I have to get this off my chest: I was initially terrified of this record, and that’s saying a lot coming off last week’s bout with the Zombie Bazooka Patrol.

I learned in Sunday school not to judge a book by its cover, but a sin’s a sin. And damn, brother, that’s one ugly album cover.

Whew. I feel better, and I think you will too if you can get past the off-putting artwork and into the meat and taters of this gem.

And meat and taters is what you get. All the good stuff and no fluff. I’ve lambasted artists in these pages for appropriating Southern musical heritage and affectation for the sake of cashing in on what seems to be a growing trend. No so, for Brother Aaron Raitiere. Solid songwriting on top of mountain narrative, allowing enough room for the listener to roam and meander along at the pace of chicken-pickin’ banjo goodness gives way to soul-selling delta blues mystery.

Pretenders take note. This is the real deal. Somehow Raitiere still manages to avoid the pitfall of pretension. All I’ll say is anyone who writes a song with a lyric like, “If she’s got an apple, she’s got a bannaner,” doesn’t have the problem of taking himself too seriously.

The playfulness gets a little out of hand with what seem to be commercials for local barbecue and catfish establishments.

As a whole, this is how bluegrass (newgrass?) ought to be done. Raitiere is that “high lonesome sound” with a mouth full of barbecue.

Ironically, the last song is a lament on the one flaw he found with a girl named Butterface. You can see where this is going, right?

This record is a decent effort, butterface. Man, that cover art has gotta go.