Let’s talk about how Lydia Loveless pronounces the word “ass.” On “Accolades,” the title track of their new EP, the Ohio native sings about drinking wine from a coffee cup and spanking their inner child: “Maybe all it really needs is a good hard smack across the face and a belt to the ass.” They split that three-letter word into five or six syllables, making it sound a little singsongy, like a playground taunt. On “Accolades (reprise),” which closes the EP, they deliver that same verse over an acoustic guitar strum as their band seems to collapse behind them. This version is reflective, but still caustic, even when they pull away from that last word. Loveless still subdivides “ass” across multiple notes, less a jibe than a deflation, as though they’re disappointed that they can’t actually punish themselves that way.
Over the last 15 years, Loveless has gained acclaim for their ability to turn vulgarities into poetry and twist impossibly low romantic standards into dire punchlines. They deserve equal celebration for the way they use their curt Buckeye accent to witty effect, highlighting both the humor and the heartache inherent in their words and melodies. Produced by Matt Ross-Spang (Margo Price, Drive-By Truckers) at his Memphis studio, Accolades offers a reminder that Loveless is always rewriting their songs whenever they sing them, and the two versions of the title track showcase just how much they can shift their songs’ meaning with a simple change of inflection or cadence.
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Loveless wrote the songs on Accolades throughout 2025, when they posted a new song every month on Bandcamp. It was a challenge to be more prolific, but as this EP shows, it also made them write with more focus and immediacy. These songs are full of vivid details, odd turns of phrase, and crazy schemes. You can almost smell their crumbling apartment in the long-distance-relationship saga “Oklahoma”: “My place is so ugly that they’re tearing it down/And screws fall off the bed when we’re fooling around.” The way they sing it, though, with palpable chagrin, suggests it’s not an apartment but their mind palace that’s full of “dirty dishes and a hand-me-down couch.”
And has anybody portrayed a lover’s divorced parents with cockier disregard than Loveless on “What We Learned?” “You say, ‘My dad was a piece of shit,’” They sing, “Well, come on, baby, don’t let Daddy win.” They write songs packed with lines you want to hang on to and sing them with a stridency, a toughness in their timbre. So it’s ironic that the least memorable track here is the one designed to show off their voice. “Let Me Get My Hopes Up” is a torch song, a love triangle of sorts between Loveless, their lover, and their anxiety. The forcefulness of their singing conveys desperation, but preempts so much of the nuance that enlivens their songs—the fundamental regret in their voice grinding against the fundamental determination.
On past albums, Loveless sounded intent on fucking things up and savoring the chaos. But these songs offer a glimpse of something new in Loveless’ performances. Here, there’s a sense that they’re curious about a different path—one that might lead away from bad habits and toward stability and fulfillment.