There’s something magnetic about Podge Lane’s newest album, Less Of Me. It doesn’t shout for attention, it quietly commands it. Recorded across makeshift New York studios during a heatwave and written on the road through the American South, the record feels like a travel diary left open on the passenger seat, dog-eared, sun-soaked, and deeply human. Lane trades in the overproduced polish of modern alt-country for something more raw, reflective, and truth-soaked. Each song feels like a conversation he’s having with himself and the strangers he’s met along the way.
Below is a track-by-track breakdown of this road-worn masterpiece:
Kicking Up Dust: Right from the jump, “Kicking Up Dust” sets the album in motion, literally. It’s a dusty, boot-stomping track that carries the restless spirit of the open road. You can almost hear the hum of the highway under the guitar strums. Lane’s voice feels alive here, balancing wanderlust with weariness. The song works as both a mission statement and a confession: this journey isn’t about escape, it’s about seeing what’s left when the noise dies down.
Broken Door: The vulnerability kicks in early with “Broken Door.” There’s a bruised honesty in the way Lane writes about things (and people) that don’t quite fit anymore. You can hear shades of John Prine and Zach Bryan here, that conversational tone that hits harder the quieter it gets. It’s the first song on the album that makes you stop and listen instead of drive and sing.
Honesty: The title says it all. “Honesty” strips away the bravado of touring life and digs into self-reflection. The production is sparse but intentional, just Lane, a few guitar slides, and enough space to let every word breathe. It’s not a sad song, though, it’s freeing. Like he’s unloading the weight he’s been carrying since Multiple Dead Ends.
Intro to Story: A short but powerful transition track. It feels like a soundcheck before a revelation, recorded maybe in a hotel room or empty venue after a gig. There’s something cinematic about how it bleeds into the next track, setting the mood like the dimming lights before a show.
The Story: This one’s the emotional centerpiece. Lane’s writing is in its purest form here, introspective, unfiltered, and deeply observant. “The Story” feels like a journal entry written at 2AM in a New York apartment window, reflecting on everything that’s happened between airports and motel rooms. It’s quiet but profound, and it might be one of the best songs he’s ever written.
Heatwave: This track bursts out like a fever dream. Recorded during the real New York heatwave, “Heatwave” carries that dizzy, chaotic energy. There’s sweat in the chords, urgency in the vocals, and a sense of catharsis that only comes from exhaustion and freedom colliding.
January 2nd: A pause for reflection. “January 2nd” feels like waking up after the storm, quiet, contemplative, maybe a little hungover on nostalgia. It’s one of those songs that doesn’t try to solve anything; it just sits with the feeling. The minimal production lets every lyric hit like a thought you’ve been trying not to think.
Oh To Be Alive: Here’s the light breaking through the clouds. “Oh To Be Alive” carries that bittersweet gratitude of someone who’s seen both sides of the road and still wants to keep driving. It’s a song about acceptance, told through a melody that sounds like it was written with the windows down and no destination in sight.
Let Me Ask You: This one’s special. It’s gentle, conversational, and beautifully unguarded. Lane steps into storytelling mode here, channeling the human connection he built across hundreds of gigs. His voice cracks in the right places, like he’s still figuring out the answers as he sings them.
Kerosene Lighters And Fireflies: The album closes with a poetic gut-punch. It’s both an ending and a continuation, a flicker in the dark that refuses to go out. The song glows with imagery of long drives, fleeting faces, and the strange beauty of being in-between. It’s Lane’s way of saying: I’m still here, still burning, still learning.
Less Of Me is a map of moments. Every track feels tethered to a real street corner, a crowd’s cheer, or a late-night self-question. Podge Lane has found his sweet spot between storytelling and sonic exploration. The irony of the title hits perfectly: this is his most open, most personal, and yet somehow the most universal work he’s released. It’s less of him, but it’s also more real than ever.
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