Although these fellows carve out their brand of agile pickin’, 80 proof rootsy country fare with rather Nashville leanings and undertow – a bit of polish when something more restless and rambling would have been more meaty — they do deliver some promising versions of Townes Van Zandt and Bruce Springsteen. On the quintessential Texan’s loner lesson “Marie,” full of depressingly down’n’out characters dying beneath bridges with babies tucked deep in the belly while a husband yearns for even a bit of work, the band offers both somnolence and quiet dignity, even as the song spirals deeper into vagabond blues. Instead of simply offering a death watch ticking away with woodsy grief, the deep-pool sounding singer’s voice makes the whole affair feel like a PBS documentary, revealing a light barely shimmering at the end of a haggard tunnel . There’s something soothing in the despair, something human and compelling, elevated and earnest. Meanwhile, their take on “Youngstown,” a somewhat overlooked rust-tinged gem by the Boss from his acoustic The Ghost of Tom Joad, takes listeners deep into a wooly Yankee tale of spitting steel factories and rubble heaps – the forlorn mills left hollow and hollering in the post-World War II era. The tons of charcoal and steel now disappear into a flickering fading past: dead machines litter the empty towns as young men wonder what kind of furnace of hell they’ve ended up in while the fat cats sit back, idly watching their stocks soar. Again, the band doesn’t approach the Boss with a novel, slightly off-center, or re-imagined Americana, like Crooked Fingers might do, but what they do offer is a solid, tuneful, and full-hued take on both “classics” and their own endeavors.