There’s something refreshingly unpretentious about Shani Weiss’s All About Life. It’s not trying to reinvent folk-rock or redefine singer-songwriter introspection. Instead, it’s quietly confident; the sound of an artist who knows that small truths hit harder than grand statements when they’re sung with sincerity. Across six songs, Weiss pokes at the weird, tender machinery of adulthood from the exhaustion, the grace, the way joy and guilt sometimes show up to the same party and somehow makes it all sound warm, human, and kind of funny in that “oh god, that’s me” sort of way.
The opening title track sets the tone immediately. All About Life is exactly what it says on the tin: a list of the ordinary things that make existence bearable, sung with just enough wit to avoid cloying sentimentality. It’s got that same grounded charm that’s made Lainey Wilson a crossover darling; equal parts porchlight philosophy and weary optimism. When Weiss sings about “sunsets and shooting stars and beers with your friends,” it’s not Hallmark wisdom; it’s the sound of someone who’s been through enough Mondays to earn the right to say it. The production leans into that ethos: clean but lived-in, with guitars that sound like they’ve absorbed every late-night conversation they’ve ever accompanied.
Then comes In Two, where things get pricklier. Weiss dives into the mess of relationships with a kind of quiet exasperation that’s deeply relatable. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself in two,” she repeats; part warning, part sigh, part joke at her own expense. It’s that line between vulnerability and self-awareness that she walks so well. There’s something inherently disarming about how she frames emotional exhaustion not as melodrama but as a shared condition. You get the sense that she’s not trying to impress anyone; she’s just trying to tell the truth in a way that sounds good.
Rules Don’t Apply might be the record’s most interesting moment. It’s breezier and looser, but there’s an edge under the sunlight; the suggestion that freedom and connection always come at a cost. “There’s no truth and there’s no lie,” she sings, sounding less like she’s declaring a philosophy and more like she’s realizing it in real time. The track’s easy groove and floating harmonies make it one of the most listenable songs here, even as it undercuts its own sweetness. If All About Life has a mission statement, this might be it: stop pretending the rules make sense and learn to dance around them instead.
By the time we hit What’s Left, Weiss starts looking backward: at family, at legacy, at the impossible job of being both present and prepared for what’s next. “There’s a rock in my throat I can’t swallow,” she sings, and it’s not metaphor; it’s memory. There’s an emotional clarity here that recalls Lainey Wilson’s best ballads; country storytelling filtered through folk subtlety. Weiss isn’t aiming for stadium tears; she’s writing for anyone who’s ever stared at a clock and felt time physically slipping away. The song builds slowly, each verse a small inventory of gratitude and regret, until it feels less like a goodbye and more like a letter you meant to send years ago.
Breathe is the calm at the center of the storm. Built around a meditative refrain of “Breathe in, breathe out”, it feels like the EP is taking its own advice. It’s not just about recovery; it’s about permission. The stripped-down arrangement, a simple acoustic line with faint piano and harmonies, leaves room for Weiss’s voice to hover somewhere between exhaustion and peace. There’s a touch of spiritual stillness here, not religious but grounded; like she’s learning how to let life happen instead of chasing it.
And then Feel Alright closes things out with a gentle wink. It’s the kind of song that rolls its shoulders after all the introspection and says, “Yeah, life’s a mess, but we’ll survive it.” The melody bounces, the guitars loosen up, and Weiss lets herself have fun again. “You’ve gotta have someone that’s got your back,” she sings, and for once, it feels less like advice and more like a celebration of whoever stuck around through all the other songs. It’s the perfect closer: optimistic but grounded, warm but self-aware.
The EP feels cohesive but occasionally careful; a bit like Lainey Wilson before she leaned fully into her southern-rock swagger. Still, that same clarity of tone is what makes the EP work. It doesn’t posture; it doesn’t overreach. It just breathes, listens, and tells the truth. It’s folk-rock with a country soul and a human heart; a reminder that growing up, getting tired, and still choosing kindness might be the most rebellious thing an artist can do.
Follow Shani Weiss
Promoted Content
About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
