The Devil Makes Three’s Self-Titled Album: A Raw, Soul-Stirring Ride
Man, I gotta say, The Devil Makes Three's self-titled album hits hard. It’s like they took everything raw and real about old-school blues, folk, and punk, threw it into a blender, and hit puree. The result? Something that feels alive—like it could bite back if you’re not paying attention.
Let me break it down for ya. First off, there’s “Old Number Seven.” Holy crap, this track grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go. It starts with this gritty banjo riff that just slaps, setting the stage for Pete Bernhard’s raspy vocals to come crashing in. There’s something about how he sings, almost like he’s daring you to keep up. And then there’s Lucia Turino on bass, holding down the groove so tight it feels like gravity itself shifted. This song sticks in your head because it’s messy but intentional, like life itself. You can practically smell the whiskey-soaked floors of some dive bar while listening to it.
Then there’s “Graveyard,” which is just... wow. If you’ve ever felt stuck between regret and redemption, this one’ll hit you right in the chest. Cooper McBean’s guitar work here is haunting as hell, weaving these eerie little melodies that make your skin prickle. When Bernhard growls out lines like “I’m digging my own grave,” it’s impossible not to feel it deep down. Like, yeah, we’ve all been there—screwing up, trying to fix it, screwing up again. That push-and-pull energy? Yeah, it’s addictive.
What gets me most about this album is its honesty. These guys don’t try to polish things up or pretend they’re something they’re not. They’re just three folks making noise together, and somehow that noise becomes magic. Listening to them feels less like hearing an album and more like stumbling into their jam session late at night when everyone else has gone home.
And here’s the kicker—the thing nobody expects: after blasting through tracks full of grit and fire, you realize halfway through that this band might actually be kinda wholesome. Like, sure, they sing about death, drinking, and bad decisions, but underneath it all, there’s this weird sense of community. It’s like they’re inviting you to sit around a campfire with them, sharing stories and passing around a bottle. Weird flex, I know, but it works.
So yeah, if you need music that feels alive, flawed, and unapologetically human, check out The Devil Makes Three. Just don’t blame me if you end up craving bourbon and existential crises afterward.
