Album Review: Western Centuries - Weight of the World

A Review by Robert Dean

Western Centuries have released a country record that’s a pleasant mix of 70’s and 80’s styled country that’s light on the irony, but ladles on the thick harmonies. Being from Grunge Capital USA, Seattle Washington, Western Centuries are a nice mixture of textures, styles and sounds.

There’s a definite influence of Texas dancehall, Louisiana Zydeco, and some western swing, but wrapped in a vocal delivery that’s parts Travis Tritt, Randy Travis, and even some hints of John Mayer. Sure, there’s some of the later 70’s nods to Waylon and Willie, but it ain’t about them conjuring up sounds we’ve heard reheated for over forty years.

These country bands popping up in the north have a different take on what country, Americana or even blues can sound like, and to their credit, it’s needed because it keeps the genre honest.

Being from Seattle, Western Centuries are lucky not to fall into the trappings of pop country, but instead likely grew up with a lot of styles of music at their fingers, thus helping forge a sound that’s not contrived or boilerplate like so many country groups that poison Nashville. If anything, I’d give Western Centuries more of a nod to current groups like Hollis Brown, who is also a Yankee band doing it right, Caleb Caudle, Chris Stapleton or even slight nods to Jason Isbell’s risk taking style. 

On their record, Weight of The World, Western Centuries explore all of the harmonic territories, which is refreshing. Instead of relying on just two voices, it feels like the whole damn band is in one big singalong. Weight of The World is a good drinking record, one that you could quietly slip on in the most stringent country bar in the Middle of Nowhere, TN. And when it comes to country music, two things matter: can you two step or drink yourself silly to it? Western Centuries accomplishes both tasks with ease, and in the style of the Flying Burrito Brothers, to boot.

If you’re looking for a record to pop on a, have a few drinks to, this one won’t be tossed into the fire. It’s got its moments, and I wouldn’t mind picking it up on vinyl myself. Give a new band a chance and get out there and give Western Centuries a spin.

Stand out tracks: Sadder Day, The Old You

 Available on iTunes, Amazon, etc.

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Editor's Addendum: Not to undercut Robert's review, but I think Weight of the World is very good and has more than "its moments." It's a great mix of Burrito Bros. style goodness, country soul music, and straight up country. The three lead singers(!!!) (including Cahalen Morrison) are all excellent and bring different angles to the collection through their songwriting, guitar playing, and vocals. It does double-duty as an album you can throw on and enjoy as party music or background music... and a "headphones" album with depth opening up with every listen. There are dance songs, sad songs, drinking songs, and songs that'll make you think. "Off the Shelf" is one of my favorite songs of the year. There's something here for everybody... fans of Van Morrison, The Byrds, Otis Redding, Grateful Dead, Hank Williams, it's a diverse collection that strings together organically and cohesively. Good stuff! -Trailer

Album Review: Hesitation Wounds - Awake for Everything

Review by Robert Dean

 In the pre-“our lives being dominated by Internet” age of the late 90’s, early 00’s – something in hardcore was happening. A sound organically grew, one that had metal flair, but a sense of chaos that was far beyond punk, but community minded, but was rooted in being artistic, but was driven by a different sense of spirit. Bands like American Nightmare and Turmoil were ripping off heads and not giving a single goddamn who got in the way.

Bands like Deadguy, Botch, Burn it Down, Kiss It Goodbye, Candiria, Burnt By The Sun, The National Acrobat, Coalesce, Converge sprung up, to name a small few. These bands had an off-kilter sense of dynamics, they played to the downbeat, and wrote songs that were unique, were powerful.

Bands like Hatebreed or Throwdown were committed to the chug; these groups came from a completely different crop. You got the sound, or you didn’t – and that’s what made it perfect. It was challenging but so rhythmic, so pure. The sounds weren’t about the droning riff; it was about turning from circle pit madness to absolute crushing riff that Dimebag would have chugged a beer over.

Back then we experimented with all kinds of ideas in music, statements by bands who were influenced by art and Tom Waits instead of just Bad Brains on repeat. There were Straight Edge bands, and we all went through Straight Edge phases, while others kept legit to the party – Christians, Krishna’s, Vegans, whatever. It was a quilt of ideas, notions and it all worked.

But, like all things, many of the bands of the era drifted off into lore or unwarranted obscurity (if you can find anything by Indiana hardcore slayers Burn it Down, that’s an immediate purchase amigo). Converge is still around, but Coalesce and Botch are the things of “I was at X show” or “I was a year too late on them” which totally sucks. Fortunately, like all things cyclical a batch of bands are popping up that are carrying on the torch of that era of hardcore. And if you’re a lover of all things dissonant and vitriolic – you need Hesitation Wounds in your life.

I’d be remiss to say Hesitation Wounds are just some scrappy kids who were influenced by the aforementioned bands. Instead, Hesitation Wounds is a murder’s row of hardcore heavy hitters. Featuring former and current members of The Hope Conspiracy, Torche Amore, Suicide File and Trap Them - this ain’t exactly a pack of nobodies. Sure, there’s the elephant in the room of Jay Weinberg currently playing in Slipknot, but whatever – dude is getting paid. But let us not forget he played in Madball, and Against Me! Prior to donning a sweaty ass mask – his punk rock acumen is very much there.



On Hesitation Wounds first full-length record, Awake for Everything we’re treated with chaotic riffs, supercharged drumming, fuzzed out bass and vocals that could peel the paint off a living room wall. Awake for Everything is a harken back to that pure sound of the early 00’s when music was created in a vacuum when you had no idea what kids across the state were doing unless you went to their show.

Awake for Everything is like a love letter to an era when bands meant something to the kids at the shows when no one was there to see some dork whip out his eight string and imitate Meshuggah. Instead, it’s a directionless, cunning fucking masterstroke. I say directionless because it doesn’t feel contrived or concocted. It feels natural, constructed out of a basement while sipping PBR’s and arguing about which Sabbath record is the best. The songs can go anywhere, and change direction within seconds.

There is absolutely no point in picking out a standout track. This record doesn’t need that. What it needs is people to buy it, to own it, to love it and hopefully get these guys in a van on tour. Awake for Everything is the record folks my age have been waiting to be released, it’s a time capsule back to the heyday, but doesn’t feel like some forced thing that’s bloated and dishonest. Instead, Hesitation Wounds sounds like the band every musician over 33 talks about wanting to start but is always too busy with adult life shit. It’s so damned perfect.

