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“Reverend Lord's pitch-black Americana is filled with the kind of ne'er-do-wells you don't ever want to meet: no good, two-timing dames, alcoholic nine-to-fivers, murderers who cut their victims down like stalks of wheat. This is doomsday country, hellfire folk, with Reverend Lord giving voice to it all like he was possessed by the ghost of Hank Williams Sr. Over mostly spare acoustic arrangements, he sings of passing out in broken glass and waking up the next day with the foul taste of last night's beer still lingering on the breath. In a way, it's some uplifting stuff: No matter how bad you think you've got it, the characters who populate these tunes always seem to have it just a little bit worse.”