There is something deeply soulful and haunted in the work of Richard Scott Davis. While he is capable of summoning the spirit of JJ Cale on a masterful cover of “Right Down Here” , the American artist does more than just polish the chrome of his father’s Blues-Rock. He injects it with a contemporary, almost abrasive energy.

On one hand, we find the “laid-back” groove and woody guitars that smell of the dust of the open road. On the other, the head-on collision of “Bloody Lobby,” where Rap becomes a weapon of mass denunciation against gun violence. There, Davis trades the bluesman’s whisper for a razor-sharp flow, transforming grief into a visceral “Protest Song” haunted by gothic choruses and visions of “La Catrina”.

Between heritage and rebellion, Davis maps out the contours of an Urban Americana, as comfortable in a smoky Tulsa dive bar as in the urgency of the concrete jungle. A sonic tightrope walker who proves that the blues is never more alive than when it’s rubbing shoulders with the pavement.