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Preview: Mystic Clover Honeypot

Mystic Clover Honeypot

Updated: 2016-07-16T06:11:20.428-11:00




My computer is all kinds of fucked up---fortunately I had all my tunes backed up elsewhere, but getting everything migrated and going again is taking a little time. Should be going strong again by the start of next month. Until then...

Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Can See


from the LP When Disaster Strikes…, Elektra Records, 1997 Remember when MTV actually played music videos…? I know, that’s an overused quandary by people my age these days, but damn---the ignorant-ass shit that channel is laying on the youth of today has got to be a hundred times worse for them than even the edgiest or most unabashedly lewd music videos from back in the ‘80s & ‘90s. Although, that was an era when being a “music video director” still came with a lot of cachet if you did it well (not to mention money…), and the video for this eternally slammin’ cut from Busta is a perfect example. Director Hype Williams basically made his name in music videos, this one being among his finest; essentially a redux of Coming to America, the whole vibe of this track was magnified several times thanks to Williams’ psychedelic & surreal directorial vision (those tribal day-glo warriors sealed the deal for me). This song also happens to be the joint, with that Timbaland-inspired beat which never losses its freshness, and Busta’s ridiculously hot rhymes, “…hit you with the shit make you feel it all in your toes, hot shit got all you niggas in wet clothes; stylin my metaphors when I formulate my flows, if you don't know you're fuckin with lyrical player pros…” Word.[...]

Anarchy in the U.K.


from the LP Never Mind the Bollocks…, Warner Bros Records, 1977 I’ve purposely avoided posting these guys for nearly two years now, and frankly, I’m not even sure why I’ve decided to do so now… Much like the perennial “Beatles or Stones” inquisition, there has always been a similarly banal (and ultimately fruitless) deliberation given to us alternative folks, that being: the Clash or the Sex Pistols? Although I mostly loathe these social litmus tests (…Clash, obviously…), they do serve in clarifying for an individual part of what you look for in your musical experience, substance or symbolism. While I adored these ugly blokes as a teenager, their catalog hasn’t aged quite as well to my ears as has many of their peers’ stacks---granted, this lone LP was their only fully legitimate studio work apart from compilations, so one could argue that they are at a disadvantage there; and anyways, PiL was leagues more interesting & revolutionary than this stuff. That said, a couple of the more iconic numbers from this album, including this cut (my all-time favorite), will forever serve as ancestral anthems to the disillusioned, discombobulated, disenchanted & disgusted masses.[...]

Murderous (Instrumental)


from the CD That Total Age, Geffen Records, 1987 These jackhammer beats are the perpetual lifeblood of, shall we say, those less vanilla gay establishments (see: glory holes, leather harnesses, & the aroma of poppers all around you), a lethally propulsive mix of low- & high-ends which has served as the soundtrack to an unfathomable amount of anonymous & ambiguous sexual encounters over the decades. It’s safe to argue that these guys, British crew Nitzer Ebb, lifted some of their beats and, certainly, their neo-communist symbology from the duo DAF; however, while their addition of screamed lyrics set them apart in a crappy way (hence, the instrumental track you have before you), their minimalist use of emblematic iconography connected with audiences in a way that DAF never did. Given how tame both techno & house music from this same year sound when compared to this, it’s a wonder why early industrial hasn’t been given more props for inspiring the harder-edged techno which was to come, nor has this seen a full-fledged revival as of yet.[...]

Astral Traveling


from the LP Thembi, Impulse! Records, 1971 I have no way of knowing for sure, but if pressed, I would bet the farm that Pharoah Sanders dropped acid with John Coltrane---let’s look at the facts: Trane started taking LSD in 1965, around the same time that he asked Sanders to join his crew fulltime (after the recording of Ascension), then along with Sun Ra, Lonnie Liston Smith and Trane’s widow Alice, Mr. Sanders went on to give birth to the cosmic jazz movement (see: out there shit), laying the foundation for what some call “acid jazz”, this song being a textbook example of that approach. The whole affair almost feels as if it was recorded underneath the sea, with currents of electric keys, basslines & random percussion swirling about, Pharoah’s tenor sax fluttering around all of it like sunlight dancing off of the waves; whether this was influenced by a lysergic dream or not, the windswept result is never short of trippy.[...]

