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Mista [B]Black[/B] doesn't scream like he used to, but he ain't ready to give up the good ol' boy yells just yet...More on
The show starts as a symphony of noisy hate and gradually settles into a spacey, Mexicano-flavoured hard rock that allows Black to revisit back pages and air new songs hewn from the same old cloth. [I]"I'm up there in the stars tonight/I wonder if someone cares"[/I], he sings to a lilting riff - a guitar note stretched to eternity - as he ponders the swing of fortune that has him facing a new generation.
Mista Black doesn't scream like he used to, but he ain't ready to give up the good ol' boy yells just yet. Even if songs are at their most spooky when the transplanted Bostonian bemoans his small-town surroundings and dreams of escape to [I]"an abstract plane"[/I].
In Black's weather-beaten hands, a harmless phrase like [I]"you'll miss my loving ways"[/I] sounds like a threat. And the occasional conservatism of such a lean and hungry group comforts more than it irritates, strangely enough. It's just the way Frank plays 'em.
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