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The cowboy bandwagon is in full effect as Bobby Tenderloin takes us into a rough-and-tumble universe filled with tragic and entertaining Western tropes.
If the name didn’t give it away, this is suitable for slow-dancing cowboys, at least as they exist in our imagination. The crooning voice floats lithely over western swing and doo-wop influences to make you either start or stop howling at the moon.
Ty’s arsenal of instrumentation continues to grow, as he fills out his domain of prog-rock, stoner drones, glam trash, and other Seventies detritus with keyboards, more keyboards, and an evolving sense of studio wizardry.
Years from now, the early 2020s will timestamp short albums recorded and released during isolation the way protest songs on the pop charts mark the late ‘60s. This one would be near the top of the heap, intimate yet meticulous.
Callahan’s deep gruff voice meanders through acoustic non-linear arrangements like a limo driver telling a story, completely oblivious to their own cowboy poetry.
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