It seems that more romantic partners who share musical interests should consider collaboration. Casey Gomez Walker and Spencer Tweedy, known collectively as Case Oats, embody this spirit. Their music echoes the quaint charm of Paul and Linda McCartney’s early works and the heartfelt, rootsy essence of Derek Trucks and Susan Tedeschi. Together, they form a creative, quirky, and deeply emotive duo, diving into profound feelings and the resonant twang of Americana. Lately, Gomez Walker’s raw and honest vocal delivery has earned her comparisons to David Berman and Kimya Dawson, two of her idols. This is particularly evident in her song “Hallelujah,” which mirrors Berman’s lyrical style. “I’ve always been attracted to singers whose voices aren’t conventionally beautiful,” she says. “Finding out that my own voice can touch people in the way my heroes’ voices do is truly motivating and keeps me moving forward.”

Casey and Spencer’s journey began seven years ago when they were both in their early twenties. “She messaged me on Instagram,” Spencer recalls with a chuckle. “And that’s the simple truth.” While on a family trip, he shared a selfie; Casey responded with a heart emoji. They met after he got back, and they’ve been together ever since. Casey first shared her song “Bluff” with Spencer, and its lyric “cough drop in your mouth, a blueberry kiss” still strikes a chord with him. “It was genuine and heartfelt,” he remembers. “And that’s all I look for in music. Her voice had an immediate impact, and I knew she had the potential to write more songs.”

Encouraged by this collaboration, they recorded “Bluff” in his college studio in Appleton, Wisconsin, released it on Bandcamp, and agreed to perform at a friend’s show in Chicago in 2018, despite not having a full set prepared. “Spencer was optimistic we could pull it off by putting a band together,” Casey recalls. This spurred her to compile all her writings and thoughts into a setlist. While some of these songs continued to be part of her set over the next few years, others were left behind. Songs like “Seventeen,” which came to her quickly as it was based on a short story she wrote during her undergraduate studies, along with “In a Bungalow,” “Bitter Root Lake,” and “Kentucky Cave,” co-written with Spencer, became highlights of her debut album with Case Oats, titled Last Missouri Exit.

Casey grew up in Wildwood, Missouri, and attended school in nearby Eureka—both small, conservative towns known for their large high school and football team. She played trumpet in the marching band and often had to explain to her Chicago neighbors that her high school experience was almost cinematic. “It’s what you’d expect from a high school,” Spencer adds, laughing. However, Eureka was picturesque only in its landscapes, overshadowed by a pervasive undercurrent of racism. Now, Casey feels somewhat disconnected from that past, admitting she was always the student who happily ate lunch alone in the library. “I didn’t connect with many at my school—not because I felt superior, but because I knew there was more to life than that,” she states.

Eventually, Casey left Missouri for Chicago to attend Columbia College Chicago, initially to study science journalism before switching to creative writing. This change helped her focus on character development and scene setting, skills that have become second nature in her songwriting. “I think about how words come together and how a story unfolds, usually not realizing it until after I’ve written,” she says. Her song “Bitter Root Lake” stands out on Last Missouri Exit, especially the line “my love has never faded, I dream of your wet hair.” “Conveying a vivid image with just a few words is really powerful,” she notes. “That’s something I admire in many songwriters and poets.”

Casey doesn’t consider herself a trained musician or particularly scholarly about her craft. She sees herself first as a writer and second as a “pretty amateur guitar player.” “I took piano lessons for a year as a kid, which I hated, thanks to an old, grumpy teacher. My parents let me quit, which I now slightly regret,” she admits. “I owned a guitar but barely played it; it was a cheap Yamaha acoustic that was difficult to play. So, I thought, ‘Guitar playing is too hard, I don’t need this.’” However, after graduating in 2016, a close friend encouraged her to buy an electric guitar, which changed her perspective on playing. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought,” she reflects.

