Well, it has its roots in Ohio anyway.
More or less.
You get this record.
Pour yourself a few fingers of your favorite hard liquor and close your eyes and absorb in a stifling hot room on a late Sunday afternoon while a fat green fly buzzes desperately in the window screen trying to get out. It's not going to get anywhere and gets stuck behind the window banging it's skull uselessly and endlessly between the panes. In a day or two you can find it's dried husk in the sill next to your empty glass.
That's what this record sounds like.