Will kids in their early 20’s get Hesitation Wounds? I can’t say. I sincerely hope they do. Will folks in their later 30’s get it? You bet your life we will. If and when the band tours, you’ll see me there. Not up front, though. I don’t want anyone to spill my drink. I’ll be in the back gracefully nodding my head and remembering what it was like to be lucky enough to go to shows before everyone video’d every fucking thing.

Get off my lawn. Buy Awake for Everything at this very second.

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Available at Amazon and all the usual spots.


Not edited by lazy editor in chief

Album Review: Quaker City Night Hawks - El Astronauta

A review by Trailer

Quaker City Night Hawks are back with a new slab of greasy Texas rock n' roll and seem poised to capture a larger audience. Many a band on the rise would take this opportunity to polish their hooks and sweeten their sound to the ears of the radio listener, but not QCNH. El Astronauta sees them take their sound in new direction, backward.

By backward, I don't mean a regression in sound, I mean a trip in the time machine, ETA 1974. This is an AOR record that wouldn't sound out of place pumping out the windows of a smoky van airbrushed with a wizard/unicorn combo on the side or a trashy muscle car with Todd from Beavis & Butthead driving over curbs.

El Astronauta warmly embraces classic and southern rock, while maintaining the Night Hawks signature esthetic. You'll hear a little Steve Miller, a little ZZ Top or Skynyrd, but it's all with that modern QCNH flair. Not that they haven't always had these influences, the songs are just a lot more steeped in 'em this go round.

Opener "Good Evening" is a loping, bluesy introduction. Its slow burn verses lead into a cathartic "down here on main street" chorus that will surely put fists in the air, accompanied by blasts of stage lighting.

"Mockingbird" is probably the clearest single choice here, it's an anthemic slice of singalong rock goodness. Even it, though, is grimy and dank, like patchouli oil dripping down the wood paneling of a Chevy Custom. This is just a precursor, however… things really take a turn from this point in the album.



To put it simply: the middle of the album could be on the Dazed and Confused soundtrack. That's as high praise as I can think of in the rock world. Light 'em up and trip along to the sci-fi seventies vibe.

The home stretch includes the dialed-back, hazy "Duendes," the even hazier "The Last Great Audit," and the easy going southern sermon "Sons and Daughters." There's a clear emotional arc to the record, and it is that…. a record - meant to be digested whole.

It's a tasty dish, thematically about disillusionment and acceptance, that'll suit any mood or situation. It's party music; it's work background music; it's chill out music; it's driving music. El Astronauta is one of my favorites of 2016 and I hope you give it a listen.


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El Astronauta is available at Lonestar Music
Amazon
iTunes

Album Review: Al Scorch - Circle Round the Signs

Review by Kevin Broughton

Chicago once put its own distinctive stamps on blues and jazz. And nearly a century later, a son of the Windy City has weaponized the banjo to change the way we hear bluegrass and folk, punk and country. Enter Al Scorch, the latest addition to Bloodshot Records’ stable of provocative, genre-bending artists, and his groundbreaking and innovative Circle Round the Signs.

Scorch (his real name – perhaps only “Al Thrash” would be more appropriate) combines a frenetic, relentless claw-hammer stroke, progressive themes and sensible lyrics for the common man. The result serves as a reminder of the versatility of the banjo, outside of the familiarity of traditional bluegrass. Scorch leads us on a historical survey of the instrument from Dixieland jazz to Pogues-era progressivism. He uses a French horn as a plaintive counterweight and a fiddle as a mournful muse.  And on Circle Round the Signs, you’ll see why The Huffington Post calls Scorch “the finest country-punk-folk-bluegrass banjo player in the country.” (I didn’t know that was a thing; damned if it ain’t, though.)

Woody Guthrie’s “Slipknot” gets a 21st Century go-round, and “Poverty Draft” is a thoughtful take on the military as career option in today’s economy.

Thoughtful and evocative of the best of the Avett Brothers, Circle Round the Signs is yet another example of Bloodshot’s finding stellar talent to give modern, fresh takes on timeless music.



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Circle Round the Signs is available on Bloodshot and Amazon.

Album Review: Arliss Nancy - Greater Divides

A Review by Matthew Martin

One of my favorite albums of the last 10 years is The Gaslight Anthem's The '59 Sound.  There is something so immediate and so basic in the words and the music.  It made me long for something that I couldn't quite grasp, or even comprehend.  Like, maybe the band, and maybe even I, had been meant for a different time or era.  Or, maybe it just made me want to drive for hours - sitting still didn't seem like an option. It was a pretty strong mix of feelings immediately after hearing that album.  It still makes me feel that way.  

While I have continued to dig most of the Gaslight Anthem's releases after that album, it's been a while since they have made me feel that longing.   

And, that's where Arliss Nancy comes in.  

Beginning with Simple Machines, I have had the distinct gut-punch feeling with every Arliss Nancy release. Greater Divides is no exception.  There is something within each song that tugs at the listener to reach deep, to think about those times that maybe were less than great and reflect upon them.  Maybe we could have changed those outcomes.  Hell, maybe we could have avoided them altogether.  But, really, this is life and mistakes are part of it and that's what makes it so fun, or at least, interesting.  

"Try to remember a time when everything was different and everything felt alive," sings Kyle Oppold on "Before You Go."  Or, take Cory Call's opening on "Finches" where he laments a lost love while watching his dog chase birds.  It's simple, but it's affecting.  We've all been there- doing something so mundane that dizzily brings back some sickening memory.  

Relationship failures and successes are where Arliss Nancy shine.  These failures and successes alternate between themselves, friends, and exes from song to song.  "Much of Anything" and "Brother, I Tried" are Kyle and Cory's takes on a call to arms against all the obstacles and problems that can be frustrating for a smaller, independent band and dammit do they work.  I can almost see the massive hugs after each song.  

When I first listened to this album, I was a little put off (very slightly, mind you) by Cory's new singing style- it's a bit more high pitched.  However, that was barely an afterthought after the 2nd and 3rd listen.  This is the only kind of album I ever want Arliss Nancy to make.  I hope they continue to do this exact sort of thing for years to come.  The band is tight, the music is wonderful, the songs are as good as any the boys have ever written, and this album is one of their best. 

