Good southern-tinged rock, anthemic and singalong. Nothing ground-breaking, but top-notch songwriting and production.
Someone threw a key party for a bunch of musical genres, and Americana, Rock, and Punk left together. On the dashboard radio on the way to the motel, the Old 97’s were playing.
As expected, it sounds like the first half of a Ray Bradbury novel, where the bright colors, joyful sounds, and easy smiles let you know something is deeply, deeply wrong, or possibly just inexplicable, or mysterious, but unabashedly psychedelic.
A fluid mixture of influences and identity, with tropical flavors and delicate pop sensibilities layering up with street-tough attitude for some songs, like a leather-jacketed hoodlum holding a bouquet of roses.