With its barstool-macho equation of gunslinger and guitarschlonger, its on-the-road misogyny, its playing-card metaphors, and its paucity of decent songs, this soundtrack to an imaginary Sam Peckinpah movie is "concept" at its most mindless. I don't know, fellas, how do ya "tell the dancer from the dance"? Have to get people off their asses first. C