When American singer-songwriter Chris Staples settled into the quiet rhythm of Richmond, VA—where deer graze through backyards and rabbits dart across early morning sidewalks—he was granted a small gift: stillness. In a career that has stretched from Florida to Washington and witnessed the release of 7 studio albums, Staples hasn’t had the kind of domestic ease and opportunity to reflect on more than the immediate past. But in 2023, he was afforded time for deeper, longer looks backward. It was in these quiet moments that Don’t Worry began to take shape. Writing more for this record than perhaps any of his others, Chris draws from a wide archive of memory: small towns, long drives, quiet anecdotes from strangers—moments once considered mundane now hum with new meaning. And maybe it’s the stillness or the perspective earned from time spent writing for others (he wrote over fifty custom songs for people) or the clarity gained from the experience of writing Cloud Souvenirs, here Staples is intentional in his restraint. The songs never overstay their welcome— each enters, encapsulates the idea, and moves on before the moment closes in. The arrangements are equally unhurried, allowing space for fingerpicked guitar lines, hushed harmonies, understated piano melodies, and textures provided by a pedal steel guitar or warm synth. Chris is giving us the same gift he received. Across its ten songs, Don’t Worry travels decades and miles while staying deeply grounded in the human moments that define life. In a matter of seconds we move from New York to Texas, from the precipice of some monumental moment to something quieter, more ordinary. The songs never insist whether it’s the past or present Staples having these moments of clarity—but that’s not what’s important here. The sprawling expansiveness of these songs offers themes of regret, personal growth, emotional revision, and small celebrations—not as grand declarations but as passing thoughts, treated with the soft touch we’ve come to expect from Staples’ songwriting. It’s a record that took longer to come together than expected, being put on hold for a tour with Ocie Elliott, requiring rediscovery and a surrender to the process, unfurling alongside the commissioned songs and wandering the many drafts and false starts. And it’s all the better for it. We’re beneficiaries of what is his best collection of songs to date. This is as much a record about the process of its creation as it is the themes it covers. It’s a reflection of stillness. Recorded and produced in a small studio behind his house in Richmond, Don’t Worry is a distillation of Staples himself. He’s in complete control. Bringing in friends from across state lines like Kyle Crane (on drums), Alan Parker (whose pedal steel holds us close across several of the record’s songs), Daniel Walker (providing piano, most notably for the record’s clearest moment of autobiography in “Talk About Your Day”), and Kylie Dailey (whose harmony on the title track reminds us that we’re not in this alone), this is a collective effort and small reminder that despite the chaos of the world, we are persisting in the small, still moments of everyday life. Staples has long been a chronicler of the small and deeply human moments. That is even more evident in these songs. Don’t Worry is deeply felt and intentionally paced—a collection shaped by memory’s blur as much as its sharpness. At its heart, the album offers what its title promises: a gentle nudge toward ease, delivered with the clarity that only distance can bring. It leans in close, speaking gently. A postcard from a younger self, a letter you forgot you wrote, the echo of a conversation you had in your youth. It’s a quiet affirmation stitched together from fragments, the kind of record that doesn’t ask for attention so much as it stays with you after the fact, whispering: it’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t worry. Keep going.