White Cowbell Oklahoma are everything I envy and fear about the Deep South, which is pretty remarkable, seeing as they're from fuckin' Canada. Like a wet t-shirt contest, a drag-race, and a biker rally all at once, they are the very definition of shameless hillbilly kicks. White Cowbell, see, ain't yer average buncha phony hayseed booze rockers, Lord no. They've got 4 or 5 guitarists all riffin' away like the Allman brothers-times-a-million, they've got old toothless guys playing wash tubs and banjos, they've got half-mad bubbas wrestling gators, and they've got porn stars wrestling in cole slaw. Well, most of that, anyway. And now, they've even got a goddamn rock n' roll record. "Cencerro Blanco" is a gang-bang of culture-jamming white trash ephemera and surprisingly straight-ahead 70's Southern boogie, and it really does rock like crazy, even without a whole redneck circus worth of Hee-Haw gimmicks. The title track is the most forceful cut, a real ZZ Top-on-speed highway burner, but the rest of the record is much more of a 70's deep-album-cut throwback. I mean, they sound like Boston! And Kansas! And Thin Lizzy! And BT fuckin' O! Who else, I ask you, would write a song like "Packing My Bags", which mixes a ragtime piano with arena-blooze riffs copped from Triumph? Nobody, Jack, 'cept for 10 dudes in flared cowboy polyester that KNOW they're getting laid, no matter what. They've got vibe-filled Skyrnd odes ("Ole Glory"), they've got sleazy riff rock ("Put the South in Your Mouth"), and they've got plenty of shitkicking, deep-album-cut hard rock anthems, like the bitchin' "Cheerleader" and the soul-fried "San Antone". I mean, what the fuck more could you want from a debut? As their singer (let's call 'em a 'sanger', for authenticity's sake) Clem will be more then happy to inform you, "It is inconceivable that anything can rock this hard." He ain't lying, either. If you've got any cowboy in ya at all, check these horsepunchers out. They'll jangle yr spurs, Jethro.