ARE YOU READY FOR CREEM COUNTRY?

The United States of America is a land of contrasts. Neither a success nor a catastrophe (despite what absolutists on either side will tell you), America is like a diner that stays open late, where the meat is under-or overcooked, the wall art is nothing but dead celebrities (with Elvis being the only one who made it past 40), but the french fries are fucking delicious. Not only are you allowed to smoke inside, but the management will also call you a pussy if you don’t. As the waitstaff is paid in $5 Walmart gift cards and handguns, tipping is strongly encouraged. Oh, and if you try to order off the menu, the owners will have your dad thrown out of a helicopter and replaced with a new dad who appreciates fantastic portions at a reasonable price. Which would maybe be a deal-breaker if the jukebox wasn’t so stacked with absolute bangers. If all that sounds untenable, you clearly haven’t tried the fries.

A nation this exciting deserves a music that accurately celebrates it. For our first couple centuries, the only music allowed to be performed outside of churches or Freemason temples was a poem about a war where the Brits set our president’s house on fire, set to the tune of a London drinking song. Eventually that slab of humiliation kink was relegated to sporting events. At some point the blues and folk music came around. Souls traded hands at every crossroad and magic dragons puffed across the land to endless renditions of “Easy Rider.” Unfortunately, neither of these genres were able to maintain their cultural prominence in the wake of Dylan plugging in and some asshole traitor teaching the English the dominant seventh chord.