listening to this ramshackle bastard has got me jonesing for satori in paris. not the bauhaus 45. but kerouac’s hodgepodge of look-at-me-abroad whimsy. i’m digging golden boots‘ all-over-the-placeness. each fuzzy track a stranger to the last but rubbing up all friendly like after a minute or two. alex chilton frotts dave berman, in stetsons, yeah? yeah. we’re speaking the same language – it’s all alt-somethingorother and countrydelic-whatevers – just a in different goddam accent.