For most artists, a self-titled album is either a bold declaration or a last resort. Mat Kearney’s new record falls somewhere in between.
“I mean, yeah, either you couldn’t think of a name or it’s the most personal thing you’ve done,” he jokes. “This one’s both.”
The new album — simply titled Mat Kearney — is the singer-songwriter’s most stripped-down and personal release in years, a return to the instincts that first launched him into the spotlight two decades ago. But it’s also something new: a culmination of every lesson learned, every market played, every moment he’s felt himself losing the thread — and finding it again.
“I sent it to my bass player Phil Moore, and he goes, ‘This feels the most like the guy I’ve been hanging out with for the last 10 years,’” Kearney says. “And I was like — yes. That’s it.”
For longtime fans, that rawness might feel like a revelation. Kearney has always been a genre blender, weaving hip-hop, folk and pop into honest songwriting. But this time, he’s pushing against the polished sheen that has come to define much of modern pop — and even his own catalog. The result is warm and rich, dynamic but unassuming. Less algorithm, more analog.
“It wasn’t a concept record. I wasn’t trying to be clever,” he says. “I just wanted to keep it earnest and honest and stop editing so much. I let it be stream of consciousness and kind of raw.”
That ethos carries into the newly released deluxe edition, Mat Kearney (Still Drowning in Nostalgia), which adds a handful of bonus tracks and alternate versions that deepen the album’s themes. The title itself is both tongue-in-cheek and completely sincere — acknowledging the reflective, homesick undertow running through the entire project.
Part of that philosophy came from Kearney’s own creative burnout. After years on the road touring traditional album cycles, the Nashville-based artist found himself craving something quieter, more human.
“I was kind of over the A-market/B-market grind,” he says. “I just wanted to play the songs.”
So he went back to his roots. Acoustic trio shows. Intimate venues. No frills. Just stories and songs.
“It was like, this is it — me, the guitar, a couple friends, and the people who actually care. And all of a sudden, shows were fun again,” he says. “I was playing Interlochen, Michigan. Bar Harbor, Maine. Santa Barbara. All these small towns I hadn’t hit in years. It just felt right.”
Those experiences directly shaped the sound of the new record. Kearney calls it “margarita pizza music” — just the essentials, no unnecessary toppings.
“You figure out your three good ingredients,” he says. “For me, it’s my voice, my songs and the ideas. This record is about distilling those things down.”
Ironically, that back-to-basics approach ended up feeling more progressive than some of his more experimental albums. Instead of leaning into trends, Kearney leaned into curiosity — writing with the freedom of someone who knows the rules well enough to break them.
“A lot of modern records feel like they’re yelling at you,” he says. “Everything’s boosted and compressed and polished. I wanted to make something that sits back and invites you in.”
That car test, by the way? It passed.
“This is the first record in a long time that I don’t get sick of,” he says. “Usually I’m done listening by the time it comes out. This one, I just keep putting on.”
It’s fitting that all this reflection coincides with a full-circle moment in Kearney’s personal life, too. Just before the album dropped, he performed for 10,000 fans at the Oregon Ducks spring game in Eugene — his hometown. And the song he played? “Coming Home,” a surprise hit that started as a joke.
“I wrote it on my couch when I was missing home,” he says. “It wasn’t even meant to be a sports anthem. But it’s about Oregon. The people. The memories. I sent it to them, they made a video, and now it plays at every event. I never thought I’d be standing in front of a sea of yellow and green, playing something that heartfelt for a football crowd.”
There’s something poetic about it: a song that was never meant to be big becomes the soundtrack to a state. A record that wasn’t written for a market ends up being his most relatable. Kearney doesn’t chase the moment — he stumbles into it, guitar in hand.
And now, after years of touring with a full band, he’s bringing that intimacy back to the road. Kearney kicks off his stripped-down solo tour at the end of April, playing songs the way he wrote them — direct, honest, no filter.
“It’s just me up there this time,” he says. “I want to connect with people the way this record connected with me. I want it to feel like coming home.”
