To hear Tom Sless play is to remember who we are. From Memphis to Atlantic City, Americans are all descendants of dive bar balladeers painting portraits of joy and pain in blush pinks and deep blues. Tom’s resplendent rock and roll album Heartland Ballerina, gives voice to the people, overlooked and underestimated — twirling, arms raised in rapture — just outside the limelight. 

No stranger to the shadow of the coastal elite, Tom found himself in Los Angeles dying a slow death as a small piece in a corporate conglomerate. Until one day, he rose before dawn, unable to stomach the circling vultures, and made his escape on the Sierra Highway. 

Over the next two years, Tom outfitted a van, grew his hair out, and took his unique brand of everyman songwriting on the road. Starting in Texas, winding through backroads across 25 states from Alaska to the Florida Keys, patterns slowly began to emerge. 

Honor the gift. Bet on yourself. Conviction over condemnation. Kindness over contempt. From ownership to stewardship. So he followed the muse, wrote some songs, pressed record, played and sang and brought an album back as an offering to the people who inspired the songs. It’s a tribute and a challenge, because in our own way, we’re all related to the ghost of the Heartland Ballerina.