The Baptist Generals often open for the Gourds in Austin. Like that wonderful band, this duo is not intentionally trying to bring back the sounds of a past era -- rather, it's just in their nature, as if they rolled in older dirt than the rest of us.

On the brief but excellent Dog, CS Flemmons leads his dark muse ("This is the day that the Lord hath made/Jim cut his head off on the barbed wire") past even darker happenings, with a voice suggesting that Flemmons must have swallowed up all the wisdom to be gained from any bad times that came his way.

Unlike other groups that are eager to duplicate the sounds emanating from old blues records and early Smithsonian field recordings, Flemmons and drummer Steve Hill seem as if they could be the legitimate deal. They come across like peers of Leadbelly, returning from a day of picking tobacco to sing about walls of blood, scary preachers and teeth no less damaged than their hearts.

What makes the Baptist Generals more amazing is that they hail from one of the nicest college towns in America: Denton, Texas. It's a place with wonderful bed-and-breakfast joints, dog parades and quirky polka bands like Brave Combo. It's the kind of town where I never thought I'd fear having my car break down -- but who knows? If the Baptist Generals are as genuine as their music sounds, then perhaps I was wrong, and Denton is a town where people beat your soul down and cut you good.