Work For Love


from the LP With Sympathy, Arista Records, 1983 Even though Al Jourgensen has consistently disavowed his contributions to the official release of this, his debut album under the alias ‘Ministry’, it’s hard to hate any exercise in post-Depeche Mode synthtastic lack of inhibition, particularly when the songs are as catchy as this; come on Al, editing quirks notwithstanding, this is the fucking schnizzle! Juvenile sex metaphors about “working overtime” aside, everything about this song pleases me: choice beats, creep-tastic synths, angular guitars, even Al’s faux-British accent does the job. Short of the dark ambiance, there aren’t really any indicators of the brash direction his music would take in the coming years, but that sharply removed distance only adds to the appeal of these primitive musical excursions, for me anyways.[...]

I Am the Black Gold of the Sun


from the LP NuYorican Soul, Talkin’ Loud Records, 1997 No discussion of American house music would be complete without focusing the microscope on NYC, and in particular, the masterminds known as Kenny ‘Dope’ Gonzales & ‘Little’ Louie Vega, rulers of the ‘90s beats scene under many monikers (most notably as Masters At Work), including this eclectic side project which focused on live instrumentation as opposed to knob twiddling, dubbed NuYorican Soul. From the insistent piano atop those loose breaks, to the epically sweeping string section, to the chorus-of-angels vocal delivery care of renowned disco diva Jocelyn Brown and some bad-ass backup singers, this track absolutely showers the listener with a torrent of sunny uplifting energy, and it garnered an awful lot of attention upon it s release (not to mention, a slew of remixes in every conceivable genre of electronica); this was actually a cover of an old Rotary Connection number from the early ‘70s, far more psychedelic in tone than what we have here & well worth tracking down also.[...]

Fire In Cairo


from the LP Three Imaginary Boys, Fiction Records, 1979 “F-I-R-E I-N C-A-I-R-O” The recent revolutionary fervor in Tunisia (which I was referencing a couple weeks ago) has now spread like wildfire into Egypt, with its largely college-educated population now equally at the end of their rope from decades of bureaucratic corruption and high unemployment, indicating the powder-keg potential of any successful revolt in the Middle East to snowball quickly across the region; most notably, to my sociological nature anyways, is the fact that in both countries, the catalysts for these masses of people taking to the streets were, in fact, single acts of self-immolation, echoing the protests of Buddhist monks in Vietnam over forty years ago (forever emblazoned on the cover of Rage Against the Machine’s debut album). This is a new tool of protest in the Arab world however, and something about its silent yet visceral impact has clearly struck a nerve with the people there---how could it not? Is there any more striking or profound display of dissent and absolute psychic exhaustion than lighting oneself on fire?! Many experts agree that Mubarak is far less likely to just leave the way Ben Ali did, and there are already reports this morning of widespread internet and cell-phone outages around large Egyptian cities, so we very-well could be in for a longer and perhaps bloodier situation than we’ve seen in Tunis---let’s just hope that whatever power structure results gives the Egyptian people more freedom, not less…[...]



from the LP Progress, Phonogram Records, 1975 Existing somewhat in the shadow of one-time collaborator Fela Kuti’s ghost, drumming legend Tony Allen is arguably every-bit as responsible for the construction of what we call “afrobeat” as was Fela, generating chunky rhythms from the vibrations of jazz, funk & highlife in such an addictive manner that it hypnotizes the listener entirely and thus, we never seem to notice how long most afrobeat songs actually are. Allen was beginning to grow tired of Fela’s unceasing narcissism by the mid ‘70s, but had his support in this and two other solo endeavors from that time period, which allowed Allen to utilize much of their well-rounded backing band, the Africa ’70. Tony Allen has enjoyed a resurgence of stature in recent years, being asked to collaborate with some notable musicians of late, including Jarvis Cocker, Damon Albarn, and the French space-synth crew Air. I dedicate this post to the brave people of Tunisia & Egypt, may your valor set you free![...]

