“Demons In Your Choir” Signals a Soul-Stirring Evolution as The Red Clay Strays Ready Grateful on the Horizon
- All Country News
- 4 days ago
- 4 min read
There’s a certain kind of band that doesn’t just arrive, they emerge. Slowly, stubbornly, against the grain of whatever the moment demands. They don’t chase the spotlight; they outlast it. And somewhere along the way, almost without warning, they become undeniable.
The Red Clay Strays feel like that kind of band.
On June 5, the Mobile, Alabama six-piece will release Grateful via HBYCO Records/RCA Records, a record that doesn’t just mark another chapter, it reads like a culmination. A reckoning. A deep exhale after years spent clawing forward through doubt, faith, and the kind of hard-earned belief that can’t be manufactured in a writer’s room.
If their past work hinted at something stirring beneath the surface, Grateful sounds like the moment it finally breaks through.
The album opens with “Demons In Your Choir,” a track that wastes no time setting the tone. It begins quietly, just a flicker of organ, almost reverent, before swelling into something far more urgent. By the time the guitars crash in and the gospel choir, led by three-time GRAMMY winner Shannon Sanders, lifts the chorus skyward, the song feels less like an introduction and more like a declaration. This is not the same Red Clay Strays. Not entirely.
There’s a spiritual weight here that feels new, or at least newly revealed. It’s not performative. It’s lived-in. Earned.
That shouldn’t come as a surprise.
At its core, “Demons In Your Choir” is a collision of country storytelling, Southern soul, and full-bodied gospel, delivered with a conviction that doesn’t ask for your attention, it demands it.
The track opens with a restrained, almost sacred stillness. A low-burning piano hums beneath Brandon Coleman’s voice, which arrives worn but resolute, like a confession that’s been sitting too long on the chest. There’s an intimacy in those first moments that feels distinctly country, plainspoken, vulnerable, rooted in narrative. But it doesn’t stay there for long.
Because when the song lifts, it lifts.
What begins as a slow spiritual meditation quickly transforms into a sweeping, soul-drenched eruption. The guitars don’t just enter, they crash in, gritty and unpolished, echoing the rawness of classic Southern rock. And then comes the masterstroke: the gospel choir. Led by Shannon Sanders, it doesn’t sit politely in the background, it testifies. It answers Coleman. It wrestles with him. The result is a call-and-response that feels less like a studio arrangement and more like a revival breaking loose mid-song.
And that’s where “Demons In Your Choir” separates itself.
For a band that has steadily built its reputation on sweat-soaked shows and word-of-mouth devotion, Grateful feels like the natural evolution of a story already in motion. Produced once again by Dave Cobb, the quiet architect behind some of the most emotionally resonant records in modern Americana, he album was crafted between Cobb’s Savannah studio and Nashville’s legendary RCA Studio A. But more importantly, it was shaped in real time by a band that has finally found its footing.
Comfort, it turns out, can be a powerful creative force.
Rather than chasing perfection, the Strays leaned into the moment, writing, reworking, and refining songs together in the room. The result is a record that feels alive, unpolished in all the right ways, and deeply connected to the six musicians who made it: Brandon Coleman, Drew Nix, Andrew Bishop, Zach Rishel, John Hall, and Sevans Henderson.
There’s the driving, unrelenting pulse of “People Hatin’,” a track that barrels forward with grit and defiance. And then there’s “If I Didn’t Know You,” a softer, more vulnerable turn, one that trades volume for intimacy without losing any of the band’s emotional punch. Its accompanying video, featuring comedian Matt Rife and Mariah Morse, has already struck a chord, racking up millions of views and introducing the band to an even wider audience.
But Grateful isn’t just a collection of songs, it’s a thesis.
Frontman Brandon Coleman frames it as the next step in a journey that began long before this record. Where Moment of Truth wrestled with faith in darkness, and Made By These Moments explored survival, Grateful arrives at something quieter, but no less profound: acceptance. Perspective. Gratitude.
“Looking to God in whatever situation you're in is a denominator in all of the albums,” Coleman explains. It’s a throughline that runs deep, but never feels heavy-handed. Instead, it grounds the record, giving it a sense of purpose that extends beyond melody or lyric.
Bassist Andrew Bishop puts it more simply: this album reflects exactly where they are right now. And for the first time, that place feels stable.
That sense of arrival, of having made it through, is what gives Grateful its resonance.
Not triumph in the flashy, headline-grabbing sense, but something steadier. More enduring.
Because The Red Clay Strays aren’t chasing a moment. They’re building something bigger than that.
And if Grateful is any indication, they may already be well on their way to becoming one of the most important bands this genre has seen in a long, long time.
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