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I'm not sure I can ever forgive him for putting a Kahler on a Les Paul though. It's like putting a Bigsby on a Charvel San Dimas.
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Gypsy woman on lonely street, voodoo woman... yeesh. Making LEURRRRRVE... blimey.
Instantly transported to 1991 when this album came out, when the rock world was moving on but all the poodle perm rock bands thought it was basically nineteen-eighty-eleven. Dude could play and sing, but the lyrics. How anyone can sing all that voodoo woman magic child makin' LEUURRRRRVE bullshit with a straight face I honestly don't know.
Don't talk politics and don't throw stones. Your royal highnesses.
Fair point but I'd say lyrics don't matter that much. Let's face it, Coldplay sang a song about the colour yellow!
Sometimes I can get past them, or find something clever in the middle of something really dumb, but this sort of stuff is like my lyrical kryptonite- shallow nonsense delivered without a hint of irony (or any evidence of a final read-through of the lyric sheet before rolling tape, like when he confesses "body keeps achin'" with lust for Old Father Time) as if it were of world-changing importance. Can't deal.
Don't talk politics and don't throw stones. Your royal highnesses.