Are The August List a troop of nomads who passed through these parts a while back, leaving this EP behind as a testament to their presence? No. They are, in fact, husband and wife pairing Kerraleigh and Patrick Child, but so well do they create the atmosphere of such a life on this record, that you emerge from the four numbers wanting it to be the case.

This is music with a restless soul. As if it were born under the stars and warmed around a roadside fire, it feels coated with the dust of the weathered and persistent traveller. Kerraleigh’s voice is clear and pitched high, taking on a slightly acidic finish on tracks like ‘Death Penalty’, which lends a compellingly sharp narrative to the feral, foot-stomping rhythm of Patrick’s guitar playing over muted percussion; you can almost see a band of wayfarers dancing wildly around the flames to the beat of the story. The same is true of ‘Forty-Rod Of Lightnin’’, with its lyrics telling of ceaseless movement across hostile terrain towards home and the respite that awaits. “Jumped over the mountainside”, the opening line wails, with Patrick taking the lead on vocals. Ironically, the rise and fall of these snow-capped ranges suggests one of the few criticisms it’s possible to make of the record. The harmonica has a marvellous sound, and when it’s used with peaks and flourishes of its own, it can set the soul soaring. There’s a question, though, as to the use that the Childs put it to here. On one hand, the presence of such an instrument has an invigorating, rain-shower-esque effect above a simple, earthy guitar; a straightforward blend the pair utilise without trouble. On the other, however, the breath seems to linger a little too long on single notes and starts to suggest a motionlessness that is completely at odds with the agitated, on-the-move air of the first three tracks. In a nutshell? They use it well at points, less so at others.

The lovely ‘Homeland’ breaks from the programme and catches the storytellers staring into the fading embers of the campfire, as if at night’s end. It brings us in, urging a contemplative pause and careful attention to what’s related – all of a sudden grown melancholy and cold. The electric guitar is well deployed, and towards the close there’s a slightly more animated harmonica part. The best thing about the finale is how it shows off the EP’s potential for multiple listens: first time round, there’s a nagging feeling that the jigsaw of musical rhythm and lyrical metre doesn’t quite fit together and comes across as a little clunky (“Let’s sit by the window like the old days / Where William has his thumb in his belt loop”). This dissolves after repeat performances, though, and begins to sound more and more intimately conversational, revealing a gentle transformation that is satisfying and gives further depth to the record as a whole.

It’s a beautiful note on which to end, and proves that the Childs can turn their hands to the slow numbers just as effectively as they pen their wilder tunes. Moreover, it’s more than enough to make it a good thing that The August List aren’t the roving horde they first appear to be: as far as we’re concerned, the longer they stay around these parts, the better.