“I’d give the guys some hints and direction here and there, but we work so well together that very little needed to be said. “We recorded everything, even my vocals, live in just a couple takes,” says Rouse, who cut the album with the same group of musicians that backed him on 1972. By the fall of 2018, though, Rouse realized he’d written more than enough material for a record, and, inspired by Lowe, he headed into Nashville’s Alex The Great studio for a four-day whirlwind of a session produced by longtime friend and collaborator Brad Jones. Sometimes he’d perform the tracks live around the holidays sometimes he’d sing them to get a laugh from his kids sometimes he’d save them as voice memos on his phone and forget that they even existed. Rouse had already begun experimenting with his own holiday songs by that point, writing a Christmas-themed tune or two every December just for the fun of it, but he’d never really considered recording or releasing them. “He showed me that you don’t have to be sappy or sentimental with it, that you can be yourself and put your own stamp on the tradition.” “It was Nick that opened my eyes to how great holiday records could actually be,” says Rouse. Q called his breakout release, 1972, "the most intimate record of the year," while Rolling Stone dubbed his follow-up, Nashville, "a landmark album," and EW described 2013’s The Happiness Waltz as "a big contender for Rouse's best work." In 2014, Rouse won a Goya Award (the Spanish equivalent of an Oscar) for his song "Do You Really Want To Be In Love”, and in 2015, he returned with The Embers of Time, an album which landed him yet more critical praise alongside tour dates with legendary songwriter Nick Lowe. Hailed by NPR as “one of contemporary music’s most engaging singer-songwriters,” Rouse first emerged in 1998 with Dressed Up Like Nebraska, a stunning debut that Billboard proclaimed to be a “dark horse gem.” Over the next twenty years, Rouse would go on to release eleven more critically acclaimed albums, honing in on a warm, ruminative sound that fused elements of vintage folk, rock, and pop with modern insight and observation. “I wanted to write something that folks hadn’t heard before, something they could listen to year-round.” “I decided that if I was going to make a holiday record, I didn’t want to load it up with sleigh bells and choirs and sing the same old standards that everybody else has already sung,” says Rouse. The result is a holiday record built for the long haul, a wholesome, whip smart collection that’s guaranteed to stay with you well after the snow has melted and all the decorations have come down. The arrangements are eclectic and intoxicating, drawing equal influence from Rouse’s Midwestern childhood and his decade-and-a-half spent living in Spain, and the performances here are sparkling and fizzy to match, blending jazz sophistication with rootsy sincerity and sly crooner charm. Nick in a suit and sunglasses there’s a lonely ex-pat waiting by the mailbox for cards that never seem to come. For every playful portrait of giddy lovers on New Year’s Eve, there’s a stranded traveler spending Christmas alone for every slick St. Written off-and-on over the course of the last ten years, the record is joyful and festive of course, but, much like the holiday season itself, it’s also laced with an undercurrent of longing and melancholy. It makes sense, then, that The Holiday Sounds of Josh Rouse isn’t your typical yuletide collection. “Growing up, I remember hearing Vince Guaraldi and Bing Crosby and all the staples everybody listens to each winter, but I never collected Christmas music or anything like that.” “I was never a holiday record kind of guy,” he laughs. Josh Rouse never planned on making a holiday record.