ear Phil,



Have you talked to your son Donte lately? I caught his Katie Couric interview on Go Back to Sleep America some months back. I’m not sure if his agitated demeanor was due to revealing his sordid upbringing (that you had more than a little to do with) on national television, or because Ms. Couric couldn’t help but give him her famous I-feel-so-bad-for-you-I-want-to-pounce-your-bones gaze. My favorite part was when Donte said that he goes by the name “Specter,” like the phantom apparition, instead of his birth name. He then detailed how as a child, you would blindfold him and his brother, and make them perform, and receive, sexual acts by your seedy celeb guests. All the while one could sense he was a bit unhinged—very Spectoresque. You’d be proud.

What I really wanted to say was that your essence continues to waft across the musical highlands to this day. Poetic, huh? In this case I’m not talking about the gun-toting, idiosyncratic sexual deviant essence—but the other one. The sound one. Forget Saturday Looks Good to Me and The Aislers Set, there’s this gal, Sasha Bell that might rock your soon-to-be jail cell. Sounding like Stevie Nicks fronting The Crystals filtered through 70s prog keyboards, the second track, “Hair” shows how her album, Destination Girl, is really an update of your famous wall with just as thick instrumentation—cellos, flutes, all that jazz—but with sprinkling keyboards and a bit of a British gloss.

If you ever get some spare time—what am I saying—you haven’t had work in years, Phil, don’t try to hide it—I’ve got to play you the title cut off this album. Picture the Teddy Bears singing on a lush Welsh moor about finding their femininity. The whole thing is very 70s sounding. There’s even a tinge of Stones and Beatles influence in the mix, which you’ll be happy to know. But don’t get all big-headed and excited on me here, firing pistol shots in the air, there’s also a heavy slab of Sandy Denny fronted Fairport Attraction and 80s new-wave. But all the while, you’re turning the wheels, my friend. Those brilliant and bloody wheels.

One of the men who occupies the same living space with me swore that he heard the opening song, “Reno,” before (and if it makes any difference, he thought “River Deep, Mountain High” was the best thing the Turner’s did.) The impossibility of this aside, his comment attests to the entire albums nostalgic feel; you’re sure you’ve heard it all somewhere before. While I’m talking about remembering, before I go and forget again, I’d like my copy of Barbarian Queen back if you’re finished with it. Oh, and give me your new address and visiting times when you get ‘em.