Rock stars are like lab rats. Quite apart from their own chemical dabblings, they are mercilessly experimented on by the world, which hangs on their every word, never contradicts them and showers them with knickers and money and decades of leisure in which to ponder their specialness. (As Greg Lake of Emerson, Lake and Palmer once said of playing to a crowd of 600,000: “I’ve never seen that many people together, other than in war.”)
No wonder they start to feel messianic. If you were a scientist trying to devise a foolproof method of relaxing someone’s grip on reality, you’d come up with something very like this.
As a result, rock gods, like kids, say the darndest things, and Steve Punt’s excellent...
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