Tommy and The Fallen Horses
John C. Savage
Every five years or so Tommy Benefield re-attempts a music career. He made horrible phony reggae/dub stuff, a sort of Jack Johnson-meets-Cat Stevens party-guitar vibe has disappeared down into this hokey outlaw-country crew, Tommy and The Fallen Horses. And if you sniff a bit too close you can still pick up traces of what seems near-enough to musical forgery.
This is their second album and it’s slightly less ridiculous than the time he sang about cumming all over the cushions (no, really!) but it still reeks of fake-authenticity and there are songs on this that sound like Bruce Springsteen’s worst ideas (Half A Bottle, God Ain’t Love) and this mostly comes over like if the Counting Crowes were a going concern and wanted to twang-up some Ben Harper a bit (I Don’t Mind).
It’s dynamically flat, feels like a country colouring book was summoned – nearly – to life and that more time was spent on the wardrobe and photo shoots than the songwriting.
Basically it’s about as lazy as this “review”.
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