Second albums are what songwriters agonize over. The follow up to a debut obliges them to up the ante whether they’re agile enough to or not. That ability to rise to the occasion defines Portland, Oregon songwriter Berkley’s (Andy Jones) sophomore LP Vaquero. But the songwriter wasn’t planning on having it in him.

After a short promotional tour of his debut Pueblo, and appearances on local Portland compilations, Jones was spending most of his time in his basement watching western movies and TV shows. Such was his way of processing his grief in the wake of losing his grandfather Pete Ramirez Lopez to cancer.

Sure, he was writing songs, but only as a means to work through his feelings and understand family dynamics that changed in the face of death.

Paired with a self-guided course in Mexican folk and mariachi music — the music his maternal grandparents passionately shared with him — Jones was led to interrogate his biraciality in new ways, concluding that he had never defined what it meant to and for him.

He played new tunes at performances around Portland and Colorado, but wasn’t chasing the recording thrill yet. Then he hastily applied for an arts grant, thinking any funding would be useful later when the next album revealed itself to him.

With just a handful of demos and a vision board, Jones was awarded the highest amount granted to produce an incomplete album that addressed the ideas he wrestled with in his basement. With the cosmos vibrated, more fell into place. Producer Gus Berry (Still Woozy) stepped in to help usher the album to completion. Jones gained more supporters in songwriter Sam Weber (Madison Cunningham) who would take on a guitar/piano role, first-call session drummer Micah Hummel (Anna Tivel), and LA/Portland jack of all music Tejas Leier Heyden (Junaco). That’s an album revealing itself.

In five days, Jones and the band recorded 12 cuts live with no click and minimal overdubs, keeping the best whole takes for the final vinyl pressing (two of the songs were released separately on the Preludio 7” in March). The songs show Jones expanding familiar acreage into a new frontier of groove-driven acoustically grounded music.

On Vaquero, Jones’s signature progressive flourishes and expansive influences keep him out of the heritage revivalism pack as he ventures into the new (for him) territory of country-tinged, folk-leaning tunes. The lyrics are sharper this time around, exchanging Impressionism for clear images and a point of view that ties his personal experience to the universal. Jones also loosened his self-imposed reins on his guitar playing and singing — he’s showing off in the right places now.

The album’s woodgrain title track drifts from jaunty to intimately confessional with a flint-and-steel instrumental hook. “Blue Dreamers” harkens to Pueblo with a relentless drum machine beat keeping time for guitar heavy glory. “Two Johnnies” is a smoky dream of a song that exemplifies the untread sand Vaquero stakes its claim in.

Regarding album cuts, “Nowhereseville,” among others, portrays Jones as Tom Petty’s heir apparent while “Pioneer” veers from campfire introspection into early Wu-tang Clan-influenced sampling and electronic atmospheres reminiscent of M83. The song also exchanges modern folk rock's woodwind proclivities for Portland's - and arguably Oregon’s - most celebrated harmonica player, David Lipkind trading solos with Jones on guitar.

“The Kid” goes all in on the western approach from subject matter to musical textures: nylon guitars with Spanish guitar licks and mariachi strumming dance with exotic percussion that are part clave, part jazz - yet another examination of Jones’s biraciality and breadth of taste. Vocalist Madison Berry-Sellers appears throughout the album but makes her mark firmly here.

“Born On The Plain,” inspired by his grandfather’s early life working the fields with his migrant parents, views the transience of life from the perspective of a settler witnessing the devastation a lone rider brings to town.

”El Dorado,” maybe the LP’s most adventurous track with a generous swath of Moog synthesizer (is it more Mort Garson or Roger McGuinn?), finds peace with family before it’s too late while the album’s closer, the 12-stringed “Metaphysics,” considers that it may never be too late.

It’s a lot of ground to cover — the myth of the American west, death, joy in grief, reconciliation — but that’s Vaquero’s gambit. Unbeknownst to Jones, his Berkley persona was ready for it.

Second albums are what songwriters agonize over. The follow up to a debut obliges them to up the ante whether they’re agile enough to or not. That ability to rise to the occasion defines Portland, Oregon songwriter Berkley’s (Andy Jones) sophomore LP Vaquero. But the songwriter wasn’t planning on having it in him.

After a short promotional tour of his debut Pueblo, and appearances on local Portland compilations, Jones was spending most of his time in his basement watching western movies and TV shows. Such was his way of processing his grief in the wake of losing his grandfather Pete Ramirez Lopez to cancer.

Sure, he was writing songs, but only as a means to work through his feelings and understand family dynamics that changed in the face of death.

Paired with a self-guided course in Mexican folk and mariachi music — the music his maternal grandparents passionately shared with him — Jones was led to interrogate his biraciality in new ways, concluding that he had never defined what it meant to and for him.

He played new tunes at performances around Portland and Colorado, but wasn’t chasing the recording thrill yet. Then he hastily applied for an arts grant, thinking any funding would be useful later when the next album revealed itself to him.

