Album Review: Taller Than Trees by Larry Eads
Larry Eads’ Taller Than Trees feels like sitting on a porch at sunset, sipping something warm while the world slows down around you. It’s folk music with heart—raw, unpolished, and real. The album comes from Sariron, a label that seems to get it right when it comes to letting artists breathe. And boy, does Larry breathe life into this record.
The first track that grabs you by the soul is “But You Can’t Make Me Drink.” Now, don’t let the title fool ya—it ain’t just some clever wordplay. This song sneaks up on you. At first, it’s kinda playful, almost teasing, but then it hits you in the chest. Larry sings about standing your ground, even when everything around you is falling apart. There’s no big production tricks here, just his voice cracking ever so slightly over an acoustic guitar. That little break in his voice? Feels like he means every damn word. I caught myself humming it days later, not because it’s catchy (it kind of is), but because it sticks to your bones.
Then there’s the title track, “Taller Than Trees.” Man, this one gets me every time. It starts slow, almost shy, like Larry’s whispering secrets only you’re meant to hear. But as the song builds, it’s like watching someone grow taller right in front of you—not literally, ya know, but emotionally. He sings about roots and resilience, about how people can rise above their struggles without losing who they are. By the end, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cry or cheer. Maybe both.
What makes these songs unforgettable isn’t perfection—it’s honesty. They feel lived-in, like old jeans or a well-worn book. Larry doesn’t try too hard; he lets the music speak for itself. And honestly? That’s what makes Taller Than Trees worth listening to again and again.
Here’s the thing though—I didn’t expect this album to make me think about my own life so much. Folk music has a way of doing that, sneaking past your defenses when you least expect it. So yeah, go listen to this album. Just maybe grab a tissue or two. Or three.
