Barbara Lynch - Where Did You Go (2025)

Barbara Lynch grew up in small town in Southwestern Ontario which, if you’ve spent any time in the area you’ll know is as rural and rustic as it gets. On her new album, where did you go, Barbara Lynch shares stories and observations from that setting, which play out as songs that are the kind of back country music that the hearts of Americana music fans long for. As a further seal of approval, the album was produced by Michael Timmons of The Cowboy Junkies Vocally, if Tom Waits had been a woman, this would be the sound – gritty, raw, whiskey-soaked and authentic. Barbara’s delivery is in the Lucinda Williams ballpark, but it’s more hushed and introspective. This is the voice, and these are the songs, of a grown woman who’s attuned with the angst, weariness, and hardships of rural life, where some folks leave, some couldn’t get out, and some stay put and live with betrayal and loss.

With a harmonica that sounds like a mouth harp or kazoo, “Georgia Brown” sets the stage with hushed guitar, husky vocals and gentle harmonies that pull you way deep in. “And they went to church on Sundays wearin’ their best clothes / And the family sat together all in a row / He made sure they were prayin’ not just foolin’ around / he made sure that their heads were all lookin’ down.”

On “Where Did You Go” the stripped down style continues, as Barbara sings of the simple kindnesses in life, like letting the elderly lady in the nursing home wear her jeans, or taking your dog with you just because he likes it: “she took the big dog with her, wherever she might go.”

“Tom Ryan” is sung above a gentle acoustic guitar melody in a song about what might be some star crossed lovers – a man who worked real hard on the farm, and a mother who just up and left town on a Greyhound bus one day. “Dance With Me” weaves another set of tales together, with all the lonely characters and a light of potential redemption when there’s dance – dance as an expression of utter despondency, and dance as a rare moment to come together in the midst of so much struggle.

“Kate” is a Celtic folk song with pretty guitar and violin, and is an ageless tale of a lovely woman and betrayal: “She had black hair and violet eyes / And her name was Kate / With a tiny wave of her hand / Well she took my love away.” On “Rita Doyle” there’s a touch of the blues plucked by the guitar as Barbara intertwines stories of a homeless woman who lives in her car: “she buried her she buried her savings beneath the stop sign / she liked to keep it simple it was just a bag of dimes” with that of a troubled young girl in the same tiny town. Intriguing.

Nine songs on the album all speak of unwavering simple truths, the heartbreaking desperate kind, and are presented honestly as dusty heartaches. Sometimes from the bank of the stream, while you’re watching water and bobbing leaves flow by all day, you see something special floating by and you lean out and grab it. Sometimes it’s just a stick, but sometimes it’s treasure. This time it’s treasure. Check it out.