This collection of twelve songs—a mixture of traditional folk and original compositions—unfolds like a seance with America's restless spirits. Gohen, whose CV includes everything from psych rock quintet Meddlesome Bells to the enduring Irish traditionalists Oak, Ash, & Thorn, has crafted something that sits squarely in the lineage of Harry Smith's Anthology whilst maintaining a distinctly contemporary pulse.

The production is deliberately intimate, eschewing studio trickery for the kind of warm, lived-in sound that suggests these songs were recorded in someone's front parlour rather than a sterile booth. There's a rawness here that recalls the field recordings of Alan Lomax, yet beneath the surface lurks something altogether more unsettling—a darkness that occasionally erupts with the barely contained energy of early Violent Femmes.

Gohen's voice carries the weight of tradition without feeling burdened by it. Whether navigating the familiar territory of folk standards or unveiling his own compositions, there's an urgency that prevents the material from becoming mere museum piece. His guitar and banjo work provides a sturdy foundation, but it's in the spaces between notes where the real magic occurs—those moments where past and present collapse into something timelessly immediate.

The album's title track serves as something of a mission statement, transforming the nursery rhyme into something altogether more ominous. It's folk punk in the truest sense—not the leather-jacketed posturing of lesser artists, but the genuine article: traditional forms shot through with contemporary anxiety.

What emerges is a record that feels both ancient and urgent, rooted in tradition yet alive to the possibilities of now. Gohen has achieved that rarest of things: an album that honors the past whilst speaking directly to our current moment. In an age of digital ephemera, Who Killed Cock Robin? feels reassuringly permanent—the kind of record that reveals new layers with each encounter.

It's not quite perfect; occasionally the balance between reverence and innovation tilts too heavily toward the former. But these are minor quibbles with what is essentially a statement of intent from an artist clearly operating at the height of his considerable powers. One suspects John Henry himself would approve.