Written by: Dave Cantrell
Don’t know about you all but we here at SEM have a soft spot for albums that open with something of a bruised hush, a touch of alluring melancholy that, before we even realize it, lulls us into an incipient moment of reflection wherein that simplest yet most profound epiphany-of-sorts confirms that you’re a living breathing feeling human being suddenly, inescapably, envelops you for a moment and damn near makes you feel eternal. So begins opening track “Shapeshiftin Demon” on Rock Alone, the latest full-length from Asheville-based Ryan Anderson’s long-standing, completely independent, (mostly; it’s complicated) solo project Minorcan, and while we fully understand the risk we’re running here by what might be perceived as over-lading the front end of this review with hosannas that are perhaps a little ‘too too,’ worry not, the album entire can – and with some aplomb – withstand that pressure.
From that gently gorgeous opening, this February 14th-released album, its punk rock roots spliced on to the DNA of roots music, wends steadily through the accretive, flinty-eyed travelogue-of-sorts title track that’s so subtly hook-laden that if you aren’t moved by either its head-bouncing rhythm or its heart-rending lyrics then you should make an appointment with your health provider stat, through “Burial Insurance,” wry sly and wholly relatable as it tackles the desolatingly quotidian experience of simply living out our fucking lives with at least a whisper of dignity that includes the line “I’ve worked all my life / but I can’t afford to die” which says whatever ‘all’ you’d care to mention, the singularly righteous “Here On Out” with its irrefutable, emphatic line (past the wise if still startling “let’s abolish gender“) “people gotta love just who we wanna love” and must be one of the current faves in Minorcan’s (rather legendary, it must be said) live sets, through to the utter triumph of final cut “Nightmare Rider” that, buoyed by the irresistibility of its jaunty hand-clapped rhythm track and its sheer hook-filled ebullience (not to mention the resilient defiance in Anderson’s voice, the line “they want us to stay lonely” hitting with a particular poignancy) guarantees the Minorcan songwriting legacy from this point forward.
All of which points implacably and with an eccentrically singular purpose toward Rock Alone, with its refreshing candor and charming disregard for the styles of the day, actually, in fact, rather standing alone as one of 2025’s most standout – and necessary – albums. Yes, it’s early days yet and blah blah blah but we’re tellin’ ya, this shit is (and here’s that word again), eternal.
