I don’t want to be in New York City right now, so it’s mental road trip time. I want to be somewhere in the middle of the country, cruising down the highway, a few hours outside of a college town where, later that night, my band will play a semi-successful concert at a small dive bar and then, afterwards, decamp to a small but spirited house party. Buckaroo by Katzin would be the soundtrack; it’s both intimate and expansive, like the blue sky out of your bedroom window. It’s music that represents the modest, majestic sweep of indie rock through the decades and the eras. But it’s firmly planted in the moment, socks wet with snow.
.png)
