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| And I can see what their point was, and what yours is, too, assuming you’re one of the strawman ghost-figures I’m attacking: there’s no immediate sense of danger in a Boz Scaggs album. There’s none of the crackle and buzz that makes rock and roll occasionally (and falsely) seem dangerous or threatening. There’s no blood in his eyes when he sings. But therein lies the genius of his best album, Silk Degrees, about which I refuse to write. |
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