I’ve listened to Black Pudding 6 times since the Delivery Office adventure on Monday. To fill you in somewhat, my wife and I had to make the trek to the Delivery Office at the crack of dawn on Monday morning (roosters crowing etc) as I missed the delivery on Saturday (gah!). That was a tough 48 hours, I tell ya. At least there was that Pitchfork stream, right?
It’s through the stereo that you really hear this album. The creak, fumble, rattle and buzz of guitar strings (Pentecostal for example), the resonating discordant piano (Last Rung), as well as the tapping of feet, the intake of breath between lines, and, of course, the noise in the room all add to the rich texture.
It’s these textures that really align this release with Lanegan’s early solo work – particularly Whiskey for the Holy Ghost, Scraps at Midnight and Field Songs. It carries the same haunted vibe, with Garwood’s etheral blues replacing those that Mike Johnson provided on that trio of albums.
Pentacostal, Mescalito, Death Rides A White Horse and Shade of the Sun are highlights on an outstanding album, with Cold Molly suffering only because of it’s diversity and the strength of the Roman Remains Remix.
A contender for album of the year. A runaway contender at that.