“Lead Me Not Into Penn Station” - BLOCK
Photo Credit: Artist EPK
Some albums aren’t just records—they’re artifacts. They don’t just capture a moment; they define one. Block’s Lead Me Not Into Penn Station is exactly that: a scrappy, witty, self-released gem from 1996 that not only became a cult favorite in the East Village anti-folk scene but also helped light the fuse for an entire movement. And now, nearly three decades later, it’s finally getting the release it deserves—remastered, reissued, and thrust into the streaming era for the very first time.
If you know Block’s story, you know the lore. The album wasn’t distributed through a label, but out of the back of Block’s car and at gigs. It was more manifesto than product. But that’s precisely what gave it its power: it was raw, unpolished, and a little unruly, yet brimming with wit, smarts, and an experimental streak that couldn’t be contained.
Hearing it again today—cleaned up by producer Blake Morgan but still pulsing with its DIY bloodline—Penn Station feels like a time capsule cracked open. The songwriting is playful and biting, equal parts street poetry and sharp satire, folk chords laced with sly rhythms and unexpected turns. The standout opener “Rhinoceros” is as odd and captivating as the Ionesco play it was inspired by, Block marrying a hip-hop beat with folk sensibilities in a way that still feels radical. Elsewhere, his wordplay carries the same mix of wit and ache that keeps contemporaries like Jeffrey Lewis or Kimya Dawson evergreen: funny enough to make you grin, sharp enough to sting, and vulnerable enough to stick with you.
What makes the re-release so thrilling isn’t just nostalgia—it’s relevance. In a time when the mainstream often feels algorithmically smooth, revisiting Block’s jagged edges and offbeat humor is refreshing. This is an album that reminds you music doesn’t have to be polished or neatly categorized to matter. It can be messy, funny, strange, even a little inconvenient—and still resonate decades later.
Credit: Photo by Dave Doobinin
The backstory only adds to its charm. Block, newly arrived in the East Village from Chapel Hill, lived above a record store, running around with fellow dreamers at 3 a.m., soaking in a city alive with painters, filmmakers, and misfits. That energy bleeds into every track. The album is the sound of someone catching a wave they didn’t even know they’d been waiting for.
And yet, what started as an underground handoff in the ’90s eventually caught the attention of heavy hitters—enough to land Block a deal with Glen Ballard’s Java Records.
Now, with this re-release, Penn Station joins a string of revitalized albums in Block’s catalog, a series that’s reignited press buzz, fan discovery, and even a sold-out residency at New York’s KGB Red Room. And with a new record slated for 2026, this feels less like looking back and more like setting the stage.
Lead Me Not Into Penn Station is not just a reissue—it’s a resurrection. For longtime fans, it’s a chance to revisit the spark that lit Block’s career. For newcomers, it’s an introduction to an artist who never played by the rules and ended up rewriting some of them. Either way, it’s a reminder of how anti-folk—scrappy, funny, unrefined, and deeply human—still cuts through the noise better than most things today.
“Lead Me Not Into Penn Station” is available now on all major streaming platforms
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