You know that I don't review rock 'n roll very often, but here goes....
If someone brushed past me in a crowd and slipped a piece of paper into my pocket, which I discovered later that night...and it had the lyrics to this song, I think I'd be moved...maybe inspired.
Or, if I was at an outdoor rock concert, where walking...or even moving about...was no longer required because some guy walked up to me at noon and asked me if I wanted to buy some spraquna dust and my answer was "What?" and he said, "Spraquna dust!" and I said, "What's spragnut dust?" and he said "Spraquna dust! Spraquna dust!" and I said "OK" and suddenly it was dark and 1000's of people were holding up Bic lighters and swaying to this song, I would probably join in as if it were a life mission...like I was helping to save something.
Or, if Gino Vanelli sang it instead, it might have helped.
But, come on folks, this is a dirge that...with or without that pathetic vocal rendition of some pretty nice poetry...makes Volga Yeoman sound like carousel music. Add to this that it's been played to death and the ball lands on a "Gawdawful" musical experience. Dreadful.
(P.S.: My apologies to anyone who got their first blowjob while this song was playing.)
