An unassuming set of songs made by an unassuming four-piece, Fenceline rolls by in a little over thirty minutes. There is a certain sense of inertia to the record, the songs so strong and fundamentally enjoyable that you can’t help but listen to it in sequence, almost as if it were a real piece of wax on a turntable—or better yet, a scuffed CD in a six-disc changer. This is an album made for tooling around the streets of a town you don’t necessarily want to live in anymore, in a car that’s seen . . .
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