Hayes Carll

Hayes Carll isn’t preaching or teaching. He’s not interested in telling the rest of us what to do or think. But he is charting out a personal guide for his life, quieting the noise, and sitting with his real voice – the one that’s candid, consistent, and often inconvenient. We’re Only Human is Carll’s tenth album. Like his best lyrics, it is also an understated masterpiece, an honest snapshot of one man’s confrontation and delight with humanity’s biggest and most intimate questions. Where do we find forgiveness for ourselves and grace for others? How do we hold on to peace of mind and stay present? What can we—and should we––trust? And how can we moor ourselves to, well, ourselves, in the midst of confusing, trying times? We’re Only Human offers audiences the chance to listen to Carll as he listens to himself. “I’ve lived outside of myself for so long,” Carll admits. “Distractions, fear, anxiety, insecurity, and the complexity of being human in this world have so often pulled me away from being present or at peace.” “I feel like there’s been a voice riding shotgun all my life, pushing me to do better, but I’ve struggled to listen to it,” Carll says. “The idea behind this record was to do the personal work I needed to do, then codify those lessons in song to serve as sort of breadcrumbs to get me back on the trail if, and inevitably when, I get lost again.” Carll is more than two decades into a celebrated career. Praise from places such as Pitchfork and the New York Times––the latter of which yoked Carll’s ability to tackle tough issues with wry humor to Bob Dylan––punctuate a resume that includes Americana Music Awards and a Grammy nomination. His songs aren’t safe, but many of Nashville’s stars have recorded them, including Kenny Chesney, Lee Ann Womack, and Brothers Osborne. As a solo recording artist, Carll has long-since established himself as one of Americana’s most-played––and most loved––voices. His warm but crackling vocals, wit, and heart dance through wordplay that’s always clever, and never too precious. Through it all, whenever Carll points a finger, it’s most often at himself. As We’re Only Human collects moments of Carll figuring out how to be with himself, the songs feel forthright, hopeful, and timely. In today’s onslaught of instant gratification, rage-baiting headlines, glorified intolerance, and falling empathy, the record is a startling outlier: an artist’s raw, real-life effort to live well—both with himself and others. Carll embraces private epiphanies, and shares them with the world, allowing them to unfold for all to see and share.