There is a type of rock & roll that is very, well, American—thunderous, hard-driving, electrified rhythm and blues with greasy guitars. Music that evokes a variety of American imagery—an oversized, gas-guzzling pickup truck covered in mud barrels down a gravel road; the driver—sporting a camouflaged hat and a farmer’s tan—rides shotgun with a six pack of beer and an actual shotgun. Or a group of bearded, pot-bellied men on a mid-summer motorcycle run up Route 66—nights spent drinking whiskey and slapping waitresses on the butt in roadhouse bars; mornings at the truck stop, refueling with large plates of biscuits and gravy and pots of black coffee. And my favorite; a couple of heshers working on a rundown car in front of their trailer house—a girl with bad tattoos and Daisy Dukes sits on the steps a few feet away, smoking cigs and hollering out unwarranted advice. You know; hog farmin’, flame-print skull caps, muscle cars, sleeveless tees, choppers, double cheese burgers, leather bikinis, manual transmissions, and suckin’ on chili dogs outside of the Tasty Freeze—the good ‘ole U.S. of A. ...read entire review after the jump.