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.
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.
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.
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