As it was recently announced, the heads of multi-instrumentalist Duke Harwood and Mark Lanegan have been smashed together for this brand new record, Black Pudding. Unusual? Not especially, Lanegan has worked with the likes of Belle and Sebastian and The Afghan Wigs to name a couple, however, as he's cited Garwood as his "all time favourite artists" this is exceptional.

Sombre, arpeggiated chords, nylon strings plucked with soft fingertips; 'Black Pudding', the title track stirs. Those flashes of dissonance and gunfire quadruplets allude to something warm and wonderful. Pit it against the crunching opener to Blues Funeral, 'The Gravedigger's Song', and you'll realise the subtle impetus that Lanegan and Garwood imply with the instrumental beginning to this record.

The drones and spaghetti steel strings of 'Pentecostal' are more chartered than its conjured Wild West atmosphere. Lanegan's baritone signal shows up with a "stench and a stain" and the chords shift lackadaisically with his vocals. Two tangled acoustic guitars define this sound. With 'War Memorial', we have somewhat of a crystal clear subject matter, sentimentally, so it's open to scrutiny; it captures very little.

Lyrically Black Pudding, as a whole, is out of character for Lanegan. As he's trying to write in a layman, concept nature, the metaphors are fast exhausted. As well as that, the phrasing and wordplay is often clumsy: "Good, have I done good? I fell on command, give me my first and last medal." There are too many moments where you'll find yourself entranced by the clattering horseshoes of the record, and then you'll hear something that makes your face scrunch and your stomach squirm. A hypnotic, atmospheric piano begins 'Last Rung', then "Why all this gloom in my mind's eye? Gone to my head like sweet wine. Midnight whispers so quietly, I turn to look but it might be a song sung from the last rung" – it's something wholly divisive.

Like the words of Baxter Black, the stunningly atmospheric nature of Black Pudding holds no bounds. The warmth and lonesome quality of the songs is down to nuances like the nicely-out-of-tune strings on 'Death Ride' and 'Thank You', the cyclical grooves of 'Mescalito' or the waves of wincing woodwind. For somebody who looks out of their window to see deep green and brown, this album is painted with an old dusty steel brush. Production; instrumentation; diversity - this record is sonically tremendous.

Mark Lanegan and Duke Garwood are completely aware of their ambitions with Black Pudding, which is admirable. However, for something that sounds so rich and grandiose, there's just not enough below the surface. With little emotional maturity to their sentiment, these songs struggle realise their qualities and capture what could have been a hurricane of a record.