Of all the bands I've had the pleasure of catching live around the city, I can't think of a single one that performs with as much of a sense of family as Rego. Songwriter Rebecca Rego and her accompanying players seem as comfortable on stage as they might be jamming in their own living rooms. They play off of each other with the kind of love and humor that even radiates into their official recordings. There's a spark there that the studio process can't even begin to subdue.
On their sophomore LP, Rego pours their alt-country songcraft into a space that's simultaneously warmer and more melancholy. Throughout Seconds, the band suspends a balance between a folksy bucolic hush and raw rock grit. But even at its angriest, Seconds remains fiercely introspective, often to the point of self-flagellation. Wistful bell lines and Neil Young-style alarm clock guitar blasts both punctuate laments of self-sabotage, the bewildering passing of time, and the destructive personal ruts we tend to dig ourselves into as we grow older.
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