One of the things I've never been able to do for whatever reason has been see Arliss Nancy in concert.  I hope that changes very soon, so guys if you're reading this by some coincidence, come to D.C. and let's have a beer.  And everyone else, if you are on the fence about this album, just take the plunge and buy Greater Divides right now. 

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Greater Divides is available on Amazon, iTunes, the band's site, etc. 

Album Review: Larry Hooper - No Turning Back

Larry Hooper's No Turning Back surprised me. I did not expect the bearded everyman troubadour to go the routes he chose. It's a bold statement, and one that may lose him dedicated fans, but gain a whole new audience, or probably not. Normally, I'd vaguely summarize an album in the opening paragraph before delving into its contents, but I don't want to spoil anything …so lets dig in.

"Daydreams" leads off the album with a funky hip-hop beat that bass drops into a nu-metal sounding guitar riff. Larry then comes in with a "yeah baby" and you know this isn't going to be anything you might enjoy. The song is about working all day long, but daydreaming about skidding your pickup into your girl's drive at 5 after 5 with a 6 pack and all the romantic notions of a horn-dog 17 year old. It's an interesting about-face for the formerly thoughtful Texan, but hey, bills don't pay themselves.

"Cry Me a River" is, yes, a cover of Justin Timberlake's smash hit. While lacking the smooth pipes of Mr. Timberlake, Larry makes the song his own. In fact, he has the audacity to lead into the song with the statement "I wrote this for all them girls done me wrong." Legalities and copyright aside, Hooper proceeds to rap the entire song. He's a surprising adept rhyme dropper.

Later on, in the song "Practice Makes Perfect," a rollicking hick-hop track about shooting stuff, a strange thing happens. Though the track-listing says Courtney Patton is the vocal guest, there's actually just a slowed down sample of Rihanna's "Work." Again, I'm not sure this is legally on the up and up. It also doesn't really make sense, but Larry's trying everything here.

Help me

"I Was Wrong" is a folk-ska song that sounds a little like a Cure cover band with your uncle Mark doing lead vocals. Incongruently, the song is about Larry reconsidering his opinion of Linkin Park. I don't even know what's going on anymore.

"Fire and Brimstone" turns out to be a black metal re-imagining of the album's 4th track, the aggressively bro-country "Barabbas." I'm a little worried for my friend. Larry seems to have taken a cue from Zac Brown Band and decided to fling everything he can think of against the wall, hoping for some traction. Unfortunately, the wall is teflon coated and he's slinging Astroglide.

Though Hooper tries very hard, it doesn't all work, or rather, none of it works at all. From the veiled references to Star Wars porn parodies, to the spoken word asides about sweatbands, to the inexplicable constant profanity, No Turning Back is an absolute dumpster-fire-nado that will remove the better part of an hour from your life with no positive return. Lets hope Larry goes back to the intelligent folk-tinged country he's known for on the next try, but I have my doubts anyone will help kickstart his next effort after this raging inferno of batshit. No turning back indeed.



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If brave, you can buy No Turning Back on iTunes, CD Baby, or Amazon.

Album Review: Hollis Brown - Cluster of Pearls

A Review by Robert Dean

Many times when I hear the label “Americana” thrown around, I cringe. It’s become such a catch-all phrase, a hodge-podge of styles trying to describe one common ground: the lack of one element that’s rock or blues or country.

But, when I hear about bands doing the Americana thing from places like New York, I tend to get extra skeptical. While New York has churned out some of the best bands in history – down home blues is Chicago’s thing, and what does city slicker New York know about the country or the artist's struggle in a day where rent can financially ruin you? A lot apparently.

On Hollis Brown’s recent Record Store Day release, Cluster of Pearls, we’re witnessing a band figuring out their sound and getting the flavor just right. Even if it comes wearing a Yankees hat and likes bagels and lox instead of biscuits and gravy.

Hollis Brown capture a vibe on Cluster of Pearls that sounds like it coulda been brewed down in Muscle Shoals, with beers and smoke in hand.

I’ll admit, I went, and YouTube searched Hollis Brown’s music before this review and was middle of the road on some songs for their reliance to trying to be too poppy, maybe a little too much like a Jason Mraz with dark soul or something you’d hear in Target. I dunno. I also think dipping grilled cheese into ketchup is delicious, so whatever.

On Cluster of Pearls, the music feels different. It seems focused, maybe evolved. And apparently, after some Internet snooping, Cluster of Pearls is a collection of B-side tracks, which is nuts. This collection feels like a nod to The Band, The Flying Burrito Brothers and even some moments of The Stones in the Exile on Mainstreet era.  And if anyone’s got something to say aboutt Graham Parsons, they can just fuck right off.

The record’s opener, "Completed Fool" sounds like a funky, bluesy Hall and Oates take on Maneater, except not shitty. (Sorry 80’s dorks. I hate Yacht Rock.)
The last track, "Miracle" gives off a City and Colour vibe that’s a nice change of pace for the overall composure of the record. There are a lot of shades of Hollis Brown on the record, and it’s rad to see the different shades of their musical personalities shine through.

"Don’t Want To Miss You" is easily the best song on the record. It’s a classic bar room bummer, and it’s done so well. With its lonely beer bravado, it paints the immediate picture of a candle lit dive with too few patrons and a bored bartender wiping glasses to pass the time. Nothing’s on tv and no one’s watching anything but the world pass by. And at the end, there you are – staring into your drink with no one around to complain to. Just you and the whiskey staring back, testing you. That’s what "Don’t Want To Miss You" feels like.



There’s a little bit of everything on Cluster of Pearls, with nods to riffs straight off a Black Keys record, and harmonious melodies that a focused and together ala – you guessed it, The Band. Naturally, when hearing the jangly, foot-stomping riffs of Hollis Brown, I imagine playing shows with bands like Quiet Hollers, or Brian Fallon.

If this is any indication of Hollis Brown’s path to follow, the results will be exciting to behold. I’ll even forgive them for wearing cowboy hats in New York.

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You can only get Cluster of Pearls in record stores, if they have any left in stock, or eBay etc.

However, you can get Hollis Brown albums here http://www.hollisbrown.com/
or Amazon, etc.

Album Review: Go Run Donkey Hot!

Go Run Donkey Hot! - Sumerth
A Review by Robert Dean

Snap. 

When you get an email from a band call “Go Run Donkey Hot!” you tend to want to know more. I mean, what a name. It turns out these dudes are from Croatia and are on the shoegaze come up.

