Tobacco City

Two albums in, Tobacco City continues to be a conduit piped directly into the empty lots, darkened bars, and Formica dreams of the American Midwest. Scratched and patched by pay day sorrows, but mixed with a nostalgia for a more carefree youth, the new album is filled with deeply sighed odes to times when responsibilities were scarce, the days stretched long, and the nights seemed endless. The band ably captures the years when you’re expected to quit waking up on couches and porch swings, reluctantly creeping into responsibility with eyes still locked on the years close to the rear view. Quite a few of their contemporaries have gone cosmic, but Tobacco City remain grounded, finding themselves tied up with Grievous Angels rather than the heat flicker quiver of The Burritos and points further West. The clear-eyed croons sound good on ‘em and underpin their pining all the more.

Chris and Lexi have a winking ease to their rapport and it informs the best moments on Horses. The pair’s vocals wrap around one another like a denim dream, leaning on each other and letting the record’s warmth radiate through the speakers. Behind them, the band refines the sound marked their excellent debut, Tobacco City, USA, deepening their studio sheen and aligning the record with the ‘70s classics that have served as inspiration. A few familiar names even show up, with Jen Powers and Matthew Rolin kicking in some guitar and dulcimer on the short, dreamlike interludes that tie the album together. The band came on strong on the debut, but on Horses, they prove that they’ve no intentions of fading away, turning in a sophomore album that sinks their hooks deeper into the listener than ever before.

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