A great thing about Louisiana: across the state, everyday people play instruments for the entertainment of everyday people. America 2012, you can save your digital remove, your pretense of higher purpose, your caring government. Every Friday night, in countless dives and backyards in every wet parish, folks drink and dance under the same spell that moved their grandparents—live music made by their neighbors.

This odd little record from Sir Patrick and the Swamp Bottom Boys resounds with inside jokes, from the names of the musicians (“Baron Rick” on drums, “Squire David” on guitar, etc.) to tracks like “Want-A-Be Cajun” and “Alagator.” King Louie’s accordion pumps away earnestly, the rhythms are loosely bound, and you can hear the extra swagger that fills a bar band when they’re killing it at their regular locale. When the time comes for a slow dance, “Pain & Misery” tips its dusty cap to George Jones. A saxophone appears, and why the hell not? It’s Friday night, and she is long gone.

A couple of these cats are from Leesville, a few from Texas, and the washboard player is the wife of King Louie (not Bankston; another king altogether). None of them are silver-tongued; none of them overwhelm the mix with virtuosity. Every track is played straight, no slickness in the production, no surprises. But I’d bet a Grammy category that they’re a good time, onstage and off.