I had not heard of, much less heard, Dustin Arbuckle & the Damnations before their new disc showed up in the mail recently. As I did my homework before proceeding to write this review, I learned that the earlier albums of this Wichita, Kansas-based outfit were more broadly roots-oriented, incorporating -- along with the rock sound that glues things together -- blues, country and (it says here) "Americana" -- whatever that is, in my observation less a would-be genre than a marketing slogan -- while Fight Like the Devil or Run Like Hell is more blues-focused. Even now the whole sounds, at least in some broad sense, like a bluesier Creedence Clearwater Revival.

True, the songwriting is not quite at the John Fogerty level, but then, whose is? Otherwise, this assembly of originals and covers, save for a single spectacular lapse in taste on the latter end, reaches satisfaction on a level one would anticipate from an experienced, hard-core road-warrior band. Even after the genre-narrowing, the recording argues for the virtues of immersion in musical history, beginning with origins in the tradition.

Even with the sometimes intense electrical accompaniment, this never descends into generic blues-rock. Arbuckle and gang confidently broadcast a blues vibe of a sort that comes out of a serious education. That sophistication also means there are no tired genre standards, just well-written modern songs that sound as if imagined by composers literate in the language of down home. Of the originals I am particularly fond of "Must Be Travelin' On" and "Out of Time," both co-writes of lead vocalist/harmonica blower Arbuckle. I presume the title of the latter track refers to the band's willingness to transcend a strictly contemporary approach to song choice and practice.

Speaking of which: Before I checked the credits, I presumed the last track, "Didn't I," to be a 19th-century Black spiritual, only to find -- to both surprise and pleasure -- that it is the work of the wonderful Gillian Welch & David Rawlings, acclaimed for their ability to conjure up oldtime folk songs out of their own 21-century imaginations.

Less happily, inexplicably one might say, is the party-crashing appearance of Dylan's "Tombstone Blues," which first manifested on Dylan's fully electric album, Highway 61 Revisited, in 1965. I recall it not as the first Dylan tune I disliked (for that I refer to nearly every cut on Another Side of Bob Dylan from the previous year) but one I actively loathed. Carelessly written, affixed to a forgettable melody, it is noteworthy only for the boastful cruelty of its images, not neglecting what I infer are supposed to be jokes about rape and torture. In short, it's mean-spirited even by the nasty standards of some of what the youthful Dylan was spewing in those days. Dylan has composed lots of extraordinary works, many rarely covered. Couldn't they have found something less revolting?

Nonetheless there is plenty to like in these grooves. You'll find it easily enough elsewhere on the track list.