This world-weary garage-rock trio’s music is tailor-made for a pre-pandemic era of basement shows.
Almost everything that gets romanticized about crowded basement rock shows feels like a nightmare in a pandemic: sweating bodies pressed together, shouts, whoops, and spittle all trapped under a low-slung ceiling. Country Westerns were made for such an environment. Blending world-weariness into rambunctious, twangy rock, they’re a bar band for an era marked by a painful lack of both bars and bands. Despite the bum hand, though, they overthrow pessimism and head straight for a jolt to summon high spirits out of bedeviled circumstances.
Guitarist and singer Joel Plunkett made his name alongside acts like Gentleman Jesse and The Weight, while drummer Brian Kotzur counted himself among the revolving Silver Jews personnel. (David Berman was the sole witness to some of the earliest proto-Country Westerns rehearsals.) They recruited bassist Sabrina Rush from State Champion, and her melody-focused lines round out their energetic sound with a sense of groove.
Country Westerns called upon Matt Sweeney, who has brought his brawny guitar style to Run the Jewels, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, and the cult-favorite chooglers Endless Boogie, to produce. With his abiding love of great riffs, he’s a natural fit, ensuring that the band’s crackling solos emerge in complement to their restless chugging. The band coasts between good-natured rowdiness, road-dog grit, and ascetic wisdom, projecting the kind of personality that might be good company for a beer or six on the porch. Plunkett weighs getting “caught losing on a lousy day” against his own obligation to keep picking himself up again with “It’s On Me,” his guitar solo shaking loose any sense of deep regret. It’s bittersweet but tentatively positive, with Plunkett promising to “take an extra step or two” to avoid repeating past mistakes.
On songs like “Gentle Soul,” “It’s Not Easy,” and “Times to Tunnels,” they keep things relatively subdued, but the trio are at their best when they’re hitting the gas. “Time don’t heal the way it used to,” Plunkett acknowledges in his weathered voice on “I’m Not Ready,” as Rush and Kotzur settle into a hum to launch his guitar vamp. It’s in moments like these that the band’s chemistry explodes, bottling the sort of energy that can only ever be fully experienced live.
The band’s closing track, “Two Characters in Search of a Country Song,” makes for a tidy closing argument for the trio’s strengths. Plunkett draws on genre signifiers like Jesse James, 18-wheelers, and Calamity Jane to sketch a doomed relationship, while the guitars convey pained resolve. Country Westerns touch on at familiar frameworks without clinging too hard to the specifics. Their debut feels ragged in all the right places, a testament from a band that shoulders the weight of disappointment, lost years, and heartbreak without allowing it to become a burden.
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