Colby Acuff - Enjoy the Ride (2025)

In the throes of a late-night doomscroll, you run across a TikTok of a bearded man sprawled on a hardwood floor, the contextually challenged phrase “what’s a man supposed to be?” illuminated above him. “Oh great,” you think, “another self-prescribed social spokesperson for the testosterone-stressed twenty-somethings, farming metadata rooted in the microbes of every John Doe with a bad first date story.”

But then he opens his mouth, revealing a nasally, reedy (but never whiny) tenor recanting his own struggles with cracking that well fortified code. His break-in method is simple. Mostly, he details how he’s not a fan of opening up, or how he pushes undesirable feelings into the depths of REM sleep, or overall addresses the standards of the masculine condition as they exist in 2025. While in verse, he racks his brain for answers, and the sole, yet most difficult one, to grasp flashes over his head: “Just be yourself.”

And if anyone can make such a claim that’s had its weight hollowed out with a thousand disingenuous utterances feel whole again, it’s Colby Acuff. Somewhere between a weekday afternoon East Nashville cafe regular and a lasso at the holster western warrior, there’s an unassuming, universal conviction about the Idaho native that’s all encompassing; he remains fresh behind his beard while the same sentiment grows stale in the frays of his peers. That aforementioned online snippet unfurls into a full-fledged testimony on “His Song,” just over the hump on his newest studio LP, “Enjoy The Ride.” In the track, Acuff seeks guidance from himself, the only soul he thinks could grasp his mangled man brain.

What’s fascinating about Acuff’s seemingly simple on-paper premise isn’t just where he seeks out his answers, but who the original author of the question is in the first place. They’re sourced by the same entity, both of which reside between Acuff’s ears, and areconvinced that they’re objects entirely foreign to one another.

That’s how a majority of Acuff’s sixth full effort feels, like a tangled spool of yarn that’s slowly being solved by two hands realizing they’re of the same body. He flits between stories, both personal and provincial, to convey that point in true nomad fashion, collecting a sort of shared consciousness for the state of middle America in the modern era. It’s not easy to read for slicked-up Nashville stars, but it sparks a second language in a boy from the panhandle of a flyover state. “Her Song (Numb To Everything)” resuscitates Pat Monahan’s intoxicating dream girl from “Meet Virginia,” the constant bridesmaid with mood rings and a Rolodex of phrases fluent in therapy speak —a revamped version of the ill-fated prescription this kind of chemistry provides Acuff and, by extension, his listeners. It’s comforting to hear that there’s one in every town from his warm, warbled, profoundly unassuming tenor.