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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.
Yes, it’s the Drive-By Truckers, and they remain consistent to their deep Southern roots, but I had to keep checking the player to see who was sounding exactly like Dinosaur Jr. or riffing off Hall and Oates.
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.
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.
Glaspy’s voice is a broad crooked smile, unique in its shape and well-suited for this particular set of laconic jangle.
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