Before you hear him, you’re not sure you really believe Frank Fairfield. And it’s not his fault.With the momentum of a Dakota stampede, a slew of indie musicians has recently waded into the sweet river of folk salvation by the seat of their patchwork pants, ready to pledge themselves to a life of dirty long johns and homemade butter churning if only for a shot at a the cover of Spin. Why, throw in a washboard, some boxcar harmonies and a canteen of moonshine. Crickets and tarnation! You’ve got authenticity.