BACKSTREET CRAWLER: PAUL KOSSOFF
As a guitarist I preferred him to may of his better contempories; that had everything to do with a love of imperfection.
Paul Kossoff died of a heart ailment after years of drug addiction. So I guess he isn’t really a hero of anything. Probably closer of being a fool, or yet another person with a death wish. As a guitarist I preferred him to may of his better contempories; that had everything to do with a love of imperfection. Kossoffs second band, Free, fell flat on their faces through their first two albums. Were considered a poor man’s Cream. Couldn’t get in the charts to save their life. But watching them in ’68 at Manchester’s Twisted Wheel, tagging along with my big brother, it was...love.
Kossoffs playing wasn’t that tremendous, I realize; his use of the whole neck of the guitar and fast chord changes a not so good Clapton try, his extended riffs a harbinger of the ghost of HM yet to come. All that said, for a 12-year-old kid having his first taste of beer, the experience was somewhat akin to the second coming of Christ. I remained a fan of Free and Kossoff to the point where I even bought a Backstreet Crawler LP—though that was ’76 and I was a fully paid-up punk by then.
