Country Music Songs You Need To Hear This Week Featuring Dustin Lynch, Ella Langley, Luke Combs, Jackson Dean & More

Dustin Lynch - Getaway Car

Dustin Lynch has never been afraid of momentum, but on his latest release, he doesn’t just chase it. He floors it. With “Getaway Car,” the multi-platinum country hitmaker delivers a neon-lit adrenaline rush that trades barstools for burnouts and small talk for speed. It’s a track built on motion, impulse, and that split-second decision to leave the ordinary in the dust and Lynch sounds right at home behind the wheel. From its opening pulse, “Getaway Car” wastes no time setting the tone. Produced by Petey Martin and Pete Hammerton, the track leans into a sleek, modern country-pop hybrid, where polished beats and low-end bass collide with Lynch’s unmistakable vocal drawl. The production feels aerodynamic, tight, shiny, and designed to move, giving the song a sense of forward thrust that never lets up. The song lives in that familiar Lynch sweet spot: nightlife, chemistry, and a touch of danger. But here, the romance isn’t slow-burning, it’s combustible. The rooftop bar is just the launchpad. The real story starts when the exit sign glows and hesitation disappears in the rearview mirror. This is about choosing the moment, choosing the person, and choosing not to overthink either. What makes “Getaway Car” work is how naturally Lynch rides the track’s velocity. His signature vocal, equal parts smooth and grounded, acts as a steady hand on the wheel amid the song’s high-gloss rush. He doesn’t oversing it. He commands it. The performance keeps the energy controlled, confident, and cool, which makes the chorus hit even harder when it opens up. Sonically, it’s built for night drives and festival speakers alike, a crossover-ready anthem that still keeps one boot planted in country storytelling. There’s a cinematic quality to the hook, the kind that feels engineered for rolled-down windows and questionable decisions after midnight. “Getaway Car” isn’t trying to reinvent Dustin Lynch’s lane, it’s proof he knows exactly how to push it faster. It’s high-octane fun, polished but punchy, and driven by a vocal presence that continues to be one of his strongest calling cards. No map. No brakes. No apologies. Just Dustin Lynch and a full tank.

Ella Langley - Be Her

With each release, Ella Langley sounds less like an artist on the rise and more like one already standing at the top of the hill, calm, commanding, and fully aware of the view. Her latest track, “Be Her,” pulled from her forthcoming album Dandelion, doesn’t just continue her upward trajectory, it sharpens it. “Be Her” is built on a deceptively simple emotional engine: longing, comparison, and self-recognition. It’s a song about reaching for a version of womanhood that feels just out of frame, more polished, more perfect, more put together, while the quiet twist of the lyric suggests the narrator may already embody exactly what she admires. That tension gives the track its pulse. Langley has quickly built a reputation for sharp-edged honesty and Southern grit, but here she leans into tonal contrast. The performance is smooth and sultry, layered with melodic restraint rather than vocal fireworks. It’s controlled confidence, a delivery that doesn’t beg for attention because it knows it already has it. The phrasing glides, the hooks land softly but stick, and the emotional undercurrent does the heavy lifting. Where some breakout stars arrive with a signature sound and spend years defending it, Langley keeps widening the frame. “Be Her” showcases her range as a storyteller and stylist, proving she’s not operating from a single creative lane. The writing is observational and intimate, trading grand declarations for sharply drawn inner dialogue, the kind that turns casual listeners into invested ones. There’s also something undeniably meta about the track’s core message. The narrator reaches toward an idealized “her,” while Langley herself is fast becoming that figure for a new wave of country fans, a reference point, a voice, a presence. The irony lands without needing to be underlined.

“Be Her” feels tailor-made for the live setting, a future setlist staple where the crowd sings back the hook and claims it as their own. Not because it’s flashy, but because it’s true. And in country music, truth, delivered with style and specificity, still wins the room.

Luke Combs - Be By You

There’s a reason audiences keep finding themselves in a Luke Combs lyric: he writes and sings like a man who knows that the biggest moments in life are often the quietest ones. His latest release, “Be By You,” doesn’t chase fireworks or stadium-sized drama. Instead, it leans into something more difficult to fake, tenderness. The track arrives as a soft, steady-hearted love song, the kind that feels less like a grand gesture and more like a promise spoken across a kitchen table after midnight. Built on warm, unfussy production, “Be By You” clears space for what Combs has always done best: letting a melody carry emotion while his Carolina drawl does the heavy lifting. There’s no vocal overreach here, no arena-ready bombast. Just a grounded performance that reminds listeners that even one of country’s most dominant modern hitmakers still understands the power of restraint. Combs doesn’t position himself as a larger-than-life romantic hero; he sounds like a guy who knows he’s lucky, and knows it. That humility has long been a throughline in his catalog, and “Be By You” fits neatly alongside his most enduring relationship songs, adding another layer to a body of work built on emotional accessibility. It’s also a reminder that growth in an artist’s catalog doesn’t always mean getting louder or broader. Sometimes it means getting more precise. More personal. More still. With “Be By You,” Combs proves once again that he doesn’t need flash to make an impact, just a strong song, a sincere sentiment, and a voice that knows exactly how to deliver both.

