I have a taste for underappreciated films, abetted by a couple of generous movie-geek friends, who keep me set up with a steady stream of DVD-Rs containing digital rips of all sorts of weird stuff: foreign horror movies, bizarro documentaries, backwater knockoffs of Hollywood blockbusters, old Sabbath concert movies. Lately our long-running shared interest in hippie exploitation flicks has led us, strangely enough, to the products of a brief love affair between the American film industry (at least some of the lower-budgeted rungs of it) and country music.