I got a chance to check out their new record Summerth, and it’s kind of like… sexy elevator music. I think if you’re into Mike Patton you’d dig this. It sounds like the sex scene in an 80’s movie with those Cinemax horns and the couple in question fall into bed with soft lighting. The dude has monster pecks, and his lady is in lacy, black lingerie. Afterward, she wears a button up shirt with nothing else. (side note: has that ever happened to anyone in real life? It feels like a movie trick; buttons take way too long to just “slip on” when there are plenty of t-shirts to go around in the conventional closet.)

That’s what Go Run Donkey Hot! sounds like - music to fuck to. It’s sleepy; it’s dreamy, and it’s layered. There’s no moment when the whole record trainwrecks and you’re holding your head in your hands wondering what the hell went wrong. Instead, Summerth is an album you can leave on in the background and get nasty to.

And with the loss of Prince, we need more of that in the world.

 

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Check 'em out here.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/GoRunDonkeyHot

Bandcamp: https://gorundonkeyhot.bandcamp.com

Album Review: Sturgill Simpson - A Sailor's Guide to Earth

Lead Us Across the Sea, Sturgill
A review by Robert Dean

Being a father, some things get to you. You start to question a lot of your life choices, what you’ve achieved, what your health is like, and what kind of legacy you’re leaving for your kids. On Sturgill Simpson’s new album, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth, the eclectic troubadour explores the ups and downs of fatherhood for his young son, the only way Sturgill Simpson knows how.

Track by track, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth is a logical follow-up to the massively successful Metamodern Sounds in Country Music – it’s even riskier, bolder and is entirely his own. The record is a complicated onion of layers, emotions, and sounds. To even call it country is almost impossible.

While country is prevalent throughout the themes of A Sailor’s Guide, the songs are darker, the songs are deeply personal, everything isn’t a story carved out of some Nashville guy’s notepad, it’s Sturgill’s actual life – his mistakes, his moments of glory. This record is a play by play of what it’s like to be a man in a world that can be cruel with absolute certainty.

But, that’s not to say the record isn’t brilliant. It’s easy to see why when other country artists are relegated to a strictly country or Americana, or roots audience while Sturgill finds love in all corners. Being one of the few to play the main stage at festivals like Coachella one weekend, and Lollapalooza, the next, Sturgill Simpson is in a world unto his own.

This batch of songs, they’re beautiful, ugly and oceanic – one minute everything feels like 1970’s Stax straight from Memphis, oozing with Soul, and the next, we’re tonally somber with the reflections of a man who’s atop of the world. The horns are vibrant and bright, they lend so much, then we’re treated to the juicy organ. There’s just so much going on; it’s almost too creamy, too delicious to fathom the heads exploding out there in country blinder land. A Sailor’s Guide to Earth is NOT for the Luke Bryan fans of the world. (Editor's note: It's not even for a lot of Americana fans, apparently)

"Keep It Between The Lines" is a groovy, funky, filthy jam. It’s pure cool that can’t be replicated; it’s the kind of song that just…happens. It’s one of those brilliant moments when it all comes together in a song and works – if Sturgill tried to recreate it at any time again in his career it would never work. "Brace For Impact," the record’s first single is a foot stomper that sets the bar pretty high upon first listen. But, in typical fashion, the album’s single isn’t even the first track, it’s near the end of the record. Instead, we’re taken down a musical road that’s long and winding with sonic overtures that feel more Pink Floyd than Waylon.

"All Around You" is almost as if Sturgill found a way to marry doo-wop and traditional country in the most decadent, salacious way, tasting like pure chocolate cake. And then there’s the elephant in the room: Sturgill's take on the Nirvana classic "In Bloom." And to be honest, it’s the only way covering Nirvana works. Kurt Cobain left a legacy that’s along the lines of Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, The Stones: when you cover the music, you’ll always be harshly judged for your vision of what perfection is.



"In Bloom" was covered in a way that would please Kurt, it’s haunting, stark and without the jagged vibrato of the original, and by doing so, the song stands on its own amongst an album that’s thick and just goddamned perfect.

Behold world, Sturgill has done it again. Buy A Sailor’s Guide To Earth right now and help us throw gasoline on the establishment while Sturgill Simpson is the preaching madman we’ve all been waiting for. Let his church welcome all those who are lost and share his message: get weird, or die tryin’.


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It's available everywhere... you don't need links.

Album Review: Flatland Cavalry - Humble Folks

Review by Trailer

This one hits the spot.

I haven't felt much like writing reviews for a while now. It's not that there hasn't been some good music put out this year - just nothing I felt I could put any passion into writing about. Also, since we've brought on the full-barrel punk energy of Robert Dean and the damn near peerless wordsmithery of Kevin Broughton, there hasn't been much need for my everyman type reviewing, but this new album from Flatland Cavalry has pulled me out of mothballs.

Flatland Cavalry's Humble Folks is also the first album of 2016 to stir up all the feelings I like to have when listening to music. From the wistfulness of "A Good Memory" to the driving introspection of "Devil Off My Back," the sentimental wanderlust of "Traveler's Song" to the sad-sack lamenting of "Goodbye Kiss," Humble Folks is a tour-de-force of emotions and textures.

"Easy on the ears, heavy on the heart" reads the description on Flatland Cavalry's website, and that couldn't be more accurate. Their sound is an easygoing mix of red dirt country, pop melodies, laid back swing, and heartworn folk. And there's so much fiddle. Lord, but I love me some fiddle and I love Laura Jane's fiddling. It's all a perfectly accessible approach but one that doesn't scrimp on the craftsmanship and songwriting.

"Tall City Blues" grabs you with its portrayal of loneliness and unfulfilled dreams amid the high-rises and concrete canyons of the city. You can just imagine the twenty-something small town boy taking the accounting job in Houston, then slowly realizing the "difference in making a living and loving what you do."

"Stompin' Grounds" rescues that dispirited fellow back to his home town where the Shiner is cheaper and colder and the people are warmer. There's a lot of that sort of longing in Flatland Cavalry's music - yearning for real interaction and authentic folks. It's a welcome and relatable desire in a world that seems to grow more mean and detached with every passing day.




Humble Folks is a great album; certainly one of my favorites of the early year, and well worth your listen. It's a familiar sound, but one that with repeated listens will reveal deeper layers and twists of melody you haven't heard before. These songs are sure to make you think, smile, hurt, and tap your foot. Sometimes all at once. That's what good music does.

