Hot summer night, sticky and treacherous. Red night. Night of sirens and fear. We were sitting on the balcony of my apartment in Pawtucket, three of us.
Some nice guitar hooks, a good Cavedogs-type vocalist, thick bass, snappy snare drum, songs about, I dunno, girls and stuff. Inoffensive and ignorable rock
Sandman #75 is just what writer Neil Gaiman promised: his retelling of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, a glorious finale to one of Comics’ Greatest Stories.
Still not original, the music is bar-band serviceable but awkward and stiff, and the lyrics continue to reach far beyond their grasp in search of profundity.
You hear Steel Miners for the first time and immediately you wanna go out and smash all the windows in the upscale, yuppified clothing store up the street.