After a stint as a solo artist, Paul Cary hooks up with The Small Scarys to deliver a bleakly compelling album that slinks and howls like its animal namesake. Coyote's songs are feral cries from society’s outer edges, capturing a pervasive sense of fear, loss, and alienation. Cary sings with a poignant sunbaked tenor that rises to a desolate soprano; his tunes complement his vocals with their fractured lyric narratives and parched, folk-based melodies. With the aid of producer Greg Norman, Cary and his combo make every note count, whether the track moves with an insinuating lope (“Tin Hat”) or grinds on with bone-crushing force (“Daggers”). Tracks like “Don’t Kiss Me” and “To the Fire” suggest private purgatories in dank motel rooms, underscored by Jonathan Crawford’s trudging drums and Adam Penly’s eerie organ. “Come Back Down” and “Lost Jump” pick up the pace with doses of clattering, Cramps-like rockabilly. Rather than merely striking morbid poses, Cary makes these songs personal by injecting family lore into tunes like “It’s Alright” (inspired by his great-grandfather's unexplained disappearance).