In Complete Darkness


from the 12” single, Uphoria Records, 1993 One of the first raves I ever attended was a tiny gathering of ~200 kids in the woods of northwestern Massachusetts during the early fall of 1993, put on at a time when parties were just beginning to get a foothold in the American psyche, and it was abundantly clear to many of us that this was gonna be our shot at experiencing something similar to what the generations before had done with “acid tests”. I remember this track getting spun: not the beginning of it so much, but the moment that sample from Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation dropped into the floor’s conscience there wasn’t a single blasé expression in the place---this was our childhood, remixed & repackaged, virtually re-imagined as MDMA’s clarion call unto a shared vision of empathetic unity, “…in complete darkness we are all the same, it is only our knowledge and wisdom that separates us; don’t let your eyes deceive you…” Being from Florida, and proud of the fact that I’d already been into beats for a couple of years prior, I marched boldly up to the booth and asked the DJ what this track was, and after getting a gruff reply I figured I would try to impress him with my knowledge of breakbeats, so I requested that he spin Smart E’s – Sesame’s Treet---BIG mistake. This dude turned to me and said something like, “sorry man, that cut is way too mainstream”. Ouch. I recoiled and slinked away, feeling decidedly un-cool for the next couple minutes, but I never forgot the name of this amazing track.[...]



from the 12” single, The Summer Records, 1986 GUILTY PLEASURE ALERT Seriously people, I recognize that some of the stuff I post on here must give you pause… like, “is this cat for real?!” Yup, he sure is. I can’t help it that a lot of the music which filled South Florida airwaves in the 1980s would have been considered heresy in many other parts of the country, as that was all I knew at the time, embossing itself upon some of my happiest memories; this upbeat number is precisely one of those cuts! Not your average freestyle track, thanks largely to that pulsing 4x4 beat underneath all those luscious synths and synth-claps, this song was recorded in Hialeah (right outside Miami, ghetto) by producer Ish Ledesma; having become such a sensation at clubs & on local radio, it wound up getting national distribution through Atlantic records and became a #1 hit on Billboard’s Dance chart the year after its release.[...]

Black Sabbath


from the LP Black Sabbath, Vertigo Records, 1970 I will never forget the first time I heard this, the self-titled opening salvo from what was to become the world’s foremost dispenser of doom-laden rock: right about the point where we are confronted with the “…big black shape with eyes of fire, telling people their desire; Satan’s sitting there, he’s smiling, watches those flames get higher and higher…”, my typically unfazed adolescent mind became flooded with epinephrine & endorphins, seemingly released in time with my suddenly racing heartbeat, nearly echoing Ozzy’s sentiments, “…NO, NO, please God help me…” Granted, I was listening to it on headphones alone in my room after having smoked a couple bowls of schwag, but for a blazing moment (no pun intended) the boys in Sabbath literally made me feel Satan’s breath on my fucking neck; shit, everything about these guys was scary as all hell, from their name to their gloomy ambiance, and even that green-tinted witch on the album cover still terrifies me a little. Of course now, being old & wise & boring (see: not believing in pointy-tailed monsters who live in the core of the Earth), the content doesn’t pack the same creepy wallop, but the visceral impact of their music absolutely does: whether it’s the molasses-slow tempo of the song’s body, or the monstrous riffage of that insane breakdown about 4:35 into the track, this song (and indeed, the whole LP) marked the true beginning of heavy metal, in my humble opinion anyways.[...]



from the 12” single, Streetwise Records, 1983 If you grew up in the ‘80s and aspired to be cool, the cult classic film Beat Street was a definite must-watch: not as fresh as Wild Style but not quite as hokey as Breakin’, all genuine efforts to get the word out about then-new underground cultures which had arisen on the coasts. Sex kitten and daughter of stoner guru Tommy, Rae Dawn Chong had all of us captivated by her exotic looks and sassy flair, but like the other two above mentioned films, the dank music was the real star here. The only reason British electro jazz-funk crew Freeez had a song in there was due to this number’s producer, one Arthur Baker (of Afrika Bambaataa fame), who gave this slinky cut just the right amount of edge to be enjoyed by both mainstream clubbers and hardcore pop&lock-ers alike; thanks to a remixed re-release in ’87, this track was somewhat ubiquitous on urban radio throughout the entire decade, and appreciatively so.[...]

Nothing but a Heartache


from the LP Nothing But A Heartache, Deram Records, 1969 Maybe it’s just me, but nothing gives a lift to my chin & puts the pep in my step like a hot dose of soul music, and this striking mid-tempo cut by unsung trio The Flirtations is one of my favorites: recorded in London, by way of a NYC talent contest, these gals actually hailed from South Carolina originally, willing to follow the promise of success wherever it took them (and you can believe that swinging London in the late ‘60s would have seemed like another planet relative to the American South at that same time, let alone NYC); that devotion to a career meant they would abandon this majestic style of soul in the ‘70s when disco rose to the fore, but it’s these brass-heavy behemoths that really slay me to the core. “I’ve got a lot of those heartaches, I’ve had a lot of those teardrops…”[...]

