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Patterson Hood and Mike Cooley soldier on defiantly, having peacefully parted ways with Jason Isbell, DBT’s twenty something late comer of a wunderkind. Isbell’s absence only seems to fuel the aggression. Hood’s garage poetry and reverb laden hooks are as powerful as ever, menacingly telling the ongoing stories of low rent southern Americans staring down a bleak future. Cooley, always less prolific, spikes the record with a few gems that keep him in contention for most underrated songwriter since Townes Van Zant.
It’s a trip, man.