Lonely H - Concrete Class

Their third full-length howls through roadhouse walls and soothes that long walk of shame the next morning. Twelve glowing tracks of tires humming through the Southwest while Skynyrd scratches through the nearest AM radio station. Written at bar stools and scrawled on diner napkins, "Concrete Class" seethes with a lust for America's highways and laughs with the trials that ensue.