Our Blood, with its tattered, frayed grace, reflects Buckner's compellingly listenable, weary yet stubborn poetic journey, for answers to questions -- both past and and present, elliptical and enormous --that lie just beyond his grasp.
The cosmic elements decorating those songwriting chops, the dead-on but unpredictable arrangement touches, the warm and present recording--they're all present here. No impasses, only breakthroughs. [Jul 2011, p.92]
With pedal steel by Buddy Cage (Dylan's Blood on the Tracks), ominous percussion by Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley, and Buckner's usual subtle craftsmanship, he creates wasted-night rhapsodies that demand you lean in close--however warily.
Our Blood doesn't leave me wanting more, it doesn't leave me drooling over another listen, and it sure doesn't leave me interested in more of Richard Buckner's work. But on the same measure, it doesn't leave me sick or angry.