Memories and Empties (COLTER WALL) - Complete Review

Colter Wall’s Memories and Empties might be the best country album of the last 25 years, and I’m not being hyperbolic.

From Colter's voice to the instruments to the compositional backbone of it all—from jingle to jangle—this album is damn near perfect. His voice and string work carry Johnny, Merle, Waylon, Doc, and Willie without ever feeling imitative. He folds their spirits into his own sound with a calm, unforced ease. Through him, the old voices ride again, reaching ears that never grew up with them.

Every one of his records carries echoes of those greats, layered also with the spirit of Guthrie, Dylan, and Ramblin’ Jack. Dump some Robbins and Tyson in the mix and it all comes together as the unmistakable supermix that defines his sound—rendered honestly, plainly, and without apology. But, what rises above his albums is simply the man himself: his existence translated straight into musical expression.

This collection is a genuine entanglement of country’s greatest influences, woven into just ten tracks. What’s remarkable is how effortlessly simple it feels while maintaining deep compositional integrity. Every element honours the genre’s legacy without giving up substance for nostalgia.

The balance of the keys, the harp, the organ—they sit together in a quiet, natural conversation. The fiddle weeps and dances in equal measure, the pedal steel bends notes like heartbreak itself, and the acoustic guitar anchors everything with a steady, timeless strum. The whole album moves with a translucent lightness, swaying you gently from beat to beat.

It’s smiles, sadness, and simplicity delivered through sheer soul. One of the most raw, honest expressions of existence through music I’ve ever experienced.

It never feels like Colter is chasing genre. Country drapes over him like a dusty, sun-bleached jean jacket handed down through generations.

Track by Track

"1800 Miles"

Right out of the gate, Colter's telling Nashville exactly where they can shove their polished pop-country nonsense. The fiddle cuts through sharp and clear, dancing around that steady rhythm guitar whilst the pedal steel drives a "real mean bar" that would make Buddy Emmons proud. It's pure defiance wrapped in traditional instrumentation—the sound of a man who knows exactly what he's about and won't apologize for it, with every string and key honouring the outlaws who came before.

"My Present Just Gets Past Me"

Time slipping through your fingers like water, and all you can do is watch it go. The acoustic guitar sits gentle here, almost Willie-like in its restraint, whilst subtle organ swells carry that melancholy deeper. Colter's voice carries this beautiful heaviness, like he's observing his own life from outside himself, and the sparse arrangement—just voice, guitar, and those haunting organ tones—lets every word breathe, lets every moment of reflection settle deep in your bones.

"Like The Hills"

Two minutes of pure prairie poetry in waltz time. The guitar picks delicately whilst the fiddle sweeps across like wind over grass, creating this pastoral soundscape that Ian Tyson would recognize instantly. Every word matters, every note lands exactly where it needs to, and that interplay between Colter's fingerpicking and the fiddle's response feels like a conversation between man and land about permanence in a world that won't stop changing.

"Memories and Empties"

The title track pairs what we hold onto with what we've drained trying to forget. The pedal steel here is absolutely heartbreaking—pure Merle Haggard territory—weeping between verses whilst the rhythm section keeps that classic country shuffle. There's this bittersweet ache running through it, the kind that comes from knowing your best days are stories now, sitting next to empty bottles on a shelf. The harmonica adds these punctuation marks of loneliness, and Colter honours that '70s Bakersfield sound whilst making it feel immediate and personal.

"It's Getting So (That A Man Can't Go Into Town Just To Have Him A Drink)"

The longest title hides one of the album's most wryly humorous moments—a lament for simpler times delivered with that perfect deadpan delivery. The honky-tonk piano rolls in like something straight out of a Waylon session, whilst the steel guitar adds these cheeky little licks between lines. It's an old-timer's complaint wrapped in pure barroom instrumentation, making you smile even as it says something real about connection and community slipping away. You can practically see Colter shaking his head at the whole damn mess whilst the band plays on behind him.

"Living By The Hour"

This is working-class existence distilled into song—time measured in shifts and paycheques, life traded hour by hour. The acoustic guitar keeps that steady, almost hypnotic rhythm that mimics the grind itself, whilst subtle dobro adds texture in the background like Marty Robbins used to do. His voice carries the weariness of someone who knows that grind intimately, and there's this beautiful simplicity to the arrangement—just enough instrumentation to support the story without drowning it. It's the sound of dignity in hard work without romanticising the struggle.

"4/4 Time"

At nearly five minutes, this is Colter letting himself and the band breathe, settling into a groove and living there. The title itself is a nod to country's most common heartbeat, and the band plays it like a masterclass—the organ swells and recedes like breath, the pedal steel bends notes with Johnny Cash-era precision, and the rhythm section locks in tighter than a train on tracks. He uses every second of that space to showcase the vintage sound they've crafted so carefully—nothing rushed, nothing wasted, just pure instrumentation serving the song.

"The Longer You Hold On"

This one captures that terrible limbo when you both know it's over but nobody's said it yet. The fingerpicked guitar here is delicate as glass, threatening to break at any moment, whilst the steel guitar weeps in the background like it's mourning something already lost. Colter's restraint here is what makes it cut so deep—no dramatics, just the quiet devastation of watching love slowly die, supported by instrumentation that knows when to speak and when to stay silent. Doc Watson's influence shows in that precise, emotional fingerpicking.

"Back To Me"

Whether it's a person, a place, or a version of himself he's lost, this track explores return with both hope and resignation. The acoustic guitar carries this gentle, almost lullaby-like quality whilst harmonica drifts in and out like memories themselves. Coming back is never simple, never complete, and Colter's voice carries that understanding beautifully over instrumentation that feels like coming home—comfortable, worn, true. The simplicity here is pure Guthrie—just enough music to carry the story forward.

"Summer Wages" (Ian Tyson)

Closing with an Ian Tyson cover is the perfect tip of the hat to the past whilst cementing Colter's place as the future. The band brings out all the Western swing elements—the fiddle dances freely, the guitar alternates between rhythm and lead with effortless grace, and there's this lightness to the arrangement that captures prairie life perfectly. It's about seasonal work and rural rhythms, themes that run through Tyson's work and now through Colter's. By choosing this song and arranging it with such reverence—letting each instrument speak in that classic cowboy music style—he's not just honouring an influence, he's accepting the torch and carrying it forward with the same authenticity that made Tyson's music matter in the first place.