Jackson Dean - Wildfire

Jackson Dean has always sounded like an artist built for combustion, gravel in the throat, gasoline in the delivery, and just enough restraint to make the explosion mean something. On his new track, “Wildfire,” he finally lets the blaze run unchecked. The result is one of the most dynamic vocal performances of his career and a high-octane country-rock triumph that feels destined for both heavy rotation and heavy crowd response. “Wildfire” smolders with intent. A slow-burn electric guitar pulses beneath the first verse, each note spaced like a struck match, teasing what’s to come. Dean leans into the tension with a controlled, simmering vocal, not rushed, not forced, just waiting for the emotional oxygen to hit. When it does, the chorus detonates into a full-throttle surge of sound and feeling, capturing the kind of love that doesn’t politely knock, it kicks the door in. Penned by Dean alongside Luke Dick, Josh Miller, Josh Thompson, and Chris Tompkins, the track frames romance as a force of nature rather than a safe harbor. This isn’t candlelight and calm waters; it’s heat, risk, and surrender. The song’s West Coast-tinted love story trades in inevitability, that moment when guarded hearts stop negotiating and start leaping. Dean doesn’t just sing about falling; he sounds like he’s already mid-descent. Vocally, it’s a showcase. Dean pushes into the upper edges of his register with a grit and urgency that never loses control, balancing raw power with tonal precision. It’s that rare performance where the vocal feels both technically strong and emotionally reckless, a combination that separates radio singles from career songs. More importantly, it feels like a live staple already. You can hear the crowd singing it back. You can see the lights flashing red and amber. You can picture the moment it locks into the setlist and never leaves. That’s usually the tell. “Wildfire” doesn’t just continue Jackson Dean’s momentum, it accelerates it. Bold, uncontained, and vocally fearless, the track positions him not just as a distinctive voice in modern country, but as one unafraid to burn brighter and louder with every release. Call it early if you want, but don’t be surprised if this one climbs all the way to the top.

The Red Clay Strays - If I Didn't Know You

Valentine’s Day weekend just got a little more soulful thanks to The Red Clay Strays, who return with a tender curveball in the form of their new single, “If I Didn’t Know You,” out now via RCA Records in partnership with HBYCO Records. Known for walking the tightrope between Southern rock grit and country-soul testimony, the Strays take a quieter, more intimate road this time and the detour pays off. Built around a warm, piano-driven backbone, “If I Didn’t Know You” feels like a slow exhale. Where much of the band’s breakout material leans into swagger and spiritual fire, this track trades volume for vulnerability. The arrangement leaves space for the lyric to breathe, letting emotion, not amplification, carry the weight. It’s restrained, but never slight. The performance reveals another layer of the band’s versatility. Rather than stretching their sound outward, they turn it inward. The result is a love song that feels lived-in, reflective, honest, and unafraid of its own softness. The vocal delivery doesn’t oversell the sentiment; it trusts it. That confidence makes the track land even harder. There’s no sense of reinvention here, only expansion. The Red Clay Strays have built their reputation on conviction and chemistry, and both remain intact even at their most delicate. The song stands as proof that their identity isn’t tied to tempo or texture, but to feel. “If I Didn’t Know You” arrives like a handwritten note tucked into a loud room, easy to miss if you’re not listening, impossible to forget once you are. A sweet, steady, and deeply human addition to a catalogue that’s growing more dynamic by the release.

Emily Ann Roberts - Whipped

Country music has always had room for heartbreak, highway therapy, and hard truths, but every now and then, it needs a little wink and a smirk too. Enter Emily Ann Roberts, who kicks off the year with a playful spark and a knowing grin on her new single, "Whipped" a two-minute-and-fifty-five-second burst of sass, swagger, and undeniable charm. “Whipped” doesn’t try to be brooding or broody-adjacent. It struts. The track leans into a bright, toe-tapping groove that feels tailor-made for raised eyebrows and knowing laughs, built around a hook that lands fast and sticks around. It’s clever without trying too hard, a tricky balance that Roberts handles with ease. The premise is simple and instantly relatable: a good man gone “whipped,” told with humor, affection, and just enough bite to keep it interesting. Rather than mocking, Roberts plays it with a playful nudge, the kind that turns an inside joke into a crowd-wide singalong. It’s observational country storytelling dressed up in flirtation and fun.

Roberts is the engine that makes the whole thing pop. Her delivery is loaded with personality, a little twang here, a little smirk there, and she uses phrasing like a punchline. Every line feels intentional, every inflection part of the joke. She doesn’t just sing the lyric; she sells the attitude behind it. That charisma turns a lighthearted concept into a fully realized performance.  “Whipped” makes its mark by getting in, making its statement, and getting out with replay value intact. Don’t be surprised if this one quickly earns permanent residency in her live set. It has all the markings of a crowd favorite: a catchy hook, a mischievous premise, and a chorus built for shout-backs from the front row. Emily Ann Roberts proves that country doesn’t always have to cut deep to hit hard, sometimes it just needs to hit right.

