Country rock comes in many flavors. While the public thirst for minty, freshly showered hornyman doubletonk and cliches waxy as supermarket apple skin may never be slaked, plenty of grimier flavors remain popular. As ingredients are usually either unlabeled or illegible, country rock connoisseurs often determine the qualities of these flavors by tongue alone. Of course, not all palates are sophisticated enough to discern the provenance of every bluesy lick or languor in the crisp confidence of a genre convention executed with guiltless panache, and in this instance a stout gulp and short recap is preferred -- The County Liners’ five songs are slightly nutty, clearly organic and pretty healthy. While many flavors of country rock become stale and unappetizing very quickly out of the bag, The County Liners stay fresh by keeping it raw and sourcing directly from local bodies.
Many enjoy the taste of the thoroughly dead, the cooked. They find comfort in the knowledge that whatever it is they are about to consume is fixed in form and will not suddenly pulse, squirm or dissolve as they lift it to their heads. The dead pair well with plum acceptance. The living, emerging from a hazy background of painful experience, are alarming. They seem to require some sort of explanation, but none is forthcoming. To be properly raw, the skin must be soft -- either as a result of gradually rubbing away over the course of years of slipping through various layers of intimacy, or because it has never been allowed to properly harden. The County Liners stay flexible and move around when they can. Mary Jane was forced to settle down and do some life assessment while laid up with a broken ankle. Chris came over to keep her company. They just went for it. Mirce and Riley decided to join in and what we have here is the full statement. It’s pretty easy to get into right off.
The riffs and lyrics bear discussion, but the comparison game is in this case seen as an unnecessary preservative and is done without. The bona fides are there, but as a classy aftertaste. This is what it sounds like when two fearless people meet on a sick bed and wait it out. Spokane College Station -- nowhere near the whole story but crazy enough in itself. It’s music, you have to listen to it to tell. – Dylan Sharpe