Like the lady says, she's a band unto herself
Molly Gene plays slide guitar and foot-pedal drums, all while singing her guts out. Her songs are a barn-burning blend of stomping blues and earthy folk, and although spiced with occasional dashes of harmonica and tambourine, the heavy lifting is done by the pummeling guitar thrash and warbling, shaky-but-expressive vocals. Standout cuts are many, including the racy, raunchy “Smells Like Low Tide,” with its unexpected tempo shifts, and the snaky, sneaky “Kiss Me Quick.” Foot-stomper “White Girl From Missouri” provides a change in mood, while “Dinks Song” replaces sass and attitude with wistful introspection. The album is remarkably consistent overall, and Gene’s energy never flags over its fifteen tracks. It’s all rough as hell, and at times her croaking holler comes off as affectation, but far more often it comes out like a spontaneous outpouring from the gut. People who complain that “they don’t make them like they used to” should take note: Molly Gene still does, and then some.