Where do you go when you've been shot in the stomach and vultures are already circling your soon-to-be corpse? Where do you hide from the Southern Reaper, who rides upon his skeletal steed, with a scythe in one hand and a shotgun in the other? How much peyote is too much? And how much exactly does an ounce of tumbleweed cost?
Fear not, for the Tumbleweed Dealer has returned stronger and more baked than ever to answer all of these questions. At the border between the Wild West and drug-induced psychedelia stands Seb Painchaud and his gang of ghoulish cowboys, all bearing arms, pipes and enough weed to make Al Cisneros sense a disturbance in the smoke. Western Horror is the band's second album, released just today, and, if you know what's good for you, you have awaited this album with trembling hands and heavy breathing. Was it worth the wait?
HELL YEAH BITCH!
Tumbleweed Dealer might have just perfected a new genre of music that I have decided to call country-doom, even though it reeks of many other delicious flavors. There's a lot of late-Earth influence going on here, as Seb Painchaud conjures an intricate weaving of shamanistic, Wild West-tinged riffing with some bluesy hues and tons of melody, complimented by some insanely groovy bass work and simple yet atmospheric drumming. I sort of knew what to expect, as I have listened to their previous work A LOT. Hitting play on the album's opener, aptly named Bluntlust, has managed to blow me away. The entire song exudes summer vibes through every note and you think you're in for a fun ride, but things quickly take a turn for the sinister with Slow Walk Through A Ghost Town. From that point on, Western Horror constantly changes gears and alternates between moods, but one thing remains constant: the band's penchant for creating mesmerizing tunes that could be the soundtrack to a spaghetti Western horror movies about skeletal cowboys and ghastly rancheros. Repetition and various motives are used with confidence and grace and, by the time the album was over, I realized I ended up loving this band even more.
Tumbleweed Dealer is like the bastard son of Earth - they sucked on Dr. Dylan Carlson's tit enough to get a taste of the country drone they have professed in their recent years, but then they broke into daddy's medicine cabinet, took a few sips of whatever they could find in there, grabbed the family shotgun and went out to terrorize the West. Western Horror is their best work yet and one of the most exciting albums to come out in 2014 so far. Lock'n load!
No comments:
Post a Comment