Remember when you'd roll down the windows, crank up the radio and drive, drive, drive through the night? We do.
My old man was a driving fool – I don’t know what it was, but you know how you hear all those songs about the siren call of the highway and the endless chase after the horizon? He was that song. And he was broke and cheap, driving piece of shit, $500 Dodge Darts and Chevy Impalas into the ground, no air conditioning and one little speaker in the center of the console cranking out CCR, Merle Haggard, Bob Dylan, The Allman Brothers, Hank Williams, Buck Owens, Jackson Brown, Aretha Franklin, Don Maclean, Eric Clapton…. We’d roll down the windows and let the night in across every mile of California San Joaquin Central Valley, the endless acres of grape of wrath vines zip, zip, zipping out the passenger window, through the streets of Bakersfield, up into the Tehachapi mountains, the Sierra Nevada; up, down and all over Arizona highways so hot the horizon melted into a wavy blur, Glen Campbell moaning Wichita Lineman; deep into the red-dirt mud of a Mississippi lost to all but legend and Faulkner; up into the Tetons, across the Colorado Rockies, all the way up the Western Coastal highway and up in to British Columbia….
That six inch AM radio speaker in the center of the console playing the soul of America mixing with the hot breath of the road pushing through the open windows.
That’s our sound. Real, original, well-crafted Americana.