There’s something immensely well judged about this collaboration between Calexico and Iron and Wine, In the Reins. Labelled an e.pIn the Reins is in reality an album without fillers. What a wonderful world it would be if all bands focussed on quality rather than quantity, but that’s an argument for another day. Each track a joy to listen to, created by artists pushing each other on into new places. Country, blues, folk, jazz – you’ll find hints of each creeping in.

The critics job is, sadly, to experience almost immediate enthusiasm or offense listening to a disc, and then, if time permits, to take a step back and try to figure out what provoked the given response. At the first aural glance this is a soft, delicate album, full of textures and equally ready to provoke a smile or a hefty dose of melancholy. Take a step back and you’ll find all sorts of interesting, intriguing twists and turns.

He Lays in the Reins, the opening track, is as good a place to start as any. It’s a waltz, measured guitars dancing against simple piano with Sam Beam’s whispering vocals. Slide guitars enter, and the song suddenly swells with the inclusion of a verse sung by Flamenco guitarist/singer Salvador Duran. It’s unexpected, unobtrusive, and a winning touch to an already evocative song.

The highlight is History of Lovers (which Pitchfork magazine described as what Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours would have sounded like had it been recorded in Memphis), which starts as an acoustic twelve bar blues, but Beam’s ethereal voice coupled with a horn section that oozes sex appeal bring it someplace completely unexpected. Listen then, underneath this lush piece of soul, and there’s a murder ballad worthy of Nick Cave in one of his more gothic/grumpy moods.

“Cuddle some men, they’ll remember you bitterly

Fuck ’em, they’ll come back for more

I asked my Louise would she leave and so cripple me

Then came a knock at the door

�I came for my woman,� he came with a razor blade

Bound like us all for the ocean

I hope that she’s happy I’m blamed for the death of

The man who would take her from me

“

Obsession, sex and murder, all wrapped up in a sweet, soulful, swinging boogie that sounds almost wholesome, as you tap your feet (something that Sam Beam’s Iron and Wine has not necessarily been accused of before). But that’s precisely the joy of this record. Two groups/artists that, risk-takers in their own right, twist, push, and pull each other into new and exciting territory.

At the same time some tunes lean more heavily to one or the other, even though all the tunes were originally penned by Beam. Red Dust sounds as if it were written specifically for a blues jam session by Calexico. Sixteen,maybe less, has a characteristic light melancholy to it that has become Beam’s calling card. It’s a heart-stoppingly beautiful piece, not least because of the angelic backing vocals from Natalie Wyants, with lyrics that many a novelist/poet would envy:

“I met my wife at a party when I drank too much,

my son is married and tells me we don’t talk enough,

call it predictable

last night I dreamed of you”

Burn that Broken Bed has a noirish quality to it, sounding almost like a soundtrack song – and there’s nothing wrong with that, at least not when it’s done by musicians of the calibre of Calexico’s Joey Burns and John Convertino. Jim Jarmusch hasn’t used it in any of his films, yet. He should.

So, to sum up. This is a collection of songs that has two often mutually exclusive qualities – great tunes, coupled with layers of sound and meaning that mean you’ll happily keep coming back to it over and over again.