I’m obliged to do the rounds again in the form of a U.K. tour, and between you and me, my back hurts and I will need many helpers to move things from dressing room to stage, stage to strange woman’s afterparty, party to hotel room and hotel room to train station. I will carry the vodka and portable gramaphone, you can carry the ice and blankets. Its going to be a nasty autumn.
Don’t sit and wait for the bomb to go off, people. Get out and raise Hell for God’s sake. Let’s celebrate the separation of church and state while we still can. Let’s get drunk and flirt with strangers. Let’s eat hamburgers without washing our hands. They’ve captured some more tremendous noise on tape, and there will be a single released: “Low rider” by War. I hope it will tide you over until the next album is completed. Pale, anxious men in labcoats are busy working on that in my basement right now.
Son of Dave is huge in France I’m told, and there will be special trips to that place. The French audiences in the past have been full of helpful criticism, and I can’t wait to listen to more. I will try not to fight with the waiters and hotel people this time. I’m grateful for the hair on my steak and the wine they spill on my second hand suit. My friends, please forgive me if I’ve let you down. I don’t think all of the shows have been excellent enough. I won’t rest until you are all writhing and tearing your neighbor’s blouse off. Anything short of that is a failure in my eyes.
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