A quiet Sunday afternoon in the Baker neighborhood. Nathaniel Rateliff and Joe Sampson, two of the city’s finest songwriters, seated next to each other on a worn couch with a fading pattern. Just one guitar and two voices between them, as they sing a lovely little ditty, an uplifting ode about killing all their friends and burying them out of sight, with Erin Preston‘s capable lens capturing the whole thing. No commentary. No preamble. No frills. Just the singers and the song. As it should be. Really, it just doesn’t get much better than this.
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