Hoarse

David Eugene Edwards and his melancholia-drenched posse favor the dark grandeur that comes with mournful swathes of countrified guitar, heavy-hearted violins, pianos and accordions, of lonesome banjo picking, and Ennio Morricone tautness. Add a dash of Dylanesque roots-philosophy and the result is a forlorn dustbowl saloon bar where Nick Cave woefully sinks bourbons with the Gun Club -- only moments after a loved one's funeral parade.