You mean like the Pearl Jams, the Creeds, the Ian Astburys of the world?
But then, I remember being 15 years old, and thinking that No One Here Gets Out Alive was as seminal a rock manifesto as there ever was. Yeah, I even scrawled the spoken interlude from “When the Music’s Over” on my Sociology book cover. Tried to grow my hair long (oh, THAT was a bad idea!). Collected all the records. About the only thing I didn’t do was harbor a resentment towards my parents. Could never do that: mine were always way cool. My friends thought so. Heck, even I told ‘em so!
I laugh about that shit now, but here I am twenty years later, and I’m listening to them even as I type this. Deep music? Yeah, right. But enjoyable? Damn straight! I still crank it up for “Roadhouse Blues,” “Moonlight Drive,” and “LA Woman.” “Wishful Sinful” is just flat-out gorgeous. “Riders on the Storm” is just plain eerie. Sure the words are dated, (REEEEEEEEEEEALLY dated), but they were a tight band. Nothing more, nothing less.