The evils of classic rock are laid out beautifully on the radio: long guitar solos, brash body worship, clueless love lyrics that equate to unintelligent, formless limerick lines and dude-centric bullshit littering the American Dream. Sure, I like some classic rock, but for every Tom Petty there’s a .38 Special and for every early Chicago, there’s, well, a late Chicago. I struggle to find intellectual balance in classic rock. One part of me just wants to rock out and bang my head for metal health, the other wants to analyze this thing that’s called radar love. The middle ground, for me, lies within the beast itself: meaning. Is there a purpose to the rambling and rollicking? Why is this solo here? Are these lyrics really worth the time to sing them? Continue reading ‘Phosphorescent: Here’s to Taking It Easy’