It is easy, in times of duress and anxiety, such as the numbingly stupid, nigh cataclysmic one we’re presently weathering, to stew in one’s alarm. We inhale dread, we exhale fear. Before long, these emotions, triggered via the constant intake of reports on democracy’s demise, whether administered by social media doom scrolling or the morning deluge of urgent Substack news bulletins, become a cage: They are what we live in and the filter we view the world through. This—and our reaching deep into our bag of profound insights here—is unhealthy, and if there is a place and a time for panicking and for making a show of civil outrage, the latter cannot be “always.” We need respite from our roiling feelings.
Valerie June, one of roots music’s premiere cosmic travelers, has come back to Earth from an extended trip to the aether with a simple but powerful message for us all: get some joy in you, pronto. Her sixth record, Owls, Omens and Oracles—let it be said that few musicians working today possess June’s preternatural knack for titling their LPs—is a necessary reminder missing from swaths of contemporary music that happiness is just as potent a tool for beating back the darkness as anger; in fact, swinging that hammer of collective indignation requires we locate the parts of ourselves where our cheerier angels are stored for safekeeping. It is not possible to be perpetually pissed off and hopeless, at least not without snapping. June wants us to think about what is possible instead.
“Watching the news almost every night / Telling the stories of all that ain’t right / But what could be done from a house and a home / Sink in the sofa and feel so alone,” June lulls on the first verse of “Endless Tree,” not so much a protest song as an exhortation. If you’ve ever read David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, recall the final line: “What is an ocean but a multitude of drops?” June riffs on that same sentiment. Even a small, seemingly trivial act requires chutzpah, and it is those actions that can light “the tiniest spark.” A spark is nothing to sneeze at; for one, you’ll snuff it out. For another, “only an ember can light up the dark,” June tells us. We love a big, swingy anthem about fighting against oppression, but tracks like “Endless Tree” are, perhaps, more actionable. They encourage the kind of resistance that may matter most when the going’s gotten tough.
The branches on that song stretch enough to form a canopy over the rest of the album: Its opener, “Joy Joy!”—a quintessentially upbeat Valerie June bop—sets the tone grounded with “Endless Tree” a handful of minutes later. “Joy Joy!” is a whole damn mood baked into three minutes, kicked off by Stephen Hodges’ sturdy, funk-forward downbeat, the easygoing pluck of Kaveh Rastegar’s bass, and June’s melodic lyrical sequencing—down, up, and down again, like the cheeriest rollercoaster you’ve ever been on. Then: a burst of horns, followed by M. Ward’s and June’s guitars. This isn’t a protest song either, but the worship of joy—that rare commodity in 2025 that connects to “Endless Tree” like roots to its trunk, which makes the track’s placement on Owls, Omens and Oracle’s track-listing something of a wonder. In the arboreal metaphor, it’s key to the record’s character.
Much of the album ties back to subjects of love: lost love, self-love, the desire for love, standardized material for music in the Americana space, which June recognizes deep in Owls, Omens and Oracles’ assemblage on “My Life is a Country Song.” Couched in the rousing message of “Endless Tree” though, these explorations of love read as incitement in miniature—personal declarations about, and seeking, intimate human connection. If we’re all so mired in our despondency over the plunging direction the world around us is being thrust in, plainly articulating the need for love alongside advocacy for the power of joy takes on a certain rebelliousness by way of vulnerability. What could be more radical than belting out, as June does on “Love Me Any Ole Way,” over the drunken warble of a trumpet, trombone, and dual saxophones—wielded by Nate Walcott, Vikram Devasthali, Josh Johnson, and Sylvain Carton, respectively—one’s deepest emotional needs?
“Don’t try to make it all just right / Don’t shine the rust or hide the light / Just be true and keep it real / A heart that aches is a heart that feels,” June expounds. Embers light a fire; they can’t burn away the forces scourging us. Owls, Omens and Oracles makes no argument otherwise, though. It’s an album about opposing those forces with positivity, in the casually masterful, deceptively mellow style Valerie June has spent her career perfecting.
Bostonian culture journalist Andy Crump covers the movies, beer, music, and being a dad for way too many outlets, perhaps even yours. He has contributed to Paste since 2013. You can find his collected work at “his personal blog.” He’s composed of roughly 65% craft beer.
