Bill Fox has never needed to chase trends. He’s never needed polished production, a PR machine, or a viral moment to make his mark. For nearly four decades, the Cleveland-born songwriter has been quietly crafting songs that cut deeper than most radio-ready anthems ever could. On Resonance, his first album in eight years, Fox returns in rare form—weathered, wild-eyed, and wiser than ever—delivering a masterclass in lo-fi honesty and homespun melodic beauty.
Released April 15, 2025, via the independent Eleventh Hour Recording Company, Resonance feels like a postcard from another time. Its 11 tracks were culled from Fox’s vast vault of tape-saturated home recordings, some stretching back years, others newer but no less rooted in that unmistakable Foxian alchemy of jangle and ache. If you’ve ever loved the vulnerable intimacy of Elliott Smith or the fearless experimentation of Guided By Voices, this album will feel like returning to a long-lost favorite place. But make no mistake—Resonance is pure Bill Fox, untamed and undiluted.
The album opens with “Terminal Way,” a track that instantly sets the tone with a warm haze of cassette hiss and an acoustic guitar strum that seems to echo off the walls of a forgotten attic. His voice, fragile but firm, carries the song like a leaf in a stream. There’s something eternal about the way Fox delivers his lyrics—lines that sound as though they’ve lived in notebooks, in memories, in the air, long before they ever found a microphone.
From there, the record moves like a dreamscape of Midwestern Americana. “Meat Factory” feels like a cryptic folk tale whispered between railroad tracks and factory smokestacks, while “Wings of December” is one of the most luminous things Fox has ever put to tape—a gentle and melancholic tune that seems to shimmer in its simplicity. Then there’s “Wildflower,” a perfect power-pop nugget featuring a guest guitar solo by none other than Doug Gillard of Guided By Voices and Nada Surf. It’s jangly, bright, and entirely infectious, like the first day of spring after a bitter Cleveland winter.
And yet, what sets Resonance apart is not just its songwriting—though Fox’s melodic instincts remain razor-sharp—but his voice. There’s something strikingly new about the vocal performances across this album. It’s as if, after all these years, Fox has decided to stop hiding behind the haze of hiss and reverb, stepping out into the light with a delivery that is confident, vulnerable, and unexpectedly powerful. On songs like “My Servin’ Time” and “Lift Your Heads,” he reaches notes with a clarity and urgency that feel almost theatrical, defying expectations with every note.
Still, this is Bill Fox we’re talking about. The enigma. The cult hero. The man who once vanished from the spotlight just as labels began to call, choosing instead a life of poetry in exile, scrawling verses on diner napkins and recording masterpieces into four-tracks while the industry chased louder things. That spirit is still here, alive and well. On “Desperation” and the aptly titled “Instrumental,” Fox strips everything down to the bone, letting silence speak as loudly as chords. It’s not minimalism for show—it’s trust in the listener, faith that if you lean in close enough, you’ll hear something true.
And just when you think you’ve got Resonance figured out, it ends with “Got Her On My Mind,” a driving, full-band rocker that throws it back to his Mice days—buzzing with punk energy, sugar-rush melodies, and that trademark urgency that made his early work so electric. It’s a reminder that beneath the folk mystique and lo-fi legends, Fox is still a rocker at heart.
Resonance doesn’t try to be a comeback or a statement. It doesn’t need to. It simply exists—like a collection of dusty photographs that somehow get more vivid the longer you look at them. It’s the kind of album you don’t just listen to, but live with. It haunts, it hums, it heals. And in a world obsessed with the next thing, Bill Fox has once again gifted us something timeless.
For those who’ve been waiting, Resonance is everything you hoped for. And for those just discovering him—welcome to one of the best-kept secrets in American songwriting. Don’t let him slip away again.