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Flatland Cavalry is a no-doubter for fans of Turnpike Troubadours, Wade Bowen, The Damn Quails, and the like.

You can find Humble Folks on Lonestar Music , iTunes, etc.. (Out today)

Album Review: Shooter Jennings - Countach

Shooter Jennings - Countach
A Review by Robert Dean

One thing you can count on when it comes to Shooter Jennings is the dude does not give a fuck what you think. When everyone wanted him to do one thing, he does the complete opposite. Someone says “career suicide” and guess what? The dude will ride straight into that storm with both fingers raised.

How else could he have had the guts to record his masterpiece Black Ribbons when everyone wanted a Waylon copy? Sure, why not release a concept album that has more in common with Clutch than whatever’s playing on country radio. Shooter’s next move? Just when everyone thinks he’s gone and left them for Mars, he drops Family Man – a traditional country record that was razor sharp, and able to put folks in their place with one swoop. And with both of these choices, he was about to cement his ability to morph into anything he wants to be; that’s the power of Shooter Jennings. Let’s not get lost in forgetting The Other Life, either. It’s also so overwhelming to think about in one musical palette, but it all belongs to one man.

On Shooter’s newest record, Countach, no one could have predicted what would come next. A dizzying array of textures and sonic landscapes, Countach is a schizophrenic look into a mind that’s overflowing with musical ideas and too stubborn to stick to one thing. Countach shouldn’t work, but it does. The sounds land because the record doesn’t feel like a collection of songs (see: Black Ribbons) but an overall vision. The mood drops and swells, always daring the listener to see where they’re willing to go next.

For god’s sake, the record is a synth pop meets country, disco funk party that has cameos by the late, great Steve Young and Marilyn Manson. Putting it in a category is the impossible task not fit for any human. Some moments feel appropriate for an 80’s love scene ala Miami Vice while others speak at the darkest recesses of what we think Shooter is. Who else is capable of mixing pedal steel with pop-heavy synths?

Countach isn’t for the traditionalists, and it’s not for someone who’s expecting a return to whatever preconceived form you think Shooter Jennings needs to adhere to. There is no form. There is only what he chooses to pursue.

 Oddly, I feel this Bruce Lee quote best describes Shooter Jennings musical vision:

 “Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way around or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”

 If this quote means something to you in how you feel about music, buy Countach – you’ll be better for it and grasp its vision. 

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Countach is available at BCR Media, iTunes, Amazon, Spotify, etc.

Album Review: Black Rhino - Black Rhino EP

Black Rhino - Black Rhino EP

A Review by Robert Dean

Chicago has always had a thriving music scene. While some decades are better than others for output, there’s always a crop of bands doing it right. Black Rhino is an up and comer that’s on the “doing it right” musical side of the tracks. And thank God, for a long while too many bands were way too into copying Disturbed. The Smashing Pumpkins phase has passed, and no one wants to copy Alkaline Trio any longer. Essentially, the cultural appropriation of Chicago bands is over currently.

But, back to Black Rhino:

Being a newer band, Black Rhino are admittedly finding their sound, but the e.p. they just dropped has some pretty wonderful moments on it. I don’t even know if the e.p. has a name, but I know it’s just been released on their Facebook page, and it doesn’t suck, hence me taking the time to review them.

The Black Rhino e.p. is a fascinating look at a band that’s very much a work in progress. The songs are a little all over the place but leave you hopeful that these dudes could provide a nice kick in the teeth to Chicago’s stagnant music community. The music feels legitimate and heartfelt.

A beautiful touch of Black Rhino’s sound throughout the e.p. is that it’s not shy about leaning on musical influences. While the band is young, it’s not a bummer to hear traces of Beatles riffs or a little nod to some Sonic Youth here or there. It’s actually kind of nice.

"King Coma" is easily the stand out track on the e.p. without a doubt. It’s a solid mixture of Fugazi and At The Drive-in guitar riffs with a schizophrenic vocal style that matches perfectly. The groove is crooked, and the guitars are a little off timed, which makes it perfect. The overall expression of "King Coma" is frantic and maybe a little unsure of itself, but I like that – it’s got fire.



"Raincloud" is the other Black Rhino standout. It’s a little reminiscent of Alice In Chain’s "Got Me Wrong," but it evokes a mood, an aura of accepting that life is pretty fucked up. The vocal layering is spot on, vintage Stone Temple Pilots, which when done correctly is a welcomed treat.

With folks a little tired of music sounding like it’s straight from a Mario Brothers game, it’s nice to hear a band that’s got more in common with the 90’s style of rock and roll than anything we’ve heard recently. There’s more classic Pearl Jam here than anything from the 00’s, and I’m perfectly fine with guitar riffs touched by Stone Gossard or someone grabbing a megaphone and chanting like Scott Weiland used to.

If this e.p. is any signal of the direction of Black Rhino, the future looks bright from these Chicago boys.

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You can hear Black Rhino EP here: https://soundcloud.com/blackrhinochicago/sets/black-rhino-ep

Album Review: White Fire - Burned in Effigy

*salty language and drug references*

White Fire - Burned in Effigy

A Review by Robert Dean

Attn: freakazoids who like bands like Coalesce, Botch, Converge, but still like to chill and smoke hella weed to bands like Mountain of Wizard, Sleep, or whatever doom the guy at the gas station always talks to you about.

White Fire is a band that you should give your hard earned Internet time for a few spins. The now-defunct St. Louis band is one of those bands that while they’re not around anymore kinda hurts because they’re really fucking good. I can’t say if they got so depressed about living in St. Louis that was the critical factor in their demise, but I do know that it’s a major bummer.

The songs are well rounded and offer some mellow boysetsfire vibes while leaning on that smoke-obsessed stoner that heshers adore. One their ep Burned in Effigy, we’re treated to some moments that harken to lesser known bands like The National Acrobat, or even Keelhaul.

If you’re looking for some solid jams to stroke your beard to, get on this White Fire shit. It delivers on the metal with some touches of prog as the ep delves deeper – which is cool because luckily, it never gets shitty like Mastodon has. I’d take White Fire any day over that sad fest any day of the year.

Sorry, you had to call it a day boys, the screaming guy community is worse off for it.

