn’t much else to do but sit back and watch those rewards to be reaped.
After a little nudge of virality, the group convinced listeners to have an extended stay at their residency on memory lane. The record boasted a gothic rendition of the Sun Records craze the group grew up on, paired with the borderline mania of the gospel so deeply rooted in their homestead of lower Alabama. Marrying old sounds with new ideas is expected in 2024, though avoiding stumbling through both can be tricky. If anything, Made By These Moments, their second and most recent record, tells us that a year off from the studio was used to practice just that: sticking the landing. It’s safe to say it’s paid off handsomely.
Much of the rapport Brandon Coleman, Drew Nix, and the rest of this po-dunk posse has garnered in recent years points to a notion of indulgence. They’re copiously absorbed in their Delta roots, and in many ways, the group’s first project didn’t feel too keen on peeking past the bluesy backroads they found comfort in. Country music has become overly fond of this kind of thing recently; with the future so frowned upon by its critics, it’s a safer bet to remind people of what once was rather than warn them of where they’re headed.
However, in this instance specifically, that line of thinking undersells the progress made by the Strays in such a short time. It’s reductive to place them in the Rolodex of fleeting feelings many nostalgia merchants sell in the modern age. Here, their repertoire moves far past raiding Daddy’s record collection.
Ironically, much of the rollout and expectations set around Made By These Moments seemed to divert fans’ attention on purpose. “Wanna Be Loved” and “Devil In My Ear” took the heavy-handed allegory knob the Strays are so fond of and cranked it to eleven. Brandon Coleman’s chilling timbre never fails to take hold of the themes that feel like only his voice can match. There’s still plenty of emotion throughout, though the rest of the record has a little more pep in its step, thanks to the rest of this act finally matching tempo with their towering troubadour in frontman Coleman. And it’s not because he slowed down; the rest of the band just caught up.
These new muscles get flexed heavily on “Ramblin’,” where Drew Nix and Zach Rishel chug along like freight trains to match the supersonic speeds the band is undoubtedly accustomed to after a hectic year on the road. The rough and rushed guitar fills echo that sentiment further, insinuating that they’re in and out of venues so fast they’ve barely had time to change their strings and tune their instruments. The noticeable haphazardness is far from a critique, however. Again, it only feels like they’re getting up to speed and sizing up to their skill sets before the impossible expectations that had been set before them. Bravado is the standard; anything else, and they’ve regressed.
Given their gravitas, their prose has also developed, which feels like a long time coming. Much of what made Moment of Truth such a smash hit was its ability to convey emotion through a lead singer and band that feel the crush of heartache in every breath and note. Here, that emotion has matured past the simple folly of youthful angst. Heartache is traded in for hopelessness, and the whirlwinds of those touring days seem to come at the price of nasty existential hangovers. It’s a mode that their peers have dabbled in, but the Strays here aptly wade in those dreadful waters.
It’s evident how lived-in those sentiments are on “I’m Still Fine,” where Coleman wails, “I don’t feel my sadness, I know it should be there, maybe I’m too tired to care.” A lot of this record is downright dour, though it’s expected given how easily self-serious prose and delivery come to them. Hits about heartbreak were always just the tip of the iceberg.
Despite the sharp twists and turns we get throughout Made By These Moments, those diversions rarely come as any real shock, for better or worse. Under the guidance of the eclectic Dave Cobb, the Red Clay Strays have a lot more to play with in the toybox. While their attention shifts far more rapidly than in releases prior, rarely is that a disservice to their abilities. At times, history and heritage is so warped that the product becomes something entirely singular.
The group practically slams their fist on a preacher’s pulpit throughout “On My Knees,” a hearty iteration of the gospel records Coleman no doubt draws a lot of his twang from. Conversely, “God Does” emulates an entirely different sort of revival. There, they’re finding solace in the winding roads, a sentiment the Strays seem to share with a number of their redneck rock & roll forefathers. Their heart, while geocentric, seems to beat in unison with a couple of different tribes.
There’s a lot more to this group than the “emo Elvis” schtick the Red Clay Strays have been branded with, and Made By These Moments is a sure step to proving that. Ballads of want and woe are a key ingredient, but in this context, it’s far from the full recipe. Worries about the band falling to the wayside are, for now, put to rest. As long as they’re hungry, they’re thriving, and it still feels like the main course has yet to be brought out.
8.7
