Keegan McInroe has always written like someone who’s done the miles, seen the daftness of romance up close, and learned to laugh at it without pretending it didn’t hurt. “Neon John” is his eighth studio album, out February 13, 2026, and it plays like a string of hard-earned tales told from the best seat in the house: half in the glow of a bar sign, half out on the dark road afterwards, when the jokes stop landing and the truth starts doing the talking.
It’s an eight-tracker that leans into what McInroe does best: story-driven Americana with a knowing grin. There’s experience here, sure, but also observation, hearsay, bawdy humour, and that amused, winking stoicism he talks about. And crucially, it isn’t just one shade of roots music either — this record swings between folksy country laments, honkytonk mischief, bruised blues, and electric roots songs that arrive with a proper sting.
Take opener “Neon John,” where the title character is, essentially, looking for love in all the wrong windows. McInroe takes you on a walk on the wild side with him and you’re left wondering what on earth led John to this place — “well it filled a hole,” he shrugs, and honestly that tells you everything you need to know. It’s a proper country lament, delivered like a confession you’d only make after midnight.
And if it never went neon, “Blackout Beauty” makes it pretty clear the next morning isn’t exactly a clean slate either. “What the hell did I do last night?” is the kind of line that can be played for laughs… but the honkytonk groove underneath suggests zero regrets, mind you. It’s messy, loud, and weirdly life-affirming in the way that only a great barroom song can be.
“She’s A Fighter” shifts the mood again — you can feel it in the lap steel, that change in temperature, that sense of the story turning from antics to something with real weight. “Wild And Free” digs even deeper, dealing with genuine pain while still putting a brave face on it, like the narrator’s determined to keep moving even if they’re held together by stubbornness and duct tape.
Elsewhere, “Either Way Or In Between” is laid back in that effortless, classic way that makes it feel like it’s always existed — the sort of tune that doesn’t need to shout because it knows exactly what it is. And when McInroe hits “Post Wedding Weekend Blues”… well, you said it yourself: best this. It’s got that specific kind of comedown heartbreak, the moment when the celebration’s over and real life comes back with both boots on.
Then there’s “Odette,” which is immediately more lugubrious, a song that slows the record’s pulse and drags you into its shadowy corners. And it’s here where the Waylon comparison makes total sense — except, as you put it: you don’t play like Waylon. Not because he can’t, but because McInroe’s doing his own thing, pulling from the same lineage while telling his stories with a different knife.
By the time “Chagos Blue Lament #1” arrives, the record takes a primal turn — more gnarly, more electric, more stabbing. It’s the sound of rejection turning into something physical, a roots lament with a jagged edge, like the amps are carrying the feelings the narrator can’t quite say out loud.
Behind it all is a properly locked-in band — some of Texas’ finest — with the album engineered and co-produced by Ben Hussey, and you can hear the muscle in it: bass that knows when to push, drums that swing without showboating, keys that colour the scenes, and that lap steel that keeps turning up at exactly the right moment to twist the emotional knife.
McInroe says the messier the romantic misadventure, the better the songwriting self-therapy that follows — and “Neon John” absolutely feels like that process in action. It’s funny, bruised, sharp, and human, the kind of record that can make you laugh at the chaos one minute and sit quietly with the consequences the next.
RATING: 8.5/10
