Tennessee Whiskey

Originally a Chris Stapleton vehicle soaked in Tennessee bourbon and smoky bars, this interpretation strips away some of the country grit and replaces it with deep-south soul fire. Swims' voice here is at its most expansive — he lets notes bend and sustain in ways that recall Otis Redding or early Al Green, the kind of singing that feels physical. The tempo is unhurried, almost deliberate, as if the song itself has nowhere else to be. The production keeps the blues backbone intact: electric guitar with just enough twang, a rhythm section that lumbers rather than pounds. Emotionally it's an intoxicating mix of devotion and surrender, the feeling of being completely undone by someone. Swims commits fully — no irony, no distance — and the result is a performance that feels genuinely inhabited. This is a late-night song, a last-call song, best heard loud in a small room with worn wooden floors. It sits in that sweet spot where country storytelling and soul conviction merge into something that transcends genre entirely.