After briefly participating in a friend’s garage-rock band, Casey, with Spencer’s support, quickly found her tribe, performing alongside Max Subar, Jason Ashworth, and Nolan Chin. These collaborators helped turn Case Oats into a full-fledged band. Fiddler Scott Daniel and touring member Chet Zenor also play key roles on Last Missouri Exit. While they may not yet be widely recognized, Casey feels they are akin to Chicago’s version of the Wrecking Crew. “We’re fortunate they’re not only our close friends but also incredibly grounded and talented musicians,” she says. “They’re involved in various projects, which I think shapes their approach to music—they manage to play magnificently without showing off, yet their skill level is undeniable.”

The album Last Missouri Exit came together somewhat spontaneously. During a sweltering weekend in August 2024, Casey and Spencer decided it was time to finalize their songs. They gathered minimal recording equipment and set up in the “classic Chicago bungalow” that Subar, Ashworth, and Zenor shared, and got to work. They recorded everything except vocals and overdubs in the basement, immersing themselves in vibrant country tunes that left traces of pedal steel and bowed fiddle in their wake. Recording barefoot, fueled by vegan meals and seltzers, they completed the album in just two days. “There was a deep sense of trust among us,” Casey recalls. “We’d played these songs live so often that we could easily replicate that energy in the studio.” She prefers spontaneity in her music, often opting for the initial take because it feels the most authentic.

Merge Records’ choice to release Last Missouri Exit in August seemed fateful, as Spencer believes it epitomizes a quintessential summer album, best exemplified by the imagery in the song “Tennessee.” “Casey’s life philosophy could be summed up by the joy of sitting on a porch,” he explains. “The lyrics and the sound of the song encapsulate the essence of summer.” With the Tweedy name involved and a touch of country influence, the album naturally draws comparisons to alt-country, a genre his father, Jeff Tweedy, helped pioneer with his bands Uncle Tupelo and Wilco. However, Casey and Spencer strive to avoid being stereotyped by the ongoing alt-country revival. “If our music organically sounds like this genre or trend, then so be it,” Spencer elaborates. “Otherwise, we’re not going to force it into a predefined category. That’s not the point. I’ve always aimed to think about music in an unrestricted, fundamental way, not confined by genre.”

Approaching Case Oats with a sense of openness is crucial for them; they don’t want to “miss the point” but rather stay true to what makes exploring new sounds and approaches exciting. Last Missouri Exit is a sincere, unassuming homage to the Midwest, reflecting Casey’s upbringing and their collective experiences. They write from what they know, with the Midwest deeply engrained in Casey’s identity. This is evident in songs like “Nora,” where she sings, “I came and went, moved away, as time bent,” and in “Wishing Stone,” with the lyrics, “You’re my way back home, love you more than my need to roam.” “My mind often dwells in places reminiscent of my hometown,” Casey shares. “A longing for rivers and lakes and being outdoors in the summer was all I thought about while writing these songs.” Her talent for immersing listeners in mid-conversation with vivid, relatable details is reminiscent of David Berman’s style.

More than anything, Last Missouri Exit is a coming-of-age album crafted by someone in their twenties and released in their thirties. If Casey had produced it any earlier, she believes it wouldn’t have felt right. “The songs needed time to mature,” she explains. “They sound different now than when we first wrote them, and there’s value in waiting to release art until it’s fully developed.” This patient approach is what makes a song like “Seventeen,” with its line “I used to feel things, they meant something back then,” so impactful. When you’re a teenager, everything feels monumental, Casey argues, but as she has grown, she realizes that “every emotion feels significant,” a sentiment she maintains throughout the album. “Allowing emotions to feel big and a bit overwhelming is part of my writing process,” she reveals. “It’s okay to let them loom when you reflect on them.”

Spencer adds that Casey has a unique ability to amplify emotions and experiences, bringing them to the brink without going over. “The stakes always feel high, and you sense the importance, even if it’s tinged with youthful angst or memories of adolescence without exaggeration,” he says. “Achieving that balance is challenging, but she manages it consistently.” Some songwriters might be too conscious of their surroundings when composing, but Spencer has observed that Casey’s heart consistently guides her, even in their latest work on songs like “Wonderful Things,” which delves into themes of grief and loss more than the all-encompassing feelings of youth. “To create songs that resonate, following your heart is essential,” Spencer concludes, smiling at Casey. “For her, it’s the only way.”

Matt Mitchell is Paste’s music editor, reporting from their home in Los Angeles.