DON’T TOUCH THAT DIAL
I like Sam Cooke. I’ve even been known to argue that it was Cooke, not Otis Redding who was the greatest male soul balladeer of the ’60s. (And that Redding has the greater reputation chiefly on the basis of writing Aretha’s greatest — and first — hit “Respect,” and having been at Monterey.
DON’T TOUCH THAT DIAL
Redemption In The Air
Donald Willson
by
I like Sam Cooke. I’ve even been known to argue that it was Cooke, not Otis Redding who was the greatest male soul balladeer of the ’60s. (And that Redding has the greater reputation chiefly on the basis of writing Aretha’s greatest — and first — hit “Respect,” and having been at Monterey. Anybody who wants to fight should write c/o this magazine.)
I do not like Cat Stevens. I have even been tempted to argue that it is he, not Harry Chapin, who best represents the tepid idiocy of our generation’s spineless rock set. “Another Saturday Night” proves both my points. It is a great song, abysmally rendered by this whining little piece of Greco-limey sapsuck. Enough, I adjure you, to make one seriously consider ripping the very speakers from one’s dash.