Dan Reeder, Oh Boy Records’ longest signed artist besides John Prine, is a self-sufficient artist in every aspect of his work. The cover of each one of his albums bears artwork he created himself. He’s built a majority of the instruments you hear. From guitar pickups to microphones, preamps and mixers. He’s built steel string guitars, electric guitars, banjos, drums, basses, cellos, violins, clarinets, and even a saxophone (note from Dan: “I’ll never do that again”). He constructed his own recording computers with fanless power supplies and solid-state drives to keep them quiet — and before those were around, stored the computer in an old refrigerator. Each note you hear was carefully crafted and individually manifested — the melodies, the harmonies, the instrumentation, the recording and mixing process (with the exception of a few minor mastering adjustments).

Reeder is an anomaly in more ways than one. Born in 1954 Lafayette, Louisiana, he moved to California at six, where he would eventually study art. He began his creative career at Chapman College, eventually progressing to California State Fullerton, where he met his wife. When her visa expired, Reeder, with just one semester left of university, decided to move to Nuremberg, Germany. Even though his intentions were to finish out his degree in California after a six month stay, Nuremberg won Reeder over and he never returned to school. Since his move over 30 years ago, Reeder has lived a full life as an esteemed visual artist. He got married and raised three children. He has won various visual art awards, participated in numerous exhibitions, led art seminars, and took on a visiting professorship at the Akademie der Bildenden Künste (aka, Germany’s Academy of Fine Arts). He published an overview of his work in 2012, Art Pussies Fear This Book. In between all of his artistic accolades, sometime in the early 2000’s, Reeder sent a burned CD to John Prine. Prine listened — and signed Reeder to his label, Oh Boy Records.

To date, Oh Boy has released all of Reeder’s records, the albums garner glowing reviews; publications like No Depression deemed him “brilliant,” and NPR’s Fresh Air compared Reeder to Prine himself. The New Yorker’s Ben Greenman coined him as “one of the foremost outsider artists in modern folk”. His music has been featured on the Emmy award-winning show Weeds (“Work Song”) and the show Joe Pickett (“Stay Down, Man”).

The bluntness of Reeder’s lyrics are softened by his crooning; yet, even with multi-layered harmonies, his voice maintains its iconic “wisp”. Reeder’s musical intelligence is as present as ever. You’re hearing every piece of a self-made artist and his multifaceted skill set — from the soulful, smoky vocal overlay to a singular, meticulous guitar sound, but best of all, you’re hearing the ingenuity that is Dan Reeder.

Reeder understands the fragility of life and meets it with comedy and stoicism. According to Reeder, “If you take out the bullshit, most songs will be short.”, and that is what Reeder accomplishes.

Zack Villere’s figuring it out and singing Spark Notes for the rest of us. A purveyor of genuine mischief, about to enter album mode after two years of creative incubation. From his Soundcloud alter ego origins as leader of the Froyo Ma cult to the earnest outlier pop he’s now architecting, Villere remains singular. The artist/producer summons anime-worthy cretins from his expansive doodleverse as easily as he nails rooftop boy band choreography in a silver puffer. As if Harold and The Purple Crayon grew up to glide across R&B runs. As if The Neptunes and Jackson Browne had an endearing alien that crash-landed in Louisiana. He soundtracks slow dances and long breakups, misfired intimacy and hangout hangovers. Zack’s long since graduated from the viral DIY aesthetics that first launched his career. He’s done the ‘tasteful’ magazine shoots that forced him to wear pants he still loathes. 50,000,000 streams in the rearview; 1000 days of financial independence from a self-released debut. He spent the time he bought himself on his craft. Rather than coast on the sold-out action figures or packed Baby’s crowds, Zack dove down baile funk rabbit holes and traded bar nights for vocal conditioning. A rewarding cycle — live, write, record, repeat — defeated any temptation to join the release race. 100s of demos later, a body of work began to reveal itself. Now’s the time to let it go. Villere’s imminent solo releases transmute inner conflicts into forward momentum, propelled by vocal stacks that’d rival 1970s classics. He enters immortal territory on upcoming single “Dubble Bubble,” a lighthearted anthem for days that start out painting your crush’s nails and end alone, no love in sight, sleeping on your right side. Gum-pink guitars slide across a backbone of New Orleans bounce inspired rhythms — the perfect score for a schoolyard romcom. “2 HAND TOUCH,” another record in the release chamber, marries rhythms of southern cheerleading squads with Zack’s heart-on-sleeve crush confessionals. Villere’s music is much like a drive down the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, a 24 mile stretch of pavement over water that’s become synonymous with home: contemplative by default, euphoric if you play the right song.