SHELTERS

Josh Lovelace is a proud work in progress: whether it’s quitting drinking to be more present for his kids, quelling panic attacks before stepping on stage, or just figuring out what he believes after a childhood of being told that there’s only one way to pray. Through all this turmoil, though, he’s had his touchstones, his shelters: loved ones, friends, and, of course, music. 

“Writing has always been something that feels like a best friend in some ways; I'm able to lean on that any time,” Lovelace says. “I've never felt like I was ready to share where I am. Who I am at this moment feels like the right time to let all that out.”

And let it all out he does on landmark album Shelters, an 11-song suite of achingly personal tracks that ping-pong with alacrity between self-doubt, angst, and a stunning kind of hope. An album close to the heart that’s also deeply, deeply relatable to anyone who’s ever felt lost, Lovelace’s solo effort drops on October 25.

“Growing up as a preacher’s kid, we were taught that  an invisible force in the sky was the ultimate shelter when things get rough. But as I got older, I started seeing holes in the foundation,” Lovelace says. “And so the reason why I call the album ‘shelters’ instead of just ‘shelter’ is because there's not a one stop-shop for salvation. Different people became shelters for me — and also my work. There’s beauty in that.”

Born and raised in Knoxville, Tennessee, Lovelace — who also plays keys and sings in South Carolina rock band NEEDTOBREATHE — grew up making music. He’s been a musician basically since birth, fed on a steady diet of rock, soul, gospel, folk, Elton John, and Bob Dylan—anyone with a story to tell. Lovelace has been touring in bands since high school ended, the only place he’s ever really felt at home. “I've been on the road most of my life, playing music and trying to keep the rock & roll dream alive. It's what I've always done,” he says.

Working on the album, then, was like therapy. In 2022, he took a solo trip to Roslyn, Washington — where one of his comfort shows, Northern Exposure, was filmed — to finally put those 11 songs down on tape. “It was kind of a watershed thing for me,” he says. “I was able to really reckon with some of the things that have happened to me, whether it's my fault or not, and start to deal with those things and not keep them hidden anymore.”