Longtime RSTB faves Trummors are back with a new one on the speakers and the desert air has only continued to cure their cosmic country credentials. The band’s latest album, 5, finds the band deep into the traditions of the ‘70s brothers and sisters that came before them, kicking choruses like Gram and EmmyLou, or sparring swoons like a less traditional George and Tammy. Pulling in a rather sizable West Coast continent to help them massage the new album into something timeless and true, the record finds more than a few familiar names on the dock. As they decamped to L.A. for the album’s recording, old friends and kindred sprits like Clay Finch (Mapache), Dan Horne (Circles Around The Sun), Colby Buddelmeyer (The Tyde) and Tiffanie Lanmon (Night Shop) found themselves under the sway of Lerner and Cunningham’s gingham gaze. There’s a familial feel to the record, and its easy to see that everyone here has locked into Trummors’ afternoon alchemy.

The record is the band’s most lived in and loose. As much as Dropout City felt like a band bringing their vision to fruition, 5 feels like the duo comfortable at their peak. The cosmic country that began to brush the big sky reclines across the speakers. Songs like “Jalisco Kid” feel like they’ve always been a part of the Americana canon and the band takes to George Strait’s “I Can Still Make Cheyenne” like seasoned vets summoning the saunter-slung ghosts of their Taos environs. It’s that pacing that makes 5 such a stunner. There’s often an urge to crank out a dancefloor filler, something to run ravage on the jukebox, but all the songs here are made for the evening dip of the sun over the hills and a tumbler of whiskey.

The closest they get to a proper churn might be “Coldwater Blue,” but even that’s a song for hazy headed mornings, chasing the night’s demons away. I appreciate an album built for comfort — a leathered mooring that’s easy on the soul. No note out of place, the record is practiced but not polished to a shine. There’s a loose-slung authenticity to Trummors’ sound and a taste of tequila on the tongue. Somewhere over the ridge smoke seasons the air and when the breezes pull in off the desert, the sound of steel, strums, and a lonesome harmonica feel like old friends.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

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