Ryan Larkins Feat. Vince Gill - Love Flies

There are songs built for the moment, and then there are songs built for the miles. With his latest single, “Love Flies,” Ryan Larkins delivers the rare kind that feels destined to travel far beyond its release date, its chart position, or its first wave of spins. Featuring the unmistakable vocal presence of Vince Gill, the track is less a collaboration and more a passing of a torch wrapped in harmony. At four minutes and twenty-five seconds, “Love Flies” doesn’t rush its message, it lets it breathe. Built on warm melody and richly layered harmonies, the song unfolds like a front-porch conversation you didn’t know you needed to overhear. It’s reflective without being heavy, wise without being preachy, and emotional without slipping into sentimentality, a balance that few modern story songs truly manage. At its heart is a character sketch: an older man, road-worn and clear-eyed, dispensing hard-earned truth with the kind of blunt poetry that only comes from living through the consequences. One line lands with particular weight, a rough-edged proverb that cuts straight to the bone: cigarettes and stupid are survivable, but bitterness is the real killer. It’s the kind of lyric that feels overheard rather than written, which is precisely why it sticks. “Love Flies” doesn’t beg for attention, it earns it. It’s the kind of song that slips quietly into your day and lingers long after, tapping you on the shoulder weeks later when you least expect it. Take the four minutes. There’s a good chance you’ll walk away with more than just a new favorite song, you might leave with a new favorite line to live by.

Blake Whiten - Break Me

At first listen, you’d swear the voice on “Break Me” belongs to someone with decades of scars and barroom stories behind it. Instead, it belongs to 21-year-old breakout artist Blake Whiten, and that contrast is exactly what makes the single hit twice as hard. “Break Me” plays like a late-night confession you weren’t supposed to overhear, raw, restrained, and quietly devastating. The track centers on a familiar but dangerous orbit: the on-again, off-again relationship that logic says to leave behind but memory, and chemistry, keeps pulling back into frame. It’s not written as melodrama. It’s written as truth. Whiten doesn’t overplay the emotion; he inhabits it. Built around a haunting piano line and slow-burning tension, the production gives the song room to breathe, and bruise. Produced by Austin Shawn, the arrangement resists the urge to explode too early, instead letting the emotional gravity accumulate measure by measure. The result is a track that feels heavy in the best way, earned, not engineered. Penned by Whiten alongside Ben Stennis and Hunter Phelps, the songwriting leans into sharp, conversational phrasing. There’s no lyrical smoke screen here, just clear-eyed awareness and a reluctant surrender to feeling. It captures that all-too-human contradiction: knowing better and going back anyway. What makes “Break Me” especially compelling is how much life Whiten pulls into three minutes. He doesn’t just sing the hook, he wrestles with it. His gravel-toned vocal carries the kind of natural wear that most artists spend years trying to manufacture, giving every line a lived-in weight. It’s a voice that suggests history, even when the calendar says otherwise. Country music has always made room for old souls. But every so often, one arrives early, and right on time. Blake Whiten doesn’t just introduce himself as a promising new voice. He sounds like a necessary one.

Ingrid Andress - Now I Know

Multi-GRAMMY nominated singer-songwriter Ingrid Andress isn’t staging a comeback so much as she’s staging a reckoning. With her new single “Now I Know,” Andress turns vulnerability into velocity, and heartbreak into horsepower, delivering one of the most emotionally direct performances of her career. Timed just ahead of Valentine’s Day, the track doesn’t chase romance, it outruns it. Built around a confessional lyric and a hook that feels equal parts diary entry and declaration, “Now I Know” captures the moment after the storm: when the tears are still falling, but the engine is already running. It’s a song about leaving, not in anger, but in clarity. Sonically, the record reveals a softer but sharper edge. The production nods to early-2000s pop-punk textures, think the emotional punch and melodic lift of Avril Lavigne, while still grounded in Andress’ signature lyrical precision and melodic instincts. The result is a hybrid that feels nostalgic without being derivative: polished, driving, and emotionally unguarded. At the center is a chorus that reads like a survival checklist turned battle cry: Now I know my voice might shake but I can say goodbyeI can drive just fine with tears in my eyes, Most people run back first night alone, but I don’t … There’s no dramatic revenge arc here. No cinematic door-slam. Instead, Andress writes from the quiet, braver place. the one where strength looks like trembling honesty. Each line stacks small acts of courage: speaking the hard truth, sitting with loneliness, choosing forward motion over familiar pain. That’s what makes the song land. It understands that personal evolution rarely feels triumphant in real time, it feels terrifying. Andress doesn’t sugarcoat that reality; she sings straight through it. “Now I Know” traces the shift from naïve love to earned self-trust. Where earlier chapters of her catalog often explored emotional gray areas and relational complexity, this single feels like a line in the sand. Not bitter. Not jaded. Just awake. Released on the eve of a holiday built around togetherness, “Now I Know” is a timely counter-programming anthem, for the ones choosing themselves, choosing growth, and choosing the unknown anyway. It’s not a breakup song. It’s a breakthrough song.

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