Tobacco City’s sophomore effort, Horses, released via the curation-heavy Scissor Tail Records, is less a traditional studio album and more a humid, slow-motion memory of a Midwest that only exists in the rearview mirror. While the Chicago-based outfit is often tethered to the cosmic country movement, this record trades psychedelic flash for gritty, blue-collar suburban decay. The architecture of the album is defined by three ambient interludes, “Horses I, II, and III,” which utilize delicate guitar drones and hammered dulcimer to act as sonic palate cleansers. These vignettes transform the collection into a cohesive concept piece, grounding the listener in a specific, haunted atmosphere before pivoting back to the band’s signature drifter boogie.
The record’s emotional weight rests on the vocal duality between Chris Coleslaw and Lexi Goddard. Their harmonies possess a businesslike, unfrilled quality that evokes the classic Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris dynamic without falling into mimicry; it is a partnership built on restraint rather than theatrics. The contrast between the record’s physical grit and its ethereal production creates a tension that defines the Tobacco City experience. While the lyrics inhabit the fluorescent hum of stale convenience store air and the boredom of rural stagnation that assist in painting a portrait of small-town life that feels both lived-in and ghostly in tracks like “Blue Déjà Vu” and “Mr. Wine”; the instrumental backing, elevated by the Americana contributions of Matthew J. Rolin and Jen Powers, lifts those scenes into a spiritual realm.
The guest musicians provide a psychedelic shimmer through layered drones and hammered dulcimer that function as a cinematic lens. This layer of “cosmic” sound doesn’t distract from the gritty reality; instead, it frames the mundane settings as sacred spaces of memory. When the band leans into the slowcore textures of “Fruit from the Vine” or the drifting boogie of “Buffalo” (a nod to “Home on the Range” closes the track), the guest instrumentation acts like the shimmering heat rising off asphalt, making the low-rent subject matter feel limitless and mythic.
As the music drifts from the psych-leaning slowcore of “Time” to the lazy, rolling rhythm of “Colorado,” Tobacco City proves they are masters of genre fluidity. They successfully bridge the gap between ’70s country-rock and modern indie sensibilities, creating a soundscape that feels suspended in time. ‘Horses’ is a record about the ghosts of youth and the quiet nihilism that sits just beneath the surface of a pedal steel guitar. It captures the specific, hazy period when the future is a half-formed thought, making it an essential listen for those who prefer their Americana with a heavy dose of atmospheric grit.
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