Just read that Eliot is moving off the mean streets of williamsburg pictured on the cover (I think you mean the expensive streets -ed) and headed off to Nashville which is where his sound on his EP should be right at home. He's following the long tradition of a guy and an acoustic guitar that can come out of early southern country or west village folk. It can be political or highly personal, backed by an entire band or sit out there all alone but it's got to be sincere.
On A-Side's "Warm Blood" he's backed by a huge instrumental section of lonesome reverb guitars and lap steels, pouring on the sadness in this uptempo track about this lost character drunk driving. You'd expect to hear a baritone vocal about the convoy but Eliot has this slightly slurred mixed to the middle delivery like an ancient southwestern storyteller emerging from the tumbleweeds. Still is has a lot in common with Giant Sand or Calexico - skilled at being sorrowful. "Stitched up" is Eliot on an acoustic with an open wound that needs closing. Comes in with huge choir harmonies wanting a drink. Could be the character's origin story from Warm Blood. Pain and trouble just leeds to more of the same guys. I think the problem on both of these is the tone though, they still want to be somewhat catchy tunes and this is serious dark stuff that he's tackling. Unless it aims to be the sort of thing to catch you off guard until you start to pay attention to the lyric.
B-Side's "Henry Lee" has that stripped down sound of a single acoustic opening this side before the band starts joining in, also probably about Henry Lee Lucas which again brings things down into depression town with sweet harmony from Katie Turner. He's got that narrative americana folk sound and the female backup vocal is way too tender of a sound to be dealing with this so by now I've got to think he's some kind of tune sadomasochist. He can't wait for you to figure out what he's singing about. "Home" is a pretty sweet lonesome track about playing a punk show. This is the kind of shit I can get behind. It sounds like that shitty distance between towns in the middle of the country. Possibly unintentionally sadder than the rest of this record, this feels like he knows what he's talking about, not these abstract ideas about drunk driving and serial killers - but maybe that's just me.
Get it from Eliot's bandcamp page. Blood red vinyl of course.
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