The unbroken horizon of the American steppe reigns over Sean Pratt’s Prairie Whistle Call. Over the course of its nine cuts, the songwriter distills desolation and grandiose into a deeply personal and downright gorgeous ode to the golden roads and rolling fields he sings of. We’re presented with an Americana that stands on its own; a far cry from the derivative indie-folk that the moniker tends to carry today. In hushed tones imbued with hues of melancholy and self-discovery, Pratt brings us into his corner, commanding a restrained attention . . .
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