Dead Western – Suckle At the Supple Teats of Time

If I had a name as manly and cool as Troy Mighty, I wouldn’t bother adopting a stage name. But then again, if I had a singing voice as mysterious and ghostly as Troy Mighty’s, I’d have to concede that Dead Western is the most appropriate moniker imaginable. Particularly since Suckle at the Supple Teats of Time proffers lingering, alt-folk coma-ballads not unlike what dead country stars might write after decades haunting ghost town residences.

The music would be broadly accessible were it not for Mighty’s tones, his otherworldly timbre is like a bollard block to a casual listener. He has the androgynous lilt of Anthony Hegarty but dropped several octaves, transformed into a rumbling and ghoulish bassoon that exudes sadness and sinister surrender. Yet it's also the chief point of interest: as his crypt whispers interact with violin and, most unsettlingly, musical saw, the blend is remarkable - if not always entirely pleasant. [Chris Buckle]