Raspberry Beret


from the LP Around the World in a Day, Paisley Park Records, 1985 The song that took berets from second-hand stores to the racks at Macys (remember that shit?!), this smoking hot number captured my imagination and, if truth be told, my heart from the very first time I watched the weird music video for it---that psychedelic sky blue pantsuit with clouds across it that he was rocking was fucking incredible. It’s the string section that probably hooked me so hard, and those cellos still command my attention whenever this song is playing, surely evidence of his fascination with the Beatles at that time. The whole thing sounds a bit coy coming from Prince, the guy who had brought us determinedly lewd tracks like “Sister”, “Soft & Wet” & “Little Red Corvette” before, and I think that might be exactly what works for him here---it’s kind of a sweet song, considering the source; granted, relative to the rest of the pop music community, lyrics like “…she-e-e-e wasn’t too bright, but I could tell when she kissed me, she knew how to get her kicks…” aren’t exactly milquetoast.[...]

Country Road


from the LP Uphill All the Way, Transatlantic Records, 1971 My friends would tell you that I talk a lot of shit on James Taylor (sure love you Ms. Kate), and it’s true--- every fucking song that guy writes is the same goddamn tune, and not in a cool way like Van Morrison, but in an annoyingly practiced way that makes it very hard for my mind to accept him as either “cool” or “enjoyable to listen to”, let alone even conceive of this guy shooting dope (I know, it’s not a made up story, but seriously, can you imagine James Taylor asking you where you keep your sharps…?!). In all honesty though, a few of the variations on his monotonous theme are fairly agreeable, but his voice aggravates me to no end, so I found a rollicking cover of this breezy number by the stellar & criminally unknown UK crew, Unicorn (yes, weak name, but don’t hold it against them). The vibe is positively Laurel Canyon, so it’s kind of a shocker to picture them laying these tracks down across the pond, with the help of one David Gilmour no less; any fans of easy-going ‘70s rock would be well rewarded to track down all 3 of there albums.[...]

April Skies


from the LP From the Ashes of Electric Elves, Jackpine Social Club Records, 2003 First week back of the new semester, and my head is a spinnin’ like always… students often fail to realize that our brains are in the clouds just as much as theirs are these first few days back after the break, it’s true. Right now it is snowing like a motherfucker outside: low visibility, yard disappearing into a blanket of snowy ash, kashing bowls at the computer, you know the deal… Yes, I fully realize that the vibe of this song is pertaining to the sky in Spring, but it’s so wet beyond the window right now, and the snow is falling at the perfect velocity, so it just feels right. Oranger hails from the Bay Area, and the vibe of that city has definitely imprinted itself onto their brand of whimsical psych-tinged indie rock, pulling off reasonably difficult 3-part harmonies with seeming ease, adding depth to a sound that could easily sound flimsy or shambling in the wrong hands; instead, they successfully whisk the listener away with them, drifting along blithely into a kaleidoscopic swirl of guitars & keys…Oranger indeed, dig it![...]

Chloe Dancer > Crown of Thorns


from the EP Shine, Stardog Records, 1989 “…he who rides the pony must someday fall…” A sorrowfully frequent tale amongst junkies is death by accidental overdose: either (1) of those recently released from rehab, with victims often forgetting to account for the loss of tolerance that such a time away generates, getting caught up in the eager adrenalin rush which is a relapse, or (2) individuals who get a bag of dope that is unexpectedly clean, transforming their standard dose into a fatal calamity, and paying dearly for it. Both scenarios often get brought up when discussions about the tragic & untimely death of Andrew Wood arise, singer of proto-grunge bands Malfunkshun and, more notably, Mother Love Bone (he OD’d only a couple of days before their debut album was to be released, with band members Stone Goddard & Jeff Ament then going on to form Pearl Jam), a person who by all accounts was one of the most talented, driven & all-around fun human beings that many of his pals had (have?) ever been around. Having watched a booter of MLB’s documentary entitled “The Love Bone Earth Affair”, which contains all sorts of wonderfully raw interview footage with him (including an interview he does entirely while holding onto a large stuffed animal named Freddie the frog), I have to agree, there certainly was a rather magnetic quality to his charisma, something which convincingly sucks the observer right into his glamorous world of glitter, stars & golden fruit; his stage persona was obviously influenced a lot by KISS and Queen, but the quirks to his glam-trash image and vocal styling come across awfully similar to Silverhead front man Michael Des Barres. “…but I'm proud to say, and I won't forget, time spent laying by her side…” Like many music fans in their thirties, I have a special set of memories relating to this epic song, thanks to its inclusion on the soundtrack for ‘90s grunge slacker opus Singles, heard at a time when I was gleefully smoking copious amounts of pot, tripping on acid, and duly flunking out of school. Chloe, those weeks spent stoned & laughing in the woods of NMH still rank among the most blissfully carefree of my entire outlandish life, thank you…[...]

