I’ll kill your kid sister,

I’ll murder your dad I’ll rip the lashes off your eyes,

I’ll slaughter all your cattle,

And I’ll burn your crops

If you’re dancin’ with another guy.*

If you happened into a Macon diner one night, do you suppose you could pick Butch Trucks out of the assembled suppers and slurpers? Would you recognize Ken Hensley or Ritchie Blackmore in a London bookstall? Lori Lieberman’s face in a subway train, Chris dagger’s speaking voice? What’s the name of the Sha Na Na fatso who looks like Victor Buono?

The problem is the proliferation of trained rock personnel. Attached to groups or floating solo, there are so

many singers, writers, percussionists, synthesizers and slide players, you can’t tell ’em apart.

Like this one group. They’ve sold millions round the globe, charted close to twenty single hits and are on their fourteenth album this very minute, yet

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Next year I’ll have spent half of my 28 years in this band.

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they trek about in their Mapleleaf showbiz shoes virtually unrecognized. High sales and low profile. Raise your hand if you know who wrote “These Eyes,” who handled 'the speaking part in “Rain