In a fluorescent motel lobby, a little radio behind bulletproof glass plays the American hit parade. Last night I dreamt of Natalie Wood on an endless loop, leaping and yelling “Hit your lights” on the edge of a cliff, her arms swinging through the headlights again and again. And so I offer this collection of reverberated songs, AM radio chatter, and looping vinyl crackle from the Big American Studio. Satellite fuzz and love among the ruins. These are soundtracks for long drives, cheap motels, and late nights.