Still sound like a one-band Nuggets compilation. No rock operas or introspective acoustic doodles, just fun, fun, fun ’til Daddy takes the Far-fisa away.
Vocals are strong and expressive, the lyrics depict tales of heartache, blind drunk stumbling, and smoking cigarettes. The guitarist tosses in sweet soloing.
Whoever had been talking to me had stopped. Only a cat sat beside me now. Maybe the cat had been talking to me. Maybe whoever had been talking to me had turned into a cat.
Our politically-astute production manager gave me two passes to Disgraceland, the home of Richard Milhouse Nixon, one of our nation’s 42 greatest presidents.