Since early this year, the radar scopes that seek out new indie talent have been blinking up a storm as the date for Small Cities album release approaches. The band’s debut record, Jackson Purchase, will come out at a party on Friday June 11 at Thunderbird Cafe, but plenty of fans who’ve heard them on YEP or seen them play out at the city’s rock clubs — or most recently at Kayafest — already know what to expect. (There are some nice photos of their recent set at Kayafest over at HughShows.)

So, if you haven’t already heard, or if you couldn’t tell from the album title and artwork, Small Cities are in that large-and-growing segment of indie rock now drawing from traditional, hardwood, American, alt-folk, Southern Rock-style musical praxis. The band plainly and proudly declares themselves simply, “American Rock,” with a capital R, and that pretty much works. It’s worth noting that unlike other bands who merely wink in the direction of rural songcraft, Small Cities is actually comprised of musicians plucked from just the right regions of these United States (“…from the Bible belt to the Rust Belt,” they say) to make music that could, without too much of a groan, be compared to sweet whiskey dripping into cups by porch light.

Each of the album’s ten songs, penned by Rob Collier (native of Kentucky, how about that, eh?) is, according to the band biography, inspired by the early 1970s recordings of Delany & Bonnie, Leon Russell, and the Faces. A more local assessment might put them midway between the outsized debauchery of The Harlan Twins and the down-tempo musings of Boca Chica.

Twangy, wire-like electric guitars are frequently front and center, but curiously, there’s hardly a single bar of actual strumming on the record. At least that’s how it sounds: free from the persistent, space-wasting clog of chords being pounded out beneath the rest of the music. Instead, the guitars slide and jangle around in a persistent riff/solo kind of way, half of a contrapuntal dance with Collier’s strong, raspy, Dylan-ish voice. This pairing of guitar and voice is the centerpiece for most of the tunes, surrounded in the mix by a supporting cast of rousing backing vocals, gentle organ, and a muscular rhythm section holding it all together.

“Fine Time” is possibly the record’s greatest achievement, blending the swagger of a Southern Rock anthem with a second half that is incantatory and Gospel-esque. “Bet on Me” is a slow, tranquil number whose tentative, uncertain vocal is cradled by a gentle mandolin and then shadowed by a soprano voice that, frankly, sounds real nice. The guitars are bright, the bass bouncing, and the organ fired up, but many of the songs still take on a certain sadness or weariness.

It’s hard to stand out for innovation when you’re deliberately not trying anything really new. This band succeeds in the opposite way. Having taken the reverse tactic of trying to blend in, to match an authentic tradition, Small Cities have pried up the old boards and raised themselves something new, yet familiar, and lovely to behold.