McCutcheon’s songs are sometimes somber, sometimes exuberant, sometimes sardonic.

With a name like Boris, you’d better be good at whatever it is you do. Fortunately for Boris McCutcheon, he's more than good at what he does, which is desert folkcore—Americana with a Southwestern bent and a railyard twist, what Howe Gelb might do some night amoung the saguaro with a hit of acid and a Neil Young bug up his ass.

Flying in and around Boris's sometimes sad, introspective and peace-finding lyrics are a whirlwind of rusty sounding instruments that grind like buzzards across the steam rising from the vocals—from sharp old-school plate-reverberated guitars (which were perhaps plugged into a cactus) to tin shed slide guitars, dusty harmonicas and banjos. McCutcheon certainly is a musical vanguard in his own right—he tosses ego out the window and equally marries acoustics, thoughts, and traditional instruments into a tried, tested and proven genre of music and breathes new life into it. (Cactusman)

One of his greatest skills is his ability to use that connection (with nature) as inspiration, but without sounding earthy. His songs are genuine, never contrived, and damn good—every one of them… all his songs have rich instrumental arrangements and McCutcheon’s throaty voice, which somehow manages to be gruff and soothing at the same time. His music is frequently described as rootsy, but his sound is unique and original. McCutcheon writes rich, wonderful songs, is a skilled musician and has a voice like no one else.