I give this record a seven bong pulls out of ten.

https://whitefire1.bandcamp.com

Album Review: Caleb Caudle - Carolina Ghost

Caleb Caudle - Carolina Ghost

A Review by Robert Dean

The thing about Caleb Caudle is he’s not what you expect, like not even sort of. Despite having friends all over the spectrum of country music, Caleb is very much doing his own damn thing.

Sonically, Caleb’s new record Carolina Ghost has more in common with 1980’s stalwarts like Travis Tritt, Randy Travis, Alan Jackson or even the Kentucky Headhunters than anything Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson. And you know what? That’s pretty fucking cool.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about some of the gritty throwback stuff, but I’ll be the first to tell you the term “outlaw” is played out. It’s good to see an artist have the nuts to step out there amongst the sea of posers, armed with a clear vision, going rogue from the trends, and announcing backyard music is cool again.

Caleb Caudle has given you a gift: it's ok to want to pop on a record and drink a beer in the yard. You don't have to be at the juke joint, or pine for the days of the Armadillo in Austin. Nope. This is about as fucking Americana as it gets: good tunes, simple music and honesty worn like a badge of courage. The exact thing folks try to do but seemingly end up sounding like shitty copies of Bruce Springsteen. Carolina Ghost inspires those moments where it’s ok to slow dance to the radio, or just shut up and let the music do the talking.

Carolina Ghost is a throwback for anyone who’s in their 30’s (Editors note: or 40's!) and whose parents listened to country music, or watched that White Horse show where all the white people wore matching denim outfits.  Carolina Ghost feels like an old pair of slippers, it’s warm and inviting – there’s no posturing or ultra serious brooding, or photos of empty whisky bottles. Instead, the songs are layered, bright and offer a glimpse back into an era of country music that many are extremely tied to.

One thing that sounds out throughout Carolina Ghost is its sense of identity; that it stands on its own and behind its beautiful songwriting. Caleb’s move from New Orleans back to Carolina feels signature on this record, like the chaos of the city left an impression that will mark him forever, but the calling of the back roads delivered him back to the feet of his heritage.

One doesn’t think of the Carolinas as vogue and a hot, trendy spot to live in, and for this message in a bottle to the country he loves, Caudle has done an excellent job at showing you what it really feels like to breathe the country air – and without any of the cliché trappings so many fall to.

Carolina Ghost ain’t Folsom Prison, it ain’t the shuck and jive sound of the Nashville machine, and it ain’t trying to sew a Hank Williams patch on the back of a warrior vest. And you know what? That’s pretty fucking cool. 

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Carolina Ghost is available on Amazon (vinyl) and Bandcamp.

Album Review: Vision of Disorder - Razed to the Ground

Vision of Disorder - Razed to the Ground

A Review by Robert Dean

This review is months late, but in the spirit of “better late than never” – I’d like to extend a sincere HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT to the bros in Vision of Disorder. On their new record, Razed to The Ground, VOD have finally delivered the record their fans wanted: a logical continuation of their seminal record Imprint that all but left the late 90’s in its wake. 

While VOD went through a couple of phases and eventually broke up, their fans remained loyal to the past and still clinging to those old records that dropped on Roadrunner years ago. But, all of this plays into the greater Vision of Disorder story: it’s always felt like they were a move ahead of the curve, or just behind whatever trend was gripping metal at the time. 

VOD were never big enough to get those big score tours or albums, and that’s always been what their fans wear as a badge of honor because to get and understand Vision of Disorder isn’t for everyone and that’s what makes them honest. 

Vision of Disorder is a workingman’s hardcore band. They evolved, took risks and tried their hands at making music that means something, but they never did without the “all or nothing” mentality. If they believed in safety nets, they’d have never released From Bliss to Devastation, which if you follow musical trends, they were WAY ahead, on the whole, stoner/Clutch thing but the problem was that sound didn’t gel with their legacy as brutal hardcore dudes. 

From Bliss to Devastation isn’t a bad record, it’s just a jarring when put in comparison to other legacies, just as Cave In who went from defining Boston hardcore to sounding like the Foo Fighters, and then back to hardcore again. In metal, people don’t like reinvention unless it’s been explicit in your musical DNA since the jump. VOD wasn’t one of those bands, and people freaked the fuck out because they went from pile on’s and ESP guitars to Stratocasters and Sabbath riffs. 

So, that decision to buck the musical trends didn’t pan out. Oh well. 

Had Razed to The Ground dropped about fifteen years ago, it would be a wooly mammoth sized deal, but, unfortunately, a lot of the dudes who used to head walk and finger point at VOD shows across the country, are like dads and have 401K’s now. So, getting asses into clubs and record stores is a challenge. And when you’re dealing with the kids of today, all they understand is super slow breakdowns and ripping off Meshuggah, like they did a decade prior with At The Gates. 

Somehow, though, VOD falls within the cracks. Razed to The Ground is a fantastic metalcore record with lightning fast riffs and just enough fuck you that old dudes might consider punching one of their iPhone screens over. This is the record Vision of Disorder fans always wanted. 

Sonically, Razed To The Ground is like a baseball bat dipped in gasoline, covered in nails and then brought down directly on an unsuspecting skull. It’s like drinking a case of beer and pissing in an enemy’s wounds. It’s angry, sincere and pulls absolutely no punches. There’s little doubt this record deserves the acclaim of their earlier work. The classic VOD time signatures are there, as along with the bubbling hatred for mankind that marks every track. 

It’s a real shame VOD aren’t touring like they used to, but we should be so happy to get such a fantastic record that erases all pretext, and frankly fucking exists at all. The portrait of what VOD has become has scars, burns and bruises, but what’s left is tragic and beautiful at the same time. There’s little room for anything other than a hoisting of a beer in salute to the madness that is Vision of Disorder and from this fat, old dude – it feels great to say “Welcome back fellas. We’ve missed you.”

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Razed to the Ground is available on iTunes and Amazon.

Album Review: Quiet Hollers - s/t

Quiet Hollers - s/t
A Review by Robert Dean

It still escapes me that Quiet Hollers aren’t the darlings of Pitchfork, Paste, or every other music blog covering cool bands that end up on Coachella stages. These dudes should be getting extended interviews in VICE or getting asked what kind of truck stop food they love in the pages of Rolling Stone. 

But, that moment is yet to come and typically, I’d chalk it up to the world not being ready or the moment being maybe, just not there yet. This time, though, I demand fucking action. 

