That being the case, let me begin by offering you all a good cheap laugh at my expense with this photo of me (wearing a really stupid Bruce Springsteen cap) backstage at My Father's Place in Roslyn, NY. With Lucy [sister of Carly] Simon (seated on the floor) and a bunch of other folks who comprised the Lucy Simon Band at the time (Thanksgiving, 1975).
I was playing highly inadequate lead guitar in said ensemble...
...the other folks included a couple of my old high school garage band chums and Jerry Marrotta, a very nice guy and thorough-going pro who went on to be the drummer for Orleans. I won't bring up that album cover in which he and the rest of Orleans are posed shirtless, but I'm sure you remember it.
Okay, yes I will bring it up.
Good lord, that's hideous.
In any case, for this particular four day engagement, we were the opening act for Aztec
I knew Aztec
Seriously, the mere thought of that song made me want to smack them on sight on numerous occasions, although cooler heads prevailed. In any case, as far as I was concerned these guys made Zager and Evans sound like Marx and Engels.
Anyway, on the first night of the billing, said Aztec
I was standing in the wings, smoking a cigarette, and (unbeknownst to them) I overheard their manager talking to them in words to this effect: "Hey -- Rex, Neal; that guitarist with Lucy is a rock critic. Be as nice to him as possible and maybe he'll say nice things about the album."
And for the next three days, they kissed my ass with passionate intensity. Although to me, of course, it felt like transparent smarmy insincerity.
Also, of course, they never realized that I was smirking inside every time they waxed obsequious.
And needless to say, I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. A lot.
And no, I didn't go on to say something nice about the album, although I did write about the experience (sans reference to Aztec