Nearly a decade ago, Margo Price turned Nashville on its head with her breakthrough, beloved debut solo album, Midwest Farmer’s Daughter. Released in the throes of bro-country and before pop stars were crossing over into the genre left and right, it showcased an artist completely unafraid to double down not only on herself, but what she’d always loved: classic country songs written from the intellect and the gut, hell-bent on truth-telling and both timeless and urgent all at once. Respected by her peers, praised by critics and beloved by her fans, Price created a lane where independent-minded, insurgent country music can exist and thrive alongside the mainstream, and became an ardent fighter for her beliefs in a genre where the norm is to shut up and sing. A trailblazer and a champion for the craft, Price redefined what it meant to be a modern country artist.

            And now she’s back with an exquisite, truly timeless album that reconnects with her roots and pays tribute to the art of the country song, inspired in part by the legends whom she now calls colleagues and friends. Hard Headed Woman is both a look forward and a look back: a way to march forward while staying true to yourself when the path of less resistance is right there in front of us, and short cuts are around every corner. And a way to look back when we need to trim what is no longer working, and to stay connected with where we’re from. It is a promise and a manifesto, a love song to both a city and a genre, and a defiant cry for individuality...

With the seal of approval of Nashville’s coolest couple Margo Price and Jeremy Ivey, Dillon Warnek has emerged as one of Music City’s most skillful new songwriters, writing with all the verve and attitude of Warren Zevon. Rolling Stone raved that his debut album Now That It’s All Over was full of “wry character studies about con artists and dead men.” That’s true: Warnek — a construction worker by day, piano balladeer at night — revels in such tales. He immerses himself in reckless evenings of spending other people’s money, in hazy mornings waking up in a strange woman’s trailer, and in fantasies about keeling over with far too many secrets to reveal. Onstage, Warnek holds court at his keyboard, mixing wry anecdotes in with his subversive lyricism. Some say there are no good piano men like Randy Newman anymore. But they just haven’t seen Dillon Warnek.