If you've been racing down local dirt roads in your pickup, jamming to Toby Keith or Gretchen Wilson, then you should probably skip this week's Hank III concert. Plastering a Confederate flag in your back window might buy you a redneck pass (and hopefully a good ass-whuppin'), but it doesn't mean you know country, it doesn't mean you know punk rock, and it sure as hell doesn't mean you know what Hank III is all about, brother. With his band Assjack, the grandson of Saint Hank Sr. and the son of Bocephus walks the line between old-school country and hardcore punk, turning his live shows into unhealthy mixes of styles that draw crowds as diverse as they come, but expect a lot of bitching about how Nashville's Curb Records fucked over his career via contractual dictates. The way things are going, the self-promoted Outlaw country artist might have to change his name, à la Prince, to a symbol. How about the middle finger?