Eric Burdon & War – Spill The Wine
The air is thick, humid, smelling faintly of cheap California wine and a certain kind of studio delirium that only…
The air is thick, humid, smelling faintly of cheap California wine and a certain kind of studio delirium that only…
It’s 1972. The air is thick with change, and the promises of the 1960s have curdled into a grittier, more…
It is a familiar scene, etched into the collective memory of rock history: a twenty-year-old drummer, drenched in sweat and…
It’s late, the city quieted to a low hum, the kind of stillness where a great song can feel like…
The streetlights blurred outside the cab window. Rain lashed the glass, an uneven rhythm track against the muted backdrop of…
I first encountered this piece of music on a late, cold drive across the American Midwest. The radio dial was…
The first time you hear Roger McGuinn’s Rickenbacker 12-string, it’s not just a sound—it’s a weather system. It’s a sudden,…
It is two minutes and thirty-three seconds of perfect, crystalline tension. It arrives in the velvet hour, after the last…
The year is 1965. The touring is a brutal, ceaseless blur, and Brian Wilson, the band’s visionary heart, has just…
I remember the first time I heard it on a proper sound system—not car speakers, not tinny headphones, but through…