The result, as realized on their 2017 U.S. debut Dorado, is like some exotic desert fruit of indeterminate provenance -- equal parts ragged glory and brooding noir, the crepuscular glow of the violet horizon and blood pooled on a motel bathroom floor -- all delivered in what accidental fan Lucinda Williams, who caught their set one night at the Hotel Café in Hollywood, calls Georg’s “great sexy-gravelly voice,” leavened by Heike’s translucent harmonies, like roses circling a tattooed heart. (Paul Cullum). As producer Joe Henry puts it in the liner notes for Dorado: “We didn’t so much arrange the songs as set traps for them; and as such, the clear-eyed deer of our collective desire walked right up to our threshold and ate from our hands.