Break out your beer and cigarettes. Get out your skinny, lace-up bellbottoms and that pomade that makes your hair look like it hasn’t been washed since 1973. Stuff your pants with some wadded up gym socks and practice up on your mic twirling technique, cuz here come The Datsuns. This ain’t chick music, and it isn’t going to make you want to bob your head in your Toyota Camry on the way to your sales job. This is music for Saturday night stadium parking lots littered with Bud bottles, Trans Ams and dudes in baseball t’s with shiny, iron-on decals of their favorite, old rock bands. In fact, this album makes me feel a little dirty… and drunk–and who doesn’t love that besides schoolmarms and Josh Groban fans?
