In their second or third (depending on how one defines it)
configuration, stripped of the most crucial initial members, the FBB are basically a bunch of journeyman session dudes with
no particular propensity for songwriting or distinct musical identity. The
attenuated Byrds connection is down to Gene Parsons, probably the most credible
writer of the bunch (his “Desert Childhood” comes closer to memorable than the rest of the album), even if, as Country Rock Blog notes, his status as one “G.
Parsons” might have been his real ticket into the band. Nothing sticks out but
nothing grates, right up until the terribly misguided decision to end things
with a “Hot Burrito #3,” which reeks of such pathetic desperation, bottom
feeding, and outright gravedigging that it can’t help but leave a sour taste as
the final impression.
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