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 better days but still gets from point A to point B. It sounds good idling at a red, but it really gets going once you hit the gas, even if you’re just cruising at a cool thirty-five.