A jarful of cowbell-heavy, banjo pickin’, Suthin’ blooze-rawk straight outta Alabama here. S’funny that the Dexateens are on Estrus Records, home of the single-with-a-swizzle-stick, since they sound like the kinda fellas that usually beat-up smart-ass garage punk bands* , not share stages with ‘em, but like all great rock n’ roll gospel outfits, the Dexies stretch their faith healing arms wide enough to touch everybody. While their debut, self-titled rekkid (released in Jan ’04) was a more straight-ahead sock to the face of shitkicker rock n’ roll (I described it, at the time, as “Georgia Satellites slowly running out of oxygen”), this one’s more blues-y and jammy, full of good time, back porch, pickin’ and a grinnin’ stuff. It’ll probably leave the yankier Yankees among us in the cold**, but my guess is that drawling whiskey sippers like “Can’t You See” and “Pine Belt Blues” weren’t written for be-fanged black leather Frankensteins from New York City or Boston anyway. So, ya know, if you’ve got an affection for breezy, good-ol-boy Dixie rock, this oughta sound just perfect blasting out of your pick-up. Mule train. Whatever ya got.
*Yes, I realize they are skinny, non ass-wrecking garage rockers themselves, but that's where the delicious irony come in, see?