Album Review | Kelsey Waldon's Every Ghost

By: Jason Earle

Over the course of four EPs and six full length albums, Kelsey Waldon has established herself as an artist firmly in tune with herself as a writer yet not content with resting on her sterling reputation. With each record her pen has further flowered, culminating in this instance with an invigorating album that pays homage to country music’s past while forging toward a confessional, self-reflective, vulnerable brand of tunes that stands out even among many of her esteemed peers.

Given that she was introduced to a broader audience when she signed with the late, legendary John Prine’s Oh Boy Records in 2019, one would be forgiven for thinking Kelsey is relatively new to the music scene. On the contrary, she has paid her dues and the years of honing her craft jump out on Every Ghost.

The record opens with “Ghost of Myself,” which feels like “Waymore’s Blues” written by a person taking inventory of their various iterations and appreciating how each one led to this moment. Self-inventory can be daunting, and its expression through art a delicate balance between self-indulgence and vulnerability. 

Waldon is able to pull off that rare feat. She opens her heart while kicking ass with her band. In a recent conversation for The Marinade podcast, she told me country albums from the late 70s and early 80s were rotating in her Comanche. To recognize such influence but not feel married to it leads the listener on a trip through the mind of an expert songwriter. Every Ghost is a Kelsey Waldon record- full of life lessons and high-level awareness wrapped in a honky tonk spirit.

(Every Ghost is available wherever you consume music on June 20, 2025.)

The Last Time I Saw John

John Prine played Orlando on December 6, 2019. Kelsey Waldon - John’s label mate, friend, and protege - graciously agreed to record an episode of my podcast before she and her band opened the show. We laughed and got serious and talked about beauty and art. We gushed about John Anderson, Lucinda Williams, and John Prine. The latter came up just as the sound of the man himself began to bleed into the dressing room in which we were recording.

It was my birthday and I couldn’t stop grinning. We opened the door to better hear Prine’s voice, maybe even get a little of it on the recording. Kelsey, who has heard John sing dozens of times, was nearly as excited as me at that moment.

On my way out I walked by the main stage. John was up there getting the lay of the land in a black t-shirt and jeans. I stopped and allowed myself a brief voyeur. It is probably tautological to say John Prine is an otherworldly, generational writer. Yet, he seemed remarkably human on that stage.

Here is a cancer survivor. A Grammy winner. A person who has inspired an uplifted some of the best talents we have in contemporary roots music.

John and I never met but all accounts are he straddled that rare air between being an authentic, down-to-earth guy and one who belongs in the pantheon of American writers. A normal person who was anything but.

Prine later put on one of the best shows I have seen in a really long time. A true master class in performance. I don’t remember which song it was, but at some point I started thinking about my grandmother. Inspiration struck while he was painting a picture of home and the comfort of simple pleasures in the way John Prine was able to do better than just about anyone.

John and my grandmother grew up in a similar time and place. The scene he set sent my hands to scribbling. Somehow it felt like John was giving me a gift, a mystical cowrite of sorts. By the end of his set, I had an all-but-finished song of my own. A poor imitation of John Prine to be sure, but one that means a ton to me.

A magical cowrite with John Prine probably sounds hokey to a lot of readers, but it’s the truth of how I felt then and now. If there is one thing I feel confident saying about John Prine, it’s that he put a premium on telling the truth through art.

Thank you for the years of inspiration, John. I hope your wristwatch is off and you are enjoying that vodka and ginger ale. We miss you like crazy.