Review of "Maybe Next Time..." from Tracer Magazine by Chris Green "Northside’s “Sidewinder” hosted Daniel Ryan’s release show on October 24th. Admittedly, I went with the intention of listening to independent acoustic sets by Frontier Folk Nebraska’s Travis Talbert and Michael Hensley. Talbert opened the night, Hensley followed, and Ryan was the big finale. And, indeed, it was a grand finale. Ryan hails from the small town of Hamilton, Ohio. I don't know Ryan personally, but the guy seems like he’s lived a hundred lives and tells each life’s story throughout Maybe Next Time. Imagine amalgamating the storytelling of Damien Jurado, the emotive intensity of Ryan Adams, the descriptive precision of Tyler Ramsey, and then the cathartic depression of Elliott Smith into one album and you’ve got an idea of Ryan’s debut sounds like. There is nothing fancy going on with Ryan’s set up. Musically, the most exotic instruments are the harmonica (“Out of This Town” and “Failures of My Day”) and piano (“Failures of My Day”). The other nine songs are nothing more than Ryan’s mature, full vocals and a Fender acoustic guitar. That said, the musicality in Maybe Next Time is far from conventional. Whether he is strumming or finger picking, Ryan hammers through each song with surprisingly expert precision. I’m not trying to be hyperbolic, but listening to Ryan sing/tell stories Friday night was reminiscent of the first time I listened to Sam Beam. After the first listen, I knew I'd be coming back for more. The album’s title, Maybe Next Time, is a little misleading, too. There most certainly will be a next time, and another after that, ad infinitum. Word is that Ryan might be heading out West in the near future. If he does leave the Cincinnati area, then we will be losing one of the finest unpublicized folk artists I’ve heard in a really long time. My personal request: Daniel, stay a while man. Enjoy the snow with us. Write a song about it, and woo us with your soft, boisterous voice and mellow insights. The winter here can be brutally depressing, and the catharsis of your melancholic, pithy prescience would be indubitably appreciated."