· jclacking · details
Sweeney’s carefully considered guitar lines are entwined with Will Oldham’s intimate quaver and lyrical prowess, and it’s uncanny how this occasional intersection of two very prolific artists sounds like it’s decades into its trajectory.
Ty’s arsenal of instrumentation continues to grow, as he fills out his domain of prog-rock, stoner drones, glam trash, and other Seventies detritus with keyboards, more keyboards, and an evolving sense of studio wizardry.
Callahan’s deep gruff voice meanders through acoustic non-linear arrangements like a limo driver telling a story, completely oblivious to their own cowboy poetry.
Old fashioned haunted country music… Orville Peck howls, croons, and yodels in a way that is extremely dramatic, yet never quite goes over the top.
What kind of raving madman discotheque is this? I don’t care that the singer yells like a man stuck in a tarpit, I’m staying for the groove.
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