Grace Potter – Medicine (2025)
Reviewed by Allister Spence • 3 August 2025
That what was lost is now found. Refusing to remain in the vaults, this lost classic of early noughties America finally surfaces into the light. Almost twenty years ago, in 2008, the Americana and roots revival was basking in its moment under the desert sun. “Raising Sand” had cracked open the mainstream, My Morning Jacket were blending indie grit with Southern soul, and T Bone Burnett was the quiet architect behind it all—his fingerprints on everything that mattered. It was in this fertile moment that Grace Potter entered the studio to create “Medicine.”
Seventeen years have passed. The Americana movement has grown, fractured, evolved. And now, “Medicine” arrives not as a relic, but as a revelation. It’s quieter than her later work, more intimate, more elemental. Where albums like “Midnight” and “Daylight” burst with barroom bravado and open-tab energy, “Medicine” is a late-night record—lights down, candles lit, the kind of album that asks you to lean in and listen rather than sing along.
There’s a rootedness to it. The bass is deep and grounding, a steady pulse that holds the songs together like soil holds roots. The guitars don’t jangle or crunch—they twang, shimmer, and ring out with a kind of quiet conviction. Potter’s voice is different here. She croons, she murmurs, she lets the lyrics rise from somewhere deep inside. It feels as if Burnett simply stood her at the mic and said, “Give me what you feel,” and then stepped back. What we hear is unfiltered, untampered, raw in places, and yet the songs soar—creating a swirl of musicianship and emotion that feels almost sacred.
The opening track, “Before the Sky Falls On Us,” sets the tone with a slow, deliberate groove. Horns drift in like the warmth of a late summer evening, slipping from twilight into night. It’s a gentle invitation, a soft landing into the world of the album. The title track, familiar to fans from the 2010 “Nocturnals” record, is transformed here. Gone is the rock swagger—in its place, a slow blues that throbs with physicality and longing. It’s not just a reinterpretation; it’s a reclamation.
“Make You Cry” leans into vintage R&B, with echoes of Memphis soul and the spectral presence of Stax Records hovering just out of reach. It’s all heartfelt emotion, delivered with restraint and reverence. And then there’s “To Shore,” where tremolo guitar winds through the track like moonlight on water—haunting, delicate, and quietly devastating.
Had “Medicine” been released in 2009, it might have been lost in the wave of Americana records flooding the market. But today, as the genre reaches new heights—led by artists like Jason Isbell, Corb Lund, and Dave Hause—it lands with weight. It doesn’t strive. It settles. It’s not just a curiosity piece; it’s a career milestone.
I’ve been a fan of Grace Potter for many years, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard her sound like this. “Medicine” is a reminder of what happens when an artist is given space to feel, to explore, to simply be. It’s a beautiful, aching, grounded record—one that doesn’t demand attention, but earns it. And now, finally, it’s ours.