Merce Lemon grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She lives there now too, after a couple years up in Seattle. When she's not writing songs, touring, or recording, she pays the bills doing landscaping. Merce is used to having some dirt under her nails.

And you hear that in her songs—there's a sense of physicality, of being in one's body. Of birds and fish and trees. Of blood and sweat. Things you can touch, feel. It's one of the most striking characteristics of her debut album 'Moonth'. The images stick with you, days and weeks later; they'll pop into your head, fully formed and vibrant.

There's wonder too. Merce senses it in the foreboding sweep of a flock of crows, in the flowing field of blueberries, in the mysterious phases of the moon. Things you can't quite put your finger on. Things you never forget.

And that sort of songwriting, that grounded perception of the world joined with profound wonder, places her in a grand tradition of American music. You hear traces of outsider Americana, whispers of Will Oldham and Jason Molina. It's clear she's tapping into something older, bigger, bolder than her early work. And this is just the beginning.