Where some alt/country bands try to sing and pick like their forefathers so desperately that you can smell their formal musical training a mile away, you get a sense that the Pine Hill Haints (it’s an arcane Southern way to say “haunts†– I looked it up) get their legitimacy not from aping some Smithsonian Folkways compilation or other but from, well, from just making sweet Appalachian porch music. The Alabama skater friends thread together the romance, anxiety, religion, determination, and abandon that makes the American South such an enigma – and such a fertile breeding ground for a band that inadvertently keeps the old traditions alive while creating one all of their own.
Sharing the sharing.