Rating: NNNN
On his first studio album in nine years, Dylan Carlson leaves behind the metallic drone on which Earth built their legacy. In its place is a sprawling take on the desert and the open road, and on Americana itself (a landscape where Carlson, the buyer of Kurt Cobain’s last gun, resides). Earth’s penchant for sloth is matched with the reverby twang of Ennio Morricone, like a spaghetti western soundtrack at 16 rpm. A compelling portrait of solitude and movement without destination.
