Ennio Morricone is evoked for Holy. It’s the kind of song that bangs bones together as percussion, makes you dig your own grave, then prays for forgiveness as it blows smoke from its pistol and kicks dirt on your lifeless body before riding off on a mule into a burning sunset. My Brother The Gun changes things pace somewhat with some string parts drenched in Latin attitude and a vocal that finds Caughthran on top of his game. Hit the tequila, pop this on and try to resist the urge to wear your table cloth as a poncho. It can’t be done. And fans of The Bronx should embrace it.
Likewise this is no Jazz Odyssey-like self-indulgence. Anyone who caught both their sets at ATP will tell you that their Mariachi set was every bit as intense and focused as the “straight” set. From an unusual source this may well be, but this is a great album nonetheless. Even if you don’t take it as seriously as the band, it will at least brighten up any barbeques you decide to have in what remains of the summer.