100,000 Years


from the LP KISS, Casablanca Records, 1973 Had some exceedingly good crate-digging yesterday at a local record store, scored some dank jazz-funk LPs & a rare electro release, but the pièce de résistance was undoubtedly a surprisingly clean (NM) copy of this, KISS’ debut album, a totemic item which proved impossible to resist. Excepting for the useless inclusion of the cover “Kissin’ Time”, which early copies of the album wisely excluded from the mix, there isn’t a throwaway track on here, coming right out of the gate with everything already in place to take over the world, as this song ably demonstrates: powerfully creeping bassline, big rhythmic drums, gnarly lead guitar, and Paul Stanley’s inimitable NYC-ized vocal delivery. Well, everything was in place except Peter Criss’ makeup, which got fixed, thankfully; gotta love the breakdown by wasted-ness though, with Criss and Ace both lidded & bloodshot, Stanley maybe drunk, and Simmons sober as the day is long.[...]

Slave Driver


from the LP Catch A Fire, Island Records, 1973 Looks like another one of the world’s foremost neglectors of human rights, one Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, has been overthrown and sent running following months of unrest in the streets of Tunisia (nah-nah nah nah, hey hey hey, goodbye!), something journalists are already dubbing the Jasmine Revolution, after the country’s official flower; a relatively small nation for the northern African region where it lies, Tunisia (along with Egypt & Turkey) has been at the forefront of progressive Arab nations (see: firmly resisting theocratic rule) since it’s independence in the mid ‘50s, but Ben Ali had done much to dismantle that---not in the direction of religious rule mind you, but in the direction of other nationalistic figureheads (see: Chavez, Castro, Mugabe) who have horrendous human rights records, and habitually refuse to leave until they are forced out. As with all successful revolutions, it creates an instant vacuum of power which can be easily exploited and misused if the reigns fall into the wrong hands, but having an educated population in Tunis who won’t settle down until their desire for true freedom is satisfied, there truly is the potential for real & radical change. Raise a spliff (or a hash pipe, if you’re in Tunisia) to freedom!![...]

Dance the Mutation


from the LP Cyborgs Revisited, Get Back Records, released: 2003, recorded: 1975 Americans tend to be astoundingly naïve about our neighbor to the north Canada, presuming that it’s just full of nice, aloof, white people living quiet, dimly humorous lives in a snow globe (largely thanks to the hilarious brilliance of Strange Brew, a film whose witty jibes at U.S. stereotyping many oblivious people here took literally… whoops); in fact, Canada (in the big cities anyways) comprises one of the most progressive & liberal nations in the world, not to mention diverse. Due to it’s proximity to Toronto, a major metropolis by any country’s standards, it shouldn’t be too surprising that Hamilton, Ontario would spawn a band as raw and ahead-of-their-time as was Simply Saucer, a group better known for being one of the now-famous Lanois brothers’ first production credits (essentially just hitting the “record” button at this primitive stage in their career). As a result of Saucer’s gritty and, at times, proto-punk leanings, critics constantly trace their lines of influence directly to acts like the Velvet Underground & the Stooges, and although they were clearly touched by those vibes as well, its entirely apparent to me that the Rolling Stones were really at the core of what they were trying to do here; this song in particular comes from that same sordid & squalid place that Mick & the boys called home before things got predictable, sounding like a further deconstruction of the Stones’ already well-damaged “Stray Cat Blues”.[...]

