- Don’t know if I’ve listened to several of their studio albums; I might have heard, say, In The Dark by accident at someone’s house, but I didn’t buy them back when you had to buy music, and I haven’t stolen them now that they’re free. (Definitely listened to: American Beauty, Workingman’s, Aoxomoxoa. The rest are maybes.)
- If the song was introduced post-Brent, I do not know it. At the Farewell Shoes, I had to ask whether Liberty had always been a Bobby song. Don’t get me started on Wave To The Wind. I wouldn’t know Wave To The Wind if I fell over it. Samba In The Rain? I mean: I know how a samba goes, so I could guess at the song’s basic rhythm, but I couldn’t sing the fucker for you.
- I can’t remember anything past basic and acontextual flashes from any of the shows I went to.
- High Time still ain’t doing it for me.
- The “real” lyrics don’t matter to me: I still sing “flashing my keys out on Main Street.” The guy in the green suit without a face–the Doo-Dah Man–is standing beneath a neon arrow, he’s got his keys on the end of the chain that was worn with a zoot suit, and he’s twirling them around like a lifeguard with his whistle. Everyone knows this.
What are yours? Confess your sins, Enthusiasts, and we will be merciful. Don’t make us drag them out of you. We have dragons. For dragging.
Why are you speaking in third person?
It sounds eviller.
Okay.
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