Pennsylvania-born Langhorne Slim trades in big, countrified exaggerations,
blowing up rural stereotypes to delirious proportions, howling so hard you can practically see the wheat bushels tumbling from his mouth. Maybe the joke’s on us (Slim records in “various apartments in Brooklyn”), but When the Sun’s Gone Down
—the follow-up to Slim’s debut EP—is just ridiculous enough to sell the farm. Vocals occasionally nod to Jack White’s high warbles, but never sit still long enough to warrant a more emphatic comparison to the Man in (white, red and) Black. Supported by acoustic and steel guitars, harmonica, banjo and light drums, Slim may be snickering under his breath, but his din is too loud for anyone to decipher it.