Reviewed by Eric Saeger
I suppose at the least we can now say it’s no longer a mystery how a pair of chick scientists (as in females utilizing glorified vocational training in various scientific McJobs, not scientists who try to understand chicks) would interpret modern Western-Americana. Their best feature is their Sarah McLachlan yodelling, while their worst is the simplicity with which they handle emotional hues – there’s little real nuance or irony in this touchy-feely granola bucket. Of course, that’s in the ear of the beholder; some might say ‘Small City Nights’ rides monotonous minor chords into a mawkish abyss, others might exclaim something about a “cool Tori Amos impression.” There’s little debate, however, that ‘Let It All Go’ works a few obvious Starbucks-chill-folk angles before suffering from a poorly recorded grunge guitar. Points added for their complete independence, and ‘Backdoor’ is possessed of a settled prettiness one would have wanted for the whole LP, but vanity-release warning bells do go off.