Biography

Laramie Wade is the kind of songwriter who doesn’t just tell stories—he inhabits them. Born on the edge of the Texas hill country and raised on a steady diet of dusty vinyl and wide-open highways, Wade grew up chasing the echoes of voices like Townes Van Zandt, Guy Clark, and Emmylou Harris. His music lives in that space where country, folk, and Americana blur together, stitched with equal parts grit and grace.

His debut album, Drifter’s Lament, feels like a letter from the road—a collection of songs haunted by quiet bars, lost highways, and the fleeting moments of light that make the wandering worth it. Recorded live to tape with a small circle of trusted players, the album leans into rawness over perfection, letting Wade’s weathered baritone and finger-worn guitar strings carry the weight of his words. It’s the sound of a man who has spent more nights looking out a windshield than in the same bed

Wade’s writing draws from lived experience but speaks in a language anyone can recognize—heartache that lingers longer than it should, the beauty of fleeting connections, and the pull of a horizon that’s always just out of reach. Whether on a dimly lit stage or a front porch with only the cicadas for company, his songs have a way of finding the quietest corners of a listener’s heart.

Now taking Drifter’s Lament on the road, Laramie Wade is inviting audiences into his world—one where the line between the traveler and the towns they pass through is never quite clear. With each performance, he reminds us that sometimes the journey itself is the only home we really have.