Sometimes records begin in studios, sometimes after months of planning. This one started around a kitchen table at the Maldon Folk Festival, where George Mann and Mick Coates — surrounded by musicians drifting in from town — began talking about recording together. The result is “Ghosts of the Old West”, a collaboration built on their shared love of story songs, alternating lead vocals and even writing two different songs with the same title.
Leaving this here: get the wagon pitched outside as the fiddles wail. This sounds like proper Texas Americana. Except it’s not. One half of the partnership is American, the other Australian, and that slight shift in perspective gives the whole thing its own character.
“For The West” sets the scene straight away. The musicianship hits first — a superb guitar solo, but more than that the interplay between instruments. The fiddle blends perfectly with the timeless folk feel, sounding like it’s always existed rather than something newly written.
The storytelling tradition runs deep here. “The Magnificent”, sung proudly in his own accent, carries the weight of those old travelling songs where the narrative matters as much as the melody. No frills, just a voice telling a story because it needs telling.
“They Call Her Dolly Parton” is one of the album’s most affecting moments. A gloriously heartbreaking portrait of an elderly woman reflecting on the hardships of her life, it’s tender, human and quietly devastating.
That sense of timelessness is everywhere. The duets feel as though they could have emerged at almost any point in musical history and still belonged. And speaking of timeless, there’s a moment where the spirit of Johnny Cash hangs heavy over proceedings — not imitation, but the same moral clarity and stark storytelling. One line cuts through sharply: “we pay for prosperity with the slaughter of the poor,” proof that this isn’t nostalgia but something with its eyes firmly on the present.
“Lay Me Down To Rest On The Lonesome Plains” feels like the work of an itinerant troubadour, the sort of song that carries dust from a hundred miles of road. By the time the closer arrives — “’Til the Cows and ’Roos Come Home” — the whole record feels like it has been passed from campfire to campfire rather than recorded in a studio.
Anything can happen before daylight, and perhaps that spirit is what led to this record in the first place. Either way, Mann and Coates have created something that feels older than it is — timeless, honest and quietly beautiful.
8.5/10
