His withered tenor is singular, and it perpetually juices the Clinch Mountain Boys's sound. As the band went a capella for a pair of gospel tunes, the leader's piercing rasp distanced them from the pristine vocals of many young bluegrass ensembles. Nothing wrong with blemishes. Nothing wrong with humor, either: the evening's program had enough hillbilly shtick to be deemed a mini Opry. But Stanley had the best line. Drumming up business, he mentioned a few places where Clinch Mountain Countryhas earned kudos, "like Amazawn dawt cawm." Guess highways of trouble and seas of regret are now online, too.
—Jim Macnie
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