Bruce at his best when he's young and it's raw and the recording levels are completely wrong, the noise and dirt from cheap analog all on tape with bad microphones and a backup band over-powering the console recording in one room fuzzing up and fizzing down and cranking out while Bruce croons ahead of the beat and over the sound of the backup singers and horns and the undefined crash of cymbals while the oh so familiar esquire sounds gritty and crunchy and not at all like the mid-rangy sounds of the 70s, but a cheap, crispy knock-off rock that you just can't help to keep following, wondering if the mid-level will kick in and come along, but it stays thin and dark and dreary, rocking out, Blinded by the light, like a spirit in the night, It's so hard to be a saint in the city, Lost in the flood - oh what a noise.
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