The Quietus: Once in its jaws, Wit's End slowly and methodically eats away at the subconscious like a Venus fly-trap dissolving its prey.
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Consequence of Sound: The slow, unassuming nature of the song sets the stage for the rest of the album, as these eight songs fail to outwardly demand your attention but earn it with their masterful execution and subtleties.
Spin: Wit's End is even more hushed and sluggish than 2009's Catacombs, leaving lighter Dylanesque fare for depressive Leonard Cohen depths.
Pitchfork: So yeah, this record is a downer. But there's rare beauty in such darkness, too-- just look at forebears like Leonard Cohen, Elliott Smith, and Nick Drake. Or even Edgar Allan Poe. Because, along with its mopiness, WIT'S END is creepy as hell.
Wit's End is out now via Domino.