Old school rock and roll hasn’t really changed that music in the last 40 years or so. Then again, it doesn’t have to. You can make a good argument for the genre having found its perfect form, meaning that all you need to do is merely bend it to your will, make it fit your personality but fundamentally it is always going to sell itself. And if you are going to  argue that all you can do when in the confines of the genre is re-invent the wheel to some degree, at least artists such as Jay Stott manage to add some fancy trims, rev the engine excessively and take that wheel for a spin round the block, ignoring stop signs and pedestrians, jumping the lights, leaving tyre marks on the road surface and generally annoying the neighbours. It is rock and roll after all.

And subject-wise, the lyrics are a perfect match for his low-slung musical swagger, a groovesome meditation on the downfalls of always living in the moment, of pondering  rash decisions and bad choices, of how doing what feels right in the short term is generally totally wrong in the long term. But, like I say, its rock and roll, and what is rock and roll built on if not reflection, poor decisions, regret and an infectious groove?

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Musician, scribbler, historian, gnostic, seeker of enlightenment, asker of the wrong questions, delver into the lost archives, fugitive from the law of averages, blogger, quantum spanner, left footed traveller, music journalist, zenarchist, freelance writer, reviewer and gemini. People have woken up to worse.

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