That (new) old time rock ‘n’ roll

Back in 1976, Michigan legend Bob Seger famously declared that “rock ‘n’ roll never forgets.” Nearly 50 years later, Lansing’s own Sean Anthony Sullivan is proving why we still need it. His forthcoming album, “Rock and Roll Will Save Us All,” a fiery LP freshly pressed on vinyl at Third Man Pressing in Detroit, channels the enduring spirit of the genre.

“Rock ‘n’ roll has always been an outlet,” Sullivan said. “It has the power to pull you out of your own head, out of the grind.”

That belief fuels the 10-track record, which arrives Nov. 7. It’s a loud, proud testament to the sweat and soul of Michigan’s music scene, built from the same blue-collar steel that shaped the state’s auto plants and dive bars. For this guitarist and vocalist, who blends the poeticism of Jackson Browne with the strut of Grand Funk Railroad, it’s more than just another album. It’s a revival.

If you’ve caught Sullivan and his band on stage, you already know what to expect: a blur of denim, sweat and swagger. They’ve opened for national acts like Sponge and Ally Venable and earned a reputation as the kind of group that can turn a quiet room into a raucous one before the headliner even tunes up. The new record captures that same kinetic energy.

Recorded across three Midwest studios — Sweetwater Studios in Indiana, Willis Sound outside Detroit and Sullivan’s own Sonicwagon in Lansing — the band stripped away polish and overdubs in favor of something raw and genuine.

“We don’t build songs part by part,” Sullivan said. “Every track begins with a live foundation: The band in a room, locked in together like it’s another night on stage.” He likened the process to building a machine: Every  part must fire in sequence, or it won’t move. “We establish the heartbeat, then pass the baton throughout the song: a drum fill, a bass groove, a guitar riff. Each of us adds our own signature ingredients to the brew, serving the song.”

With bassist Casey DeMott and drummer Luke Lindsay, Sullivan’s current lineup is more focused and willing to explore than ever before, while still nodding unapologetically to pioneers like the Stones and Springsteen.

“For me, albums like ‘Sticky Fingers’ or ‘Darkness on the Edge of Town’ are the bar,” Sullivan said. “They’re bold and expansive, but they never lose their heart or attitude. That’s what we wanted: A record that grooves, that explores, but stays rooted in who we are.”

That unity was forged in countless gigs across the state, from the beer-soaked stages of Detroit and Grand Rapids to the band’s home turf at Mac’s Bar in Lansing.

Mac’s has long helped launch local and national acts. “It’s kept original rock ‘n’ roll alive in our city and given us a stage to carry our story forward,” Sullivan said.

So central is Mac’s to the band’s identity that it even appears in its “Rock ‘n’ Roll Damnation” music video — a nod to AC/DC and the kind of high-voltage energy Sullivan and his crew thrive on.

“Covers are fun, and we’ll always work them in to tip our hat to those who’ve shaped us,” Sullivan added.

Like the region that raised him, Sullivan’s music carries the DNA of Detroit steel. He calls it “forged rock ‘n’ roll fuel” — a sound that hums like an engine, steady and relentless. This new full-length was made for road trips down two-lane highways. Songs like “Cry for More” chase that adventurous energy, while “99 Degrees” turns the heat up with a lust-soaked groove that could melt asphalt.

Sullivan sums up the album’s tone as “swagger and soul in equal measure.” Listeners might hear echoes of Led Zeppelin, ZZ Top or the Black Crowes, but the sound is unmistakably his own: distilled, urgent and made to move.

“At the end of the day, it’s the ‘roll’ in rock ‘n’ roll that defines us,” he said. “We want songs that groove, that lift you up, that make you feel alive and forget the day’s worries. That’s what we mean by ‘will save us all.’”

There’s a reason Sullivan keeps an Oldsmobile Rocket sticker on his Gibson SG. For him, it’s more than nostalgia. It’s pride.

“Growing up around Lansing means you have auto manufacturing and car culture in your bloodstream,” he said. “Friends, family, neighbors, everyone’s tied to the line in some way. There’s pride in that. Motion, machines and music: steady, unrelenting, always moving forward.”

In a world of algorithmic playlists and background noise, Sullivan’s new tracklist feels defiant. It’s built for turntables and hissy tape decks — meant to be played from start to finish, not shuffled.

“There’s something beautiful about sitting down and leaning into a record from start to finish, going on that journey,” he said. “I want to get lost in something. That’s what I’ve always loved about album-oriented rock, those ‘70s records you drop the needle on and just take the ride.”

He said he kept the studio approach simple: minimal overdubs, maximum feel.

“We leaned into the fun: a talk box, a Moog, some claps. But never just because we could,” he explained. “Every part had to earn its place, driving the song and its spirit higher.” That sense of restraint gives the album its pulse and clarity.

“This record is about urgency, about living now,” he continued. “We genuinely just want to share in the love of the music together and celebrate living. I’ve seen it happen: Someone comes in carrying the weight of their workday grind, and by the end of the night, they’re singing, moving, just letting go. If we can help someone escape like that, even just for an evening, then we’ve done our job.”