
This quad of hillbilly ramblers need to get themselves a contract on some indie western flick: their inspired country/rockabilly twang would play along well with visceral images of death on the barren wastelands of Nogales. Adrian Carroll leads the guitars and vocalizes these 12 tracks for maximum whiskey drainage. They call it “doom country,” I call it a sweet and contemplative 2/3rds of an hour.
Following close are drummer Scott Gursky and lapsteel major Mike Maran with crack of the morn harmonies. Bass man Michael Pahn sets a grooving line for the band to build muted and multi-leveled compositions upon. Imagine sitting on a chair that’s moving along a track: everything is dark and every-so-often sounds appear with strengthening intensity and then slowly recede behind you. Somehow that’s what this album made me feel: every part building a surreal, gun slinging landscape.
Ennio Morricone would be proud of these motherfuckers. Think of Neil Young’s delicious work on Jarmusch’s Dead Man. Think of when you wanted to grow up to be a cowboy. There’s an untitled 13th track that gives them Charlie Feathers airs and, though normally I would personally slap around anyone who dares the comparison, they pull it off.
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Abel Folgar