Both lead singles are Rick Roberts jams, but Larry Burnett’s
songs have a marginally more human feel, maybe just because of the dirty
harmonica on “Wrong Side of Town,” maybe just because he oozes such sleaze that the stench of the organic finds its way into his songs, their insipid blandness failing to provide sufficient antiseptic measures. They also have a guy named Jock onboard (he'd been there from the start, and later he'd steal the group).
Whatever: third time at bat is neither better nor worse than the two before, though I liked it better when they reserved the band photo for the back cover. As always, the album slides in one ear, out the other, leaving little but a burnt-coke aftertaste. One does hope Michael Clarke was reading a good novel while nominally keeping time, because good Christ, my grandmother could do this.
Whatever: third time at bat is neither better nor worse than the two before, though I liked it better when they reserved the band photo for the back cover. As always, the album slides in one ear, out the other, leaving little but a burnt-coke aftertaste. One does hope Michael Clarke was reading a good novel while nominally keeping time, because good Christ, my grandmother could do this.
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