Review: Colter Wall – Memories and Empties (La Honda Records, 14 November 2025)
Colter Wall has never been much for the circus of Music Row, so it was perfectly on-brand when he “promoted” his new album by posting a swaying wooden board on Instagram that read Music Row 1800 Miles. “Management suggested getting a billboard… a cheaper option was selected,” he joked. That’s Colter in a nutshell: a man who would rather fix a fence than pose for a photoshoot, who lives far from the noise—literally and spiritually—up in the wide quiet of Saskatchewan. And Memories and Empties, produced by Patrick Lyons and Wall himself, leans all the way into that distance.
Every few years Wall emerges from ranch life with a batch of songs that feel carved out of the land he works. Little Songs captured the solitude of tending cattle in harsh country. Before that, Western Swing & Waltzes and Songs of the Plains focused on history, horses, weather, and wide horizons. But Memories and Empties is the moment when he finally rides back into town—dusty, thirsty, and with stories to tell.
If Little Songs was the quiet ache of being alone on the prairie, Memories and Empties is what happens when a rancher hits the local bar to trade tales, warm his bones, and brace himself for the coming winter. Opener “1800 Miles” sets the tone immediately. Wall reminds us he’s about as far from Nashville as a working Country and Western musician can be. He’s not chasing a spotlight; he’s just stopping in long enough to sing his piece before heading back to the herd.
This is Wall’s closest thing to a “country” album—country in the sense of heartbreak, barstools, and human frailty—rather than the western landscapes and lore he usually leans on. The difference is subtle but intentional. Western is the land, nature whereas country is the human, the barroom and the heart. On this record he tries on the latter for size, and it suits him more comfortably than one might expect.
A big part of that shift comes from the piano that threads through several standout tracks. “Like the Hills,” “Living by the Hour,” and his take on “Summer Wages” all have that perfect barroom warmth—the kind of saloon upright that’s been out of tune for twenty years but still sounds like home. When the title track “Memories and Empties” arrives, it’s almost cinematic: close your eyes and you can taste the whiskey, hear the clink of glasses, and practically smell the Marlboro Red dangling from the corner of his mouth. Wall has always been great at painting a scene, but here you’re sitting two stools over, pretending not to eavesdrop.
One of the sharpest cuts is “It’s Getting So (That a Man Can’t Go into Town Just to Have Him a Drink),” which nails that classic country paradox: a man who wants to be left alone but still feels pulled toward the world, if only for one night of human contact. Across the album, the story is simple but resonant—a rancher slipping into town before the long, brutal winter settles over the Plains, trying to set things right in his mind before he heads back out.
And this, really, is the magic trick Wall pulls off time and again: he conjures vivid, lived-in places using almost nothing at all. Simple lyrics, sparse arrangements, and that baritone—possibly the only voice on earth that sounds both ancient and 25 years old at the same time. His singing has that beautiful, smoky weariness, like he’s been smoking since the day he was born and talking only when absolutely necessary.
As someone who grew up in the city, Wall’s music has always been escapism of the highest order. Whether you’re a Londoner, a New Yorker, or just someone who’s never been near a ranch, he opens a window into a world that feels real enough to touch. Listening to each new album is like watching the sequel to your favourite western—Wall as the lone hero who always gets his man, always rides back to camp, always does the work without complaint.
A lot of that atmosphere comes from the players who bring these songs to life:
Brady Henrie on pedal steel, Josh Shilling on piano and organ, Russ Patterson on drums and percussion, Matthew Menke on fiddle, Geoff Henderson on bass, Nikki Lake on backing vocals, and Jake Groves on harmonica. Together they sound like a bar band you’d be lucky to stumble upon—tight enough to trust, loose enough to feel real.
In the end, Memories and Empties proves once again that Wall doesn’t need volume, gloss, or spectacle to make something extraordinary. His songs arrive stripped to the bone—just stories, steel, and that smoke-lined baritone—but somehow they land with more weight than albums twice as busy. It’s the kind of brilliance that sneaks up on you, built on simplicity, honesty, and a voice carved out of the plains themselves. While the world gets louder, Colter Wall keeps things quiet—and that’s exactly why his music hits so damn hard.