With just a handful of demos and a vision board, Jones was awarded the highest amount granted to produce an incomplete album that addressed the ideas he wrestled with in his basement. With the cosmos vibrated, more fell into place. Producer Gus Berry (Still Woozy) stepped in to help usher the album to completion. Jones gained more supporters in songwriter Sam Weber (Madison Cunningham) who would take on a guitar/piano role, first-call session drummer Micah Hummel (Anna Tivel), and LA/Portland jack of all music Tejas Leier Heyden (Junaco). That’s an album revealing itself.

In five days, Jones and the band recorded 12 cuts live with no click and minimal overdubs, keeping the best whole takes for the final vinyl pressing (two of the songs were released separately on the Preludio 7” in March). The songs show Jones expanding familiar acreage into a new frontier of groove-driven acoustically grounded music.

On Vaquero, Jones’s signature progressive flourishes and expansive influences keep him out of the heritage revivalism pack as he ventures into the new (for him) territory of country-tinged, folk-leaning tunes. The lyrics are sharper this time around, exchanging Impressionism for clear images and a point of view that ties his personal experience to the universal. Jones also loosened his self-imposed reins on his guitar playing and singing — he’s showing off in the right places now.

The album’s woodgrain title track drifts from jaunty to intimately confessional with a flint-and-steel instrumental hook. “Blue Dreamers” harkens to Pueblo with a relentless drum machine beat keeping time for guitar heavy glory. “Two Johnnies” is a smoky dream of a song that exemplifies the untread sand Vaquero stakes its claim in.

Regarding album cuts, “Nowhereseville,” among others, portrays Jones as Tom Petty’s heir apparent while “Pioneer” veers from campfire introspection into early Wu-tang Clan-influenced sampling and electronic atmospheres reminiscent of M83. The song also exchanges modern folk rock's woodwind proclivities for Portland's - and arguably Oregon’s - most celebrated harmonica player, David Lipkind trading solos with Jones on guitar.

“The Kid” goes all in on the western approach from subject matter to musical textures: nylon guitars with Spanish guitar licks and mariachi strumming dance with exotic percussion that are part clave, part jazz - yet another examination of Jones’s biraciality and breadth of taste. Vocalist Madison Berry-Sellers appears throughout the album but makes her mark firmly here.

“Born On The Plain,” inspired by his grandfather’s early life working the fields with his migrant parents, views the transience of life from the perspective of a settler witnessing the devastation a lone rider brings to town.

”El Dorado,” maybe the LP’s most adventurous track with a generous swath of Moog synthesizer (is it more Mort Garson or Roger McGuinn?), finds peace with family before it’s too late while the album’s closer, the 12-stringed “Metaphysics,” considers that it may never be too late.

It’s a lot of ground to cover — the myth of the American west, death, joy in grief, reconciliation — but that’s Vaquero’s gambit. Unbeknownst to Jones, his Berkley persona was ready for it.

Canada, Los Angeles, Portland: Sam Weber has been a modern cowboy riding into the next sunset. The pacific northwest has hosted the songwriter’s most productive chapter: two full-length albums, his sixth and seventh, in the first half of the year. The first, Deus Cowboy, lived a brief life online, disappearing from streaming services just a week after its release. Shape Confused Cowboy Be You — more recognizably “Sam” to his post-Americana audience — still rides as Weber embarks on an ambitious tour that occupies most of 2025.

Ask Sam what Shape Confused Cowboy Be You means and he’ll direct you to the music. And no explanation is needed — you can hear the dimension of his work across his entire catalogue. He crafts dodecahedrons from song that feel progressive enough to live in their own world, yet hold a familiar resonance that places him in the continuum of the greats — a fellow keeper of the flame, Grammy winner Madison Cunningham, will feature two Sam Weber co-compositions on her next album. His long list of collaborators and packed touring schedule says Weber is due for his place in the sun. For now, the brim of a George Strait Signature is providing the shade.

This LP feels like a culmination of Sam’s efforts as much as the harbinger of what’s next. This is no pastoral throwback album. Nor does it pretend to usurp another genre’s legacy with western ornamentation. Songs like “cowboy-3.com” and “back-on-the-ranch.com” suggest that Weber has his eyes on the prairie, but “used001.art,” among other tracks, shows he’s looking inward to see the future:

A shot rings wide and the pressures rise From a car or a gun a combustion heading somewhere for someone You better get used to it it’s a strange new world

This album is full of poetics, and is a striking musical statement. Counting Portland folkie Anna Tivel (singing with voice and fiddle) and Dawes drummer Griffin Goldsmith among its personnel, Shape Confused Cowboy Be You is a quiet storm shifting from narrow drum machines to grand sweeping strings. Still, shouldering the load is Weber’s adroit musicianship as a multi-instrumentalist, delivering complex piano chords and wiry guitar lines.

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