Quiet Hollers deserve to be selling out big rooms and touring the nation not in a broken down van, but in one of those nice gas guzzlers with a guy’s who’s job it is to drive the bus and let them enjoy playing video games on a tv in the “lounge.”  

Quiet Hollers are the perfect example of a band we’d of been peeing our pants over in that “just before everything is available on the internet” phase in the early 00’s that dudes my age long for in some kind of twisted romantic way. Because most kids have shitty taste in music and they like music made by guys name “Crizzly” (Don’t ask me.) All of these awesome bands have to struggle to make a dent in the world, because you know, music isn’t on tv anymore, no one listens to the radio and people think computers are instruments. (Pro tip: they’re not and that EDM shit sucks.) And so all of these rad bands don’t get the coverage they deserve, instead – people flock to the stuff that’s easily tossed in their laps and taken at face value.

Editors note: I stand by my EDM sucks quote. COME AT ME BRO. But, I digress: 

On their new self-titled record, Quiet Hollers go light years past their Americana/Lucero/Ryan Bingham styled sound on I Am The Morning and leave it in the dust. On S/T they explore a much different territory that calls upon styles like post-rock, indie, straight rock and roll, but some moments feel like bands like REM or Talking Heads rather than Waylon or Willie inspired them. To maybe even put a finer point on it, Quiet Hollers feel like the logical heirs to the throne of My Morning Jacket and their ilk. 

Quiet Hollers S/T is a collection of beautiful writing, layered, brilliant songs. The riffs hit like Louisville Sluggers, without relying on cheap tricks to push the songs over the wall, but instead – they just work. They’re honest, working class sonnets about the tribulations of life as a human on a planet full of completely fucked up people. The record isn’t short existentialism either; it’s got plenty of moments where the human condition to be put through society’s meat grinder is front and center, namely on tracks like "Mont Blanc" or "Departure."

Do the right thing and buy a copy of this record. Then walk into your best friend’s house, throw whatever trash they’re listening to out of the window and accept the consequences. When the friend gets all aggro on you, break out the whiskey and shut the fuck up cuz Quiet Hollers got a lot to say.

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Quiet Hollers (s/t) is available on iTunes 

Amazon

and the band's website. 

Album Review: Kara Clark - The Key

Kara Clark - The Key
A review by Robert Dean

One of the most endearing things about Kara Clark is that Kara Clark does not give a fuck what you think. Kara’s Nashville career has been filled with darkness and songs that slither from the speakers with an intense, personal sound that demands attention from the listener, and all on her terms.

Kara could have played the game and strapped on a sparkly pair of jeans and sang about tired, cliché topics beaten into the ground, and Nashville just adores. But, Kara Clark chose the path of writing her songs in a town that’s chock full of Yes Men/Women. And you know what? That’s how you do it. 

In today’s Nashville climate, you’ve got two choices: Play the game or burn the stadium to the ground. And for what it’s worth, Kara’s chosen to flick her Bic, and that’s pretty goddamned respectable. 

On Kara’s new ep, The Key, it’s more channeling her rock and roll side than traditional country, which works well with the unique, varying styles of Kara’s vocal delivery. 

The hooks are big, and the emotion is palpable instead of that all too slick typical country sound to draw the listener in with something just to tap the steering wheel to. 

The Key is more Lucinda Williams that Loretta Lynn, more of Bonnie Raitt after a long night out on the town than Dolly Parton. The Key’s got the kind of guts that feel like a nasty pair of jeans, but the ones that fit just right. 

There’s an overwhelming sense of foreboding and darkness throughout The Key, which is a feat, considering Ms. Clark isn’t exactly Sunshine and Rainbows on a good day. The songs feel pissed off, almost vengeful. I’d be hard pressed to think Kara didn’t have someone in mind on a few of these tracks, cuz there’s a very real feeling “die, motherfucker die” happening. A woman scorned would be putting it lightly, but hey I could be talking out of my ass, but…. I wouldn’t want Kara Clark to write a fuck you song about me; that’s for sure. 

The one thing that’s on front street throughout The Key is the unabashed honesty in the lyrics. They feel personal and with both middle fingers drawn skyward. She muses deeply about “riding in the backseat,” which feels like sarcastic eye roll toward Nashville’s elite in their sagging pants and backward ball caps. That’s exactly what a lot of country music is missing stories that matter, not bro jams about whores in trucks. Fuck that.

There’s a slow revolution happening in the country music, and I’m one of the optimistic that when the rebels come to power, Kara will be in the thick of the mix, with smeared eyeliner, a bottle of Jack Daniels in her fist, and a guitar case full of songs people need to hear.

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The Key is available on Kara's website, and we'll let you know when it makes its way to digital download sites.

Album Review: We Lost the Sea - Departure Songs

Please welcome writer Robert Dean, formerly of Moonrunners, to FTM as a reviewer! He's got a writing itch and nowhere to scratch it, so we're gonna let him review whatever the hell he wants to on here. Metal, post-rock, country, instrumental... it's all fine with me. Lend him a few minutes and an ear and you might just discover something you had no idea you'd love.

We Lost the Sea - Departure Songs

A review by Robert Dean

I’m gonna be honest, when it comes to instrumental stuff, I typically hear it as background noise. Very rarely does an instrumental record affect like, say an incredible rock and roll band, or even some seriously filthy southern hip hop. I got issues with all kinds of shit, and I get weird and picky when it comes to music in my old man life cycle known as 34 years old. So whateves. 

That’s not to say finding an instrumental that blows my socks off doesn’t happen, though. I’m a big fan of Pelican (fucking Australasia, amirite?!), and I’ve been known enjoy some Don Caballero in my day.  I enjoy the monolith depression of Neurosis, and I like Today is The Day because I like wearing all black and sport a beard. 

But, with We Lost The Sea’s Departure Songs, I was in for an entirely different experience. I know it’s my job as a music critic, or more appropriately “dude who likes to write about records” to explain what a record means, or how it feels with a lot of lush words, and overly used adjectives. While I totally agree with you, I’m struggling to explain the thought process that I’m trying to string together to convey my gratitude for Departure Songs. 

Simply put, I’m thankful this record exists. 

We Lost The Sea are some rad dudes from Sydney, who are that classic case of liking rad music, playing it, but allowing for that unique Australian isolation creep into their sound. I mean, they’re not rocking the didgeridoo or anything, but there’s a certain level of non-American non-pompousness that’s omnipresent and it’s glorious. Cuz, let’s be honest – a bunch of dudes from the States or London are perfectly capable of creating something beautiful one moment, but then fucking it way up the next – to epic proportions. This record needed to be made in Australia to earn its tiger stripes.

