DOOBIE BROS: The Reward Of Facelessness
Who were they? Just a bunch of street people who “looked like bikers and said they wanted to be rock ‘n’ roll stars” — with precious little indication that they had the chops to back up that fantasy.
Who were they? Just a bunch of street people who “looked like bikers and said they wanted to be rock ‘n’ roll stars” — with precious little indication that they had the chops to back up that fantasy. The only asset: a chunky, innocuous rhythm guitar sound, with colorless singing that epitomized the amateur musician/fulltime doper acoustic sound that pervaded hip enclaves from Santa Fe to San Mateo.
One wonders now, how that first album got made at all. They were just hanging around San Mateo’s Pacific Recorders, Tom Johnston and John Hartman and Patrick Simmons and some other friend who’s since long wandered away. None of them were named Doobie; neither were they brothers, except in the zit-faced way street hippies used to address each other way back in the 1960’s. They made a tape. The guys who ran Pacific
