In an era defined by social unrest, disinformation, and cultural fracture, art that speaks truthfully and courageously stands out more than ever. The Cornelius Eady Trio’s latest EP, “The Misery Tree,” released May 26, 2025, is one of those rare works—a collection of songs that not only say something, but mean something.
Led by acclaimed poet and vocalist Cornelius Eady, with Charlie Rauh on guitars, bass, and percussion, and Lisa Liuon guitars and keys, the Trio once again proves that political protest and poetic subtlety can walk hand in hand. Built on the bones of folk, blues, funk, and spoken word, their sound isn’t flashy—but it is deeply felt, raw, and purposefully crafted. Each track pulses with lived experience and a poet’s eye for detail.
“The Misery Tree” takes aim at the confusion and injustice of our current moment—what the trio calls “the political moment we are all tumbling through.” Across the EP’s three core tracks—“Quicksand,” “Zombie,” and “Shuck N Jive”—they explore themes of manipulation, weariness, and disillusionment with piercing clarity.
Each song has a unique voice and mood, but together they form a narrative of survival and moral clarity in the face of chaos. While these aren’t “protest songs” in the traditional sense, they carry protest in their bones. These are modern-day folk songs: rooted in tradition but looking firmly at the present.
“Quicksand” opens the EP with a hypnotic balance between singing and spoken word. Eady’s voice, steady and authoritative, delivers lines like a sermon from the edge of collapse, while synth-like keys and a percussive backbone drive the song forward. It’s disorienting in the best way—fitting for a track that explores the sensation of being pulled under by systemic lies and personal despair.
“Zombie” is raw emotion, a simmering scream. The instrumentation builds like pressure in a sealed room, and Charlie Rauh’s guitar solo isn’t just technically impressive—it feels dangerous, unhinged, cathartic. The song captures the exhaustion of watching society lose its grip on truth, humanity, and nuance.
Then there’s “Shuck N Jive”—acoustic, stripped down, yet simmering with quiet fury. This track might sound softer on first listen, but its target is sharp: the grifters and conmen who rise by exploiting others. Guest artist Concetta Abatteadds texture with background vocals and mandolin, rounding out a song that’s as lyrically sharp as it is musically understated.
The fact that “The Misery Tree” was recorded, mixed, and mastered remotely—like the trio’s previous projects—is impressive, though you wouldn’t know it by listening. The production is so cohesive and organic that it feels like a live room recording. That’s a testament to the group’s chemistry after more than a decade of collaboration. There’s an ease to their interplay, even as the material remains heavy.
The remote process, born out of necessity during the COVID era, has become second nature for the trio. Yet there’s nothing mechanical or cold in this music—it breathes with the rhythm of shared experience and long-honed trust.
What sets Cornelius Eady Trio apart isn’t just the quality of the music, but the intention behind it. As Eady himself puts it, a song isn’t a bullet or a ballot—but it can be a hand when one is needed. That spirit—of care, of connection, of solidarity—runs through every line and note of “The Misery Tree.”
Listeners familiar with the group’s previous work, including the EPs “Withstand” and “Painting”, or their full-length album “Don’t Get Dead,” will find this release just as bold, yet more distilled in its messaging. It’s sharp without being preachy, poetic without being vague.
“The Misery Tree” is not background music. It’s not a vibe. It’s a mirror—and, if you’re willing to look into it, maybe a map forward. Cornelius Eady’s voice (both literal and lyrical) remains a powerful one in modern American music, and with Rauh and Liu beside him, the Cornelius Eady Trio have created another essential chapter in their ongoing conversation between poetry, protest, and soul.
Connect with on
English