Study Blues McGee’s face and you see the scars of battle. The Rosicrucian nose. The bloodshot eyes. The sunken cheeks, the drooping eyelids, the furrowed brow. Even his ears are worn.
His neck has been arched out, then relaxed, so often that it’s formed into a thick ropey vine of veins.
Some rockers get leathery as they age. Some look like they’ve been pickled and curried in a vat or sour liquid. Others just wither.
Is Blues McGee going to beat us up for writing this? (He’s weak, but he can still whack with that axe.) We’re banking on no, because he’s written a song about his own decline: “Saggy Man Blues.”
Sample lyric:
I still hold my head up proud
Smoke and shoot and get right plowed
I lost an inch
I did not flinch
I’ve always been a raggy, craggy, saggy man.

We salute you.

For those who prefer their rock young and erect, Crowned Madonnas and Majestic Mosaics are at the Bullfinch, which kind of render Hamilton’s, D’ollaire’s and everywhere else irrelevant…