
A dusty, tape-saturated collection of elegies and folk-blues. Ward’s sandpaper vocals and intricate fingerstyle guitar create a timeless, haunted atmosphere.
It sounds like a ghost playing a blues guitar in a dusty attic, and it's beautiful.
A gentle, tape-hiss-soaked meditation on loss that feels like a warm blanket on a cold night.
The writing leans far further into grief than the rest of the catalogue.
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