Miss Freddye—born Freddye Stover—is not new to the blues, nor is she interested in reinventing it. And thank God for that. In a genre increasingly diluted by overproduced Americana and lifeless bar-band rehashes, Freddye is a reminder that blues, at its best, is a folk form—a direct line from the body to the air, from memory to music. Slippin’ Away, her new self-released single, doesn’t attempt to expand the genre’s boundaries or subvert its tropes. It simply inhabits them with conviction. That, in 2025, is quietly radical.
The song is a slow, sorrowful ballad, written in 2018 by the late Mike Lyzenga, whose name won’t ring bells outside Western Pennsylvania but who clearly understood how to construct a blues lament without descending into parody. The premise is simple—love fading, closeness unraveling—and it’s carried not by novelty or arrangement but by Freddye’s delivery. You’ve heard this theme before. What makes it resonate here is how little she tries to sell it. There’s no histrionics, no overreach. Just a patient, gently crumbling vocal line, and the feeling that the story is real.
Freddye, who’s spent decades singing gospel and blues across Pittsburgh and beyond, produced the track herself. That decision is worth noting. Where a label might have pushed for layered backup vocals or studio gloss, she’s opted for space. The band—Mike Huston on guitar, Jeff Conner on keys, Greg Sejko on bass, and Bob Dicola on drums—keeps things unadorned and economical. Huston’s guitar weeps softly but doesn’t cry out. Conner’s keys add ghostly color. Sejko and Dicola don’t swing so much as hover, giving the song a weary pulse.
And while it’s tempting to romanticize this as some kind of local legend’s swan song, Freddye’s performance resists that narrative. She’s not making a final statement or chasing legacy. She’s simply doing what she’s done for years—making room for emotion to breathe. Her phrasing is grounded, shaped by gospel tradition and sharpened by club-stage stamina. When she sings, “I feel you slipping through my hands / like water I can’t hold,” there’s no metaphorical gymnastics, just physical truth.
Thematically, Slippin’ Away is as basic as it gets: the slow erosion of intimacy, the growing distance where there was once warmth. But its simplicity is precisely what gives it power. In a cultural moment where pop thrives on maximalism—bigger feelings, faster resolutions—this song lingers in the uncomfortable middle. It doesn’t break down or lash out. It accepts. That might be its most subversive move.
Of course, not everything about the track is revelatory. If you’re looking for innovation, this isn’t your record. The lyrics hew closely to standard blues imagery, and the structure is conservative. Some might argue it plays things too safe. But the blues has never been about formal disruption—it’s about emotional precision. And in that department, Freddye delivers.
Reception among critics has been unanimously positive, if slightly generalized. Words like “soul-baring” and “masterpiece” have been tossed around, which, while flattering, don’t do much to distinguish the track from any other competent blues release. What Slippin’ Away deserves is not hyperbole, but attention. In its refusal to pander, its quiet craft, and its unhurried grief, it speaks more clearly than most albums full of fireworks.
If anything, Slippin’ Away should be viewed not just as a song, but as a kind of cultural footnote: proof that the blues, in its traditional form, still exists outside of festival nostalgia acts and overfunded “roots revival” projects. Miss Freddye is doing what she’s always done—singing stories that matter in voices that aren’t often heard. It’s not revolutionary. But it’s real. And that’s rarer than it should be.
Grade: B+
Best moment: That second verse—just after the organ floats in—when Freddye pulls back and you feel the silence just as much as the sound.
