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Reader @nickpepito sent me this album because one of his friends is in this band. He didn’t think I’d like it but sent it to me hoping for an unbiased opinion, for whatever reason, I am not sure which.

I listened to the first track (Pendergast Machine) a group of people and then immediately rushed home and pulled out $500 worth of headphone equipment—-my old pair of Sennheiser HD-580 and a custom built amp—-blew off the dust of two years of neglect, plugged it all in and together, and then lied down in bed and got ready to fall into what I was hoping would be a ridiculously awesome album.

Luckily I wasn’t let down. Track number two, Hold My Feet to the Fire, sets the tone for the whole album. It is some sort of combination of Kings of Leon mixed with Old 97’s mixed with Akron/Family and all around a really good time. (If I was to pick at one thing, the chant at the end could have been repeated five or six times, and I hope if I see them live [on August 7th in Los Angeles, of course] that they know to extend that rave-up at the very end for all the crowd’s enjoyment.) If you can listen to this song and not become excited then I don’t know what you’re doing here. (My favorite part of the whole thing, and why I am so glad I hooked up my audiophile cans to listen to this album, is how the chant at the end suddenly ends and we’re left with a softly finger-picked guitar and a whisper of a voice left still singing away in the background.)

Fourth track, What Shepherds of These Hills shows more depth than Kings of Leon could ever muster even if they tried really hard (and if they did muster, it would sound silly and insincere), a moody and unorthodox stomp with sinister lyrics and an ominous vibe, touched up with clinks and clanks that come at you from various directions and give the whole thing a Flannery O’Connor american gothic sort of vibe that makes me all moon eyed and infatuated.

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Close Every Valve to Your Bleeding Heart is an intense song. I don’t know what else to say about it, but that it is haunting and beautiful and powerful and reminds me so much of the moments where the death of hope hit me too hard.

The album as a whole—-genius title, Novel Sounds of the Nouveau South, aside—-is brilliantly paced and constructed. It doesn’t lag in the last third like most albums do, though while lying in bed So Quiet They’re Loud actually lulled me into a pleasant dream, and over all I don’t really have any complaints about it at all. If I was to assign a numerical value to this album it would be…

10.

Buy it.