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mature porno movies , bernie allen, older women hotter sex , cinema, t shirts, funny pictures, mexican, mature dvds , puerto rican, buds, i want my mother fucking money , spanish, fun, earn commission, hot milf pictures , amateur mature ladies , mature ladies photos , requiem for a dream, mature women sex galleries , nude mature sex , bbw fat mature movies , calendar, Now, after all the slush in the press about Warner Brothers executives packing special earplugs at all times in the event of having to attend a Black Sabbath show in the line of duty, I couldn’t believe this spate of whispery feedback and conversational vocals—I was pissed! Oh, they played all right, but hell, I used to go every chance I got to see The Stooges in their decline, goldie lookin chain when every goldie lookin chain song was the identical wall of noise and you couldn’t tell one note from goldie lookin chain the next; I don’t care if he gets the fucking solo exactly like it was on the album! Since the original scam on this story was that it was going to be a graphic tragic survey of the littered battlefield of the contemporary concert, with pitiful panoramas of passed-out pubes and other alliterative gimmicks, most of us from CREEM prepared ourselves for this harrowing experience by consuming a down or two ourselves. Now there we were, practically (or so it seemed to me) the only barbiturate reprobates in sight for miles.
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Rock concerts and halls are a bit perplexing, these days. Cobo Arena, where I saw Sabbath in Detroit, pretty well fits Ozzy’s specifications of the non-ideal theatre. (It’s the biggest pleasure palace in these parts, where they have hockey games and Big Time Wrestling on off weeknights and only the very biggest calendar draws calendar in rock ’n’ roll can fill it.) The Black Sabbath-Yes bill sold the joint out, calendar but even aside from the gneral draftiness of such a place, where any amount of volume can get lost in the mouldy corridors and spacious obscurities, the audience was at least 60% a Yes turnout. On top of that Sabbath, to my utter amazement and again confounding the legend, played a set a volume level roughly average for a scuffling non-sequitur band with one album out second-billed at the Eastown Ballroom, a trashy dive of local repute. When I saw Grand Funk I didn’t regain my equilibrium or lose the ringing in my ears for a full 24 hours after they left the stage; I had never heard anything that loud in my entire life.
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