A self-titled third album was always going to be a return to basics. That’s what self-titled albums are for. Two Gallants seem to like playing up their Southern blues and folk influences, but in reality what they make is blanched alt-country. The album is more in the tradition of Conor Oberst than of Robert Johnson or Woody Guthrie. This isn’t at all surprising considering their berth on Saddle Creek. Most of the songs float by without much to distinguish them. The highlight is the opening track, The Dealer which has a certain discordance, and tinges of Malkmus. Other than this, even piling on the emotion on Fly Low Carrion Crow or picking up the beat on Despite What You’ve Been Told can’t save the album from blending into standard Saddle Creek fare. Nothing new or original is provided. There’s a sense that they don’t particularly want to provide anything new or original either. And that’s fine. It’s not that Two Gallants aren’t enjoyable - they’re just no effort.

Karl McDonald Generally either listening to music or asleep. Sometimes both simultaneously. Those Geese Were Stupefied
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