At the Party


from the 12” single, Enjoy Records, 1980 You gotta love when, in the pursuit of all things heady, you wind up stumbling across tributaries of lifelines which you never knew existed, clarifying a once-present state of confusion or merely coalescing vibrations in a profound way; with that in mind, I must admit that I had no clue Kool Moe Dee was dropping shit this far back until I began researching a post that was supposed to be for his 1987 cut “Little Jon”. I knew he had mad respect for being old school (back in the days which are now referred to as “old school”, making him old-old school I suppose), but I didn’t realize he was there at hip-hop’s actual genesis (Dee, along with Busy Bee, is the supposed originator of battling on the mic); thus, I landed upon this early number from his primitive crew the Treacherous Three, something which is actually way funkier than the track I was gonna put up, so that works out nicely! Similar in approach to the other Enjoy Records release I have posted on here (“Superappin”), this discofied cut is a waxen testament to hip-hop’s freewheeling halcyon days, long before money & notoriety changed everything for evermore (not saying that was a bad thing, just sayin’…). This is dedicated to the memory of dynamite producer Bobby Robinson, who laid down this and other seminal hip-hop tracks before the word was out, passing on a week ago at the ripe old age of 93---I’m just sorry he had to experience Soulja Boy Tell Em (see: “Gucci bandana, Gucci Gucci bandana, repeat ad nauseum) before he died… Let’s all do Bobby’s memory a solid by re-claiming the hip-hop mantle for people who actually have talent![...]

My Baby's Got E.S.P.


from the 7” single, P&P Records, 1976 This early release finds spaced out disco-soul deity Patrick Adams standing with his feet firmly planted in two worlds: the 4-part soul harmonies in the vocal track & the insanely epic disco dwelling within those strings & percussion, chronologically moving away from the former and into the later, and though it’s lacking his signature Moog craziness, this effort is no less amazing or ambitious for it’s absence… okay, maybe one of Adams’ signature squiggly synthlines could take this to another level, but it still kicks ass. The violins really steal the show here (don’t they always…), taking what comes across as a relatively sing-songy keyboard riff and turning it into a real swell of emotive force; not surprisingly, those strings got sampled in more than one late ‘90s house track.[...]

On the Beat


from the 12” single, Crash Records, 1983 Casiotone keyboards and CZ-101 synthesizers seemed to come out of nowhere in the ‘80s, given that the Japanese electronics brand had formerly only been well known for their compact calculators, and the old school heavyweights like Roland, Korg & Moog got taken very much by surprise when their high-end audiophile equipment was suddenly receiving competition from Casio’s budget set ups; I had the tiny PT-1 as a kid, and every last one of those programmed beats (i.e. rhumba, waltz, bossa nova, rock 2, etc…) are still imprinted onto my long term memory banks. Not everyone had access to 808s when they were first released (particularly in Italy, excepting for the mind-bending shit that Rago & Farina were dropping), and many italo producers were quick to adopt the more user friendly, low-end gear, leaving us an inexorably thorough documentation of all the potential that Casio machines offered. This track was cut by the little-known production team of Daniele Francesconi & Mauro Pilato, uplifting but just edgy enough to avoid deep cheese, and yet another ‘80s kitsch-centric cover for all you design whores.[...]

The Ballad of Curtis Loew


from the LP Second Helping, MCA Records, 1974 It’s incredible to me what a fucking swindle most classic rock-n-roll really was, a true & thorough pillaging of every last recorded blues note that had ever been plucked, and not a single one of them (Page, Clapton, Townshend, Richards, Beck, Lennon, Davies, et al.) ever had to pay those visionary brothers (or their families) a dime for getting butt-rich off of their lives’ harrowing truths & hardships. I suppose that alone wouldn’t be such a big deal in & of itself (past is prologue, and all that…), but those same bands were then so quick to turn around and sue the fuck out of (mainly) black men in the ‘80s & ‘90s (and they will still sue anyone to this day) who were merely sampling a few seconds of their already ripped off licks, hypocrisy of the highest order if you ask me. In actuality, those rock heroes owe much of their surreal privileged lives to brave and oppressed gentlemen like the one depicted in this essential cut by Skynyrd, cats who knew full well that their musical talent would never be enough to change their status in the culture which they then lived, resigned to the therapy of strum…and some wine…word.[...]