The whole damn country owes these fellows a giant hug. Why? Because the rest of the world can stop hating us now. When the hue and cry that “Dirty Americans are coming!” rumbles through some backwater pissant of a country, the locals will only reach for their party fezzes and fire up the goat barbeque. Brew some extra Jesus Juice ’cause we’re going to get down tonight! Well, not so fast, B.F.E.! We’re gonna hog these guys for awhile, so just settle your little Third World butt down.

Here’s a lesson for any musician who favors a particular era: Listen to Dirty Americans and hear how they rock in the style of ’70s hard rock. “In-the-style-of;” not retro. There is a big difference (it’s called originality!). And Dirty Americans have made it in the musical clutter of Detroit, a place where suckers are beat down pretty quick. Take a look at some song titles. “Car Crash,” “Dead Man,” “Deep End,” “Light-Headed.” Oh yeah! This is the real thing. Pill taking, statute breaking, ask me if I give a f*** rock’n’roll. You’ll need to know their names so you can be the first on your block to say you smoked a joint with them, so here goes. Myron sings, Jeff Piper slings all the guit-fiddle, Pete Bever plucks the four-string and that leaves the skins to Jeremiah Pilbeam. So go ahead and say you slept with one of them. Hell, say you slept with all of them. They’re thinking big, why aren’t you?
 

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