BAD COMPANY: A Bunch of Sissies?
You don't have to wear mascara, you know...
The things we rock writers come up with! For my sins I recall to this day a ridiculously pompous conversation that took place between yours truly and one American scribe — now a fully paid-up member of the Rolling Stone editorial higher echelon but at thatpoint a budding punk terrible working out of Detroit — where we came to the conclusion that the only valid dialectic situation left to the rock star-rock critic was to get into highly elaborate fist fights.
Whether this concept was inspired by the much-publicised fisticuffs between Bob Dylan and venerable rock eccentric A. J. Weberman or whether it was just a kind of dumb cool thing to think up at the time doesn't really matter. Nor does the fact that both of us were yer archetypal ninety-pound weaklings.
