B-Side Guys

The Cold Stares, hailing from Evansville, Indiana, have long been labeled a Southern band, a tag they’ve worn with a mix of pride and bemusement. With their seventh album, “The Southern,” released on September 5, 2024, the power trio leans into this identity, exploring its complexities and contradictions across 11 tracks of gritty, soulful blues-rock.

From the opening notes of “Horse to Water,” it’s clear that The Cold Stares are not content to simply rehash Southern rock tropes. Chris Tapp’s guitar work is a revelation, blending fuzzed-out riffs with fleet-fingered solos that owe as much to Cream as they do to Lynyrd Skynyrd. Brian Mullins’ drumming provides a solid foundation, while newcomer Bryce Klueh’s bass adds a depth and richness to the band’s sound that was previously hinted at but never fully realized.

The album’s title track, “Coming Home,” serves as both a musical and thematic centerpiece. It’s a plaintive, dobro-driven ballad that showcases Tapp’s storytelling prowess. When he sings, “My Father said son don’t forget to pray/’Cause you know there will come a day/When this old world turns against you/You better have a plan to make your way,” it’s not just a line from a song – it’s a distillation of generational wisdom, the kind passed down in Southern families for centuries.

But The Cold Stares are not content to simply romanticize the South. “Looking for a Fight” tackles the region’s political polarization head-on, its stoner-rock riffs providing a muscular backdrop for lyrics that challenge listeners to look beyond surface-level divisions. It’s a brave move, one that speaks to the band’s commitment to exploring Southern identity in all its complicated glory.

“Blow Wind Blow” is another standout, its ominous classic rock feel belying lyrics inspired by Dust Bowl-era Oklahoma. It’s a reminder that Southern identity is not monolithic – it encompasses a vast array of experiences and histories, from the Delta blues to the Appalachian coal mines.

The addition of Klueh on bass has clearly energized the band, allowing them to expand their sonic palette without losing the raw energy that has always been their hallmark. This is particularly evident on tracks like “Confession” and “Level Floor Blues,” where the interplay between guitar, bass, and drums creates a rich, dynamic sound that feels both classic and contemporary.

“Seven Ways to Sundown” and “No Love in the City Anymore” showcase the band’s ability to shift gears, offering moments of introspection amidst the album’s more raucous offerings. These quieter moments allow Tapp’s vocals to shine, revealing a vulnerability that adds depth to the band’s tough-guy image.

The album closes with “Mortality Blues,” a haunting modern Delta blues that serves as a fitting capstone to the record. With its eerie Southern imagery and allusions to Robert Johnson, the track feels like a summation of everything The Cold Stares set out to explore on “The Southern.” It’s also impossible not to hear echoes of Tapp’s personal journey as a cancer survivor in lines like “I can’t see how some folks set their mind on dying/When I’m doing my best, just to stay alive.”

Throughout “The Southern,” The Cold Stares grapple with what it means to be a Southern band in the 21st century. They acknowledge the weight of history and tradition while refusing to be constrained by it. This is not the South of moonlight and magnolias, nor is it the caricatured redneck South of popular imagination. Instead, it’s a nuanced, complex South – one shaped by hardship and resilience, by faith and doubt, by pride and shame.

The band’s sound reflects this complexity. While there are plenty of bluesy licks and swampy grooves, there’s also a heavy dose of classic rock and even hints of grunge and metal. It’s as if The Cold Stares are saying that Southern music can be anything it wants to be – that the very act of defining it is limiting.

In previous interviews, Tapp has spoken about the blue-collar work ethic instilled in him by his grandfather and father. This ethos is evident in every note of “The Southern.” There’s a craftsmanship to these songs, a sense that each riff, each lyric, each drum fill has been carefully considered and honed to perfection.

But there’s also an urgency to the album, a feeling that these are stories that need to be told now. In the wake of the pandemic and personal losses, The Cold Stares seem determined to leave nothing unsaid. As Tapp put it in a previous interview, “We’re just not promised tomorrow, another record or another year… moving forward, I don’t want to miss an opportunity to say something or get something off my chest.”

This openness, this willingness to be vulnerable, is what elevates “The Southern” from a good album to a great one. The Cold Stares are not just playing Southern rock – they’re interrogating what it means to be Southern, to be American, to be human in a world that often seems on the brink of chaos.

At 41 minutes and 23 seconds, “The Southern” is a concise yet fully realized work. There’s no filler here, no moments where the energy flags or the ideas run dry. Instead, The Cold Stares have crafted an album that demands – and rewards – repeated listens, revealing new layers of meaning and musicianship with each spin.

In the end, “The Southern” is more than just an exploration of Southern identity – it’s a testament to the power of rock and roll to grapple with big ideas and complex emotions. The Cold Stares have created a work that is simultaneously rooted in tradition and boldly forward-looking, one that celebrates the South while refusing to shy away from its contradictions.

For fans of blues-rock, Southern rock, or just plain good music, “The Southern” is essential listening. It’s an album that reminds us why we fell in love with rock and roll in the first place – its ability to move us, challenge us, and make us feel less alone in a complicated world. The Cold Stares may hail from Indiana, but with “The Southern,” they’ve staked their claim as one of the most exciting and authentic voices in contemporary Southern rock.