Although a quiet album, it’s not one that ever seems to tire, always remaining interesting.
As it stands, Black Pudding is something of a souvenir record for fans; it’s hard to believe anyone not already well-traveled in Lanegan or Garwood’s terrains will find or enjoy the album.
Co-writing and recording a bleak yet emotionally honest collection of songs rooted in classic forms but not bound by them, is. As such, it succeeds in spades.
A dense, acoustic guitar driven lurch through Lanegan’s murky, wheezy blues is unlikely to send the duo into the stratosphere.
Predictability isn’t the most exciting or virtuous artistic attribute, but at least Black Pudding is a luminous and finely crafted example of a well-established formula.
For something that sounds so rich and grandiose, there's just not enough below the surface.
Black Pudding spins like a promising duo still learning how to share space with each other.
It's really late and the two musicians are crossing the edges of the city, only with their instruments, trying to exorcise the ghosts.