Brit Sam Russo lobs at us an acoustic singer-songwriter platter of mostly melancholy songs generated by relentless wanderlust. Over and over, Russo’s haunting songs remind me of earlier Tom Waits records, in which the only comfort one has in home is the very lack thereof. But unlike those Waits records (Frank’s Wild Years being a notable exception and ready-made point of comparison here), there seems to be a vague narrative thread here. Near the opening of Greyhound Dreams, the songs revolve around the glories of freedom on the road. By the end, the bitter truth sets in as the road becomes a remorseless punisher—but a punisher that one hates to give up. I didn’t realize the road can be like any other addiction. Well done, Mr. Russo.
–Eric Carlson (Red Scare)