Singout Magazine called Danny Schmidt the best new songwriter they'd heard in 15 years. Indie-Music Magazine said Danny just releases masterpiece after masterpiece. Here's why . . .

Danny’s a songwriter’s songwriter -- with a literacy and complexity, and an underlying humanity, rare in this age of sound bite attention span marketeering. His tunes are wire frames draped with sheets of poetry.

They’re not your typical Texas singer/songwriter colloquial polaroid trail diaries. And they’d make lousy beer commercials.

He has some of the qualities of the greats, though -- from Townes Van Zandt’s ageless and understated sincerity, to Dylan’s topical relevance and wry sharp eye for the allusively obvious, to Nick Drakes’ quiet spiritual quest and sense that each song was plucked whole from a tree more than labored over, line-by-line with pen and ink. And it all leaves you with that Leonard Cohen after-taste, that there’s something here worth studying as much as listening to.

Those aren’t holistic comparisons, just commonalities and contextual descriptions. Cause more than any particular shared virtue, Danny has a quality common to all these preeminent writers: he has his own unique voice. He doesn’t sound like any of those guys at all, really. He doesn’t sound like anybody you’ve heard yet. Truly.

Stylistally and musically, Danny’s songs range from deeply-rooted Appalachian mountain gospel to haunted English balladry, from syncopated Piedmont country blues to vagabond 60’s protest folk-stumpery -- all in an edgy contemporary blend.

He performs solo, just his voice and his guitar. And all his records live up to a strict writer’s aesthetic: let the songs themselves stand out front, and well lit. There are sparse backdrops of harmony vocals, strings, and accordion -- and a little touch of this and a tiny pinch of that -- all tastefully placed and painted for the benefit of the songs.

Take the time to sit and listen when you get the chance. It’s the kind of music you’ll want to envelop yourself in at 2am, after a couple drinks, a little loose and strangely attuned, and with the lyrics on your lap so you can follow along, line by line and turn by turn.