Instead, Departure Songs is like a coloring book of emotions. The songs aren’t these crushing riff monsters or intricate Radiohead knockoffs; rather they’re a layer cake of feelings, thoughts and patience for those moments that if you play music, you know you’ve heard the proverbial “it” all musicians chase. 

The songs on the record are bleak, dark, but aren’t depressing. They kind of feel like when you’re alone in your car singing Adele: super happy coupled with super sad, but singing those words makes you feel human because it’s relatable to your experience. We Lost The Sea manage to pull this feat off, but with chorus chants, multiple guitars, and buildups that leave you breathless – and done with no vocals. 

On the record’s first track, A Gallant Gentleman, it’s the perfect showcase of what the band is capable of; it’s tragic and sets the mood for the record immediately. Not to be outdone by the magnificent artwork of Departure Songs, A Gallant Gentleman feels as if you’re walking along the bottom of the ocean, invisible to life moving along at its own speed. The wildlife swims past you, and you’re walking toward the unknown. Above, if you crane your neck just right, you’ll see the brightness above, but will you reach the top in your lifetime? These are the barrage of mental images. We Lost The Sea create with their songs. 

Each track on Departure Songs was crafted with the idea of an over-arching story that spans human existence. Influenced by the failures of mankind, there’s a sense of calm, but married to honest panic due to our existential nature as apes driving cars while creating religions that kill people. It’s all here, and it’s all scarred into these songs. 

Departure Songs isn’t an album that will knock you over immediately like say a sweet Slayer riff from back in 1492 because it doesn’t need to be. Instead, it’s a story that sucks you in a la Tom Waits. In songs like Challenger I & II, you’re tempted to explore the world without a seatbelt, daring the cosmos to fuck with you because in your headphones is your challenge to achieve something beautiful. 

If these songs are any indication of that lack of fear and total commitment to the heart, you should pay a service to your record player and invest in a copy of vinyl Departure Songs because it will undoubtedly become a cornerstone in your collection for decades to come.

Check out their music here: https://welostthesea.bandcamp.com

And pick up the newly released American vinyl this week: http://translationlossrecords.bigcartel.com/product/we-lost-the-sea-departure-songs-2xlp-preorder

Album Review: The Bottle Rockets - South Broadway Athletic Club

By Kevin Broughton

In the beginning, there was Uncle Tupelo. And the Bottle Rockets.

Technically, there was Gram Parsons, then Steve Earle. But if there’s a Ground-and-Year Zero for the alt.country revival/renaissance (whatever that was), it’s the early 1990s and a stretch of the Mississippi River Valley near St. Louis.  

A public divorce – really more of a crib death – did Uncle Tupelo in. And almost a quarter-century later, the Bottle Rockets are still getting it done. Few acts in the genre before or since have captured the blue-collar, everyman ethos the way front man/lyricist Brian Henneman has, and on South Broadway Athletic Club, he’s eased into middle age comfortably and without losing a step.

Recorded in his native St. Louis – and for the first time, at a slow enough place to ensure quality control, by Henneman’s telling – South Broadway is the band’s 11^th studio album and first with Bloodshot Records. A note about the label: No indie outfit has done more, as their Twitter bio (@BSHQ) points out to “champion the music that lurks between the labels since 1994.” Just check the talent-rich roster…and support an artist or two by making a purchase.

“Monday (Everytime I Turn Around)” opens the album in Henneman’s trademark wry style with a dash of Roger Miller-esque word play. “There’s just no controllin’ this rollin’ with the flow, when it’s almost have past now a while ago.” An aging cow-punk rocker meets the digital age, more exasperated than pissed.

Henneman’s characters have historically ranged somewhere on the worn-down/desperate/cynical continuum. This time around some of them actually enjoy a bit of whimsy.

“XOYOU” is a river rat’s tribute to Tom Jones. If the Welsh crooner/sex symbol had grown up in Festus, Mo., he’d have had just such a raw sensibility. With a twang.

“Smile” is a simple, happy love song. Two and a half minutes of pop sensibility that you can’t not like; it’s as efficient and optimistic as early Heartbreakers.

But the best two-minute toe-tapper of the bunch is “Dog:” Sometimes life is really just this simple. I love my dog.

God, ain’t it the truth? The Bottle rockets have arrived at a spot, looked around, and said, This ain’t all bad. It’s a little different, but all good.

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South Broadway Athletic Club is available from Bloodshot, iTunes, Amazon, etc.

Album Review: Turnpike Troubadours - s/t

Turnpike Troubadours feels like the perfect album to self-title. As good, nay great, as they already were, this is the album where the Oklahoma band finds its best self.

I hold this band in high regard: they've graced the upper reaches of FTM year-end lists, I tout them on social media frequently, and "Gin Smoke and Lies" has been my ringtone for a couple of years now. That said, I've always felt there was a certain grayness to TPT's sonic palette. Maybe it was production, maybe the individual players were a little "too" in sync… I'm not well-versed enough in this sort of thing to discern - I just know there was a vague sameness, even amidst the unquestionably peerless talent.

On this record, they let a little color and light in, and it's just enough to fully realize the absurd potential of this group. There's space, separation, and vividness in the sound. The slower songs soar, the rockers punch, and there's fiddle and steel galore. On a good set of speakers, this thing is stunning.

Their writing was already excellent, but they've even upped their game in that department. "The Bird Hunters" tells the tale of a man coming to terms with an ended relationship over the course of a quail hunt. This could come across as hokey or forced in the hands of a lesser act. The Troubadours make it a song-of-the-year candidate, epic, cinematic, and immersive.

Later on there's the heartfelt meta-song "A Little Song," an updated version of sure-fire modern Red Dirt classic "Easton & Main," and a rocking take on alt-country legends Old 97's "Doreen." 

Other standouts include all the songs on the album. There are no bad cuts, and only a couple that strike me as anything less than top shelf. Certainly, time could fade my adulation, but that may be more from over-listening than a change of opinion.

You're unlikely to hear another country album better than Turnpike Troubadours in 2015. It's a benchmark, and hopefully a platform for this deserving band to find greater recognition on the national music scene.

If you need a grade: A

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Turnpike Troubadours is available on iTunes, Amazon, Lone Star Music, etc.