THIN LIZZY: Who Needs Springsteen When You’ve Got Johnny Cool?
It’s just after seven in the evening. Phil Lynott and Scott Gorham are stretched on the floor of room 1012 in the Continental Hyatt House on Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, demolishing a bottle of J&B whiskey.
It’s just after seven in the evening. Phil Lynott and Scott Gorham are stretched on the floor of room 1012 in the Continental Hyatt House on Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, demolishing a bottle of J&B whiskey. KMET is pumping out what is by now the inevitable sound of Peter Frampton.
LA-born Gorham picks at his badly peeling Arizona sun-ravaged chest and slumps there, bombed and listless. Lynott is, as ever, speeding along on the constant edge of anxiety that hides behind the self-defined J ohnny Cool persona he lays down for the masses.
