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Yes, Howard's back, and you know what that means.

But first, I'd be remiss to not mention the passing of legend Jack Bruce, who's music inspired me and countless others to both learn the blues and transcend them. May he sing as sweetly in heaven as he did here.

And in tribute to Jack I'd like to be able to tell you I know what I'm doing on this new album. For remember: Cream's 'Disraeli Gears' was recorded I believe in 3 days. But no. Howard's addition has only made the waters all that more murky.

"What are we doing?" he asks. As if we know. Before long, he's wondering where the excitement is. I'm having flashbacks. Etc. The song in question still THE SONG WHOSE TITLE SHALL NOT BE REVEALED. And believe me, if only I could write a song as good as this title!

So yeah, Herr H is in the other room supposedly building drums. But instead he plays me a track that sounds nothing like SP. "This is what I'm into." I point out there isn't a single guitar. "Exactly," he mimes, lips pursed. This, I guess, is my problem. Guitars.

But according to manager Pete Katsis, guitars are on the way back IN. And those Foo's just sold out Wrigley Field playing, you guessed it, loud guitars.

Personally, I'm with Howard, but not for the reasons he'd think. 'Cause I don't think guitars are the problem, nor do I think they're any solution.

Songs, I say, are king, and maybe that's because it's to my advantage to say so. And when I look around at what's 'happening': guitars, no guitars, kazoos, banjos, washtubs, and so on, it's the tune they're singing that makes the difference.

Sure, the public can duped with music production, and never more so than now. But I'll guess the half-wit songs don't last, and anyone singing 'whoa-e-whoa' goes to…

Pop heaven? No, no…

i jest. Start over. How about this: music production is like one's trendy clothes?

Ok, a bit boring and beige (subtle plug).

Where does this go? I'll tell you…

Rock and roll, spirit-wise, shall never die. But it's how one rocks that matters. And should you go about the same shite over and over and over, I believe there are tarpits that can't be seen; no matter how much the public celebrates that creative mediocrity. And this means you, if you consider yourself a consumer. And this doesn't mean you if you don't buy shite.

'Cause it's the buying or not buying that translates into 'votes' for the bean counters. And in rock and roll business, might is right, and right means nothing without commerce until your dead. At which point they'll harvest your corpse-catalog for something saccharine sweet; and so on…

DAY FOR NIGHT is, for now, a zombie walking. Avoiding light, and the soft rock that passes for rocka-rolla. Does that mean it's heavy or not heavy? NO. That means it's heavy of soul; as in rubber soul; plastic soul; or no soul. So if it lives, it'll live in the space between Howard's NoGuitarlandia and what was once my forte; now passed and passé. On that 3rd, middle lane; bleating unseen, unknown; and as yet unheard.

Dramatic, I know…

But it is almost Halloween.


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