Album Review: Like Goin’ Home by Susie Calvin – A Raw Country Kick
Alright, let’s get real here. Susie Calvin’s 1990 album Like Goin’ Home isn’t some shiny pop spectacle—it’s a gritty slice of country soul that punches you right in the gut if you’re paying attention. Released under Canyon Creek Records and produced by Bart Barton, this record doesn’t mess around. It’s got heart, twang, and enough authenticity to make your Spotify playlist feel like a betrayal.
First up, the title track “Like Goin’ Home.” Damn, this one sticks with ya. Written by Allison Gilliam, it hits hard because it sounds like life—messy, raw, but kinda beautiful when you sit with it long enough. The lyrics are simple yet sharp, like an old friend reminding you where you came from. Calvin’s voice cracks just enough to sell the pain without overdoing it, and the pedal steel guitar? Holy hell, it’s like hearing nostalgia distilled into sound waves. This ain’t polished studio magic; this is real talk wrapped in dusty boots and cowboy hats.
Then there’s another standout (though I won’t name it ‘cause you should go find it yourself). What makes it unforgettable is how Calvin leans into the storytelling vibe. She doesn’t sing so much as she talks straight to your damn soul, like she knows all about your secrets and regrets. The melody builds slow at first, almost teasing you, then drops into this foot-stomping groove that’ll have you nodding along even if you hate country music. You can tell everyone involved poured their blood, sweat, and cheap whiskey into making these tracks breathe.
Now, sure, some folks might call this album dated or too low-fi for today’s slick standards. But honestly? That’s what makes it killer. There’s no autotune saving bad notes, no flashy production tricks hiding empty spaces. Just honest music made by people who clearly gave zero fucks about trends.
Here’s the kicker though—listening to Like Goin’ Home feels less like entertainment and more like therapy. Like someone reached into your chest, grabbed hold of your heartstrings, and gave ‘em a good yank. And maybe that’s why it still matters three decades later. Or maybe…just maybe…it’s proof that sometimes imperfection is perfection. Either way, crank this sucker loud, pour yourself a drink, and don’t act surprised when you start crying halfway through.
