by Mark Saleski
I had forgotten just how crazy Lester could be. I would often finish with one of his reviews in Creem (ah, those were the days) and wonder if the danged magazine was trying to pull a fast one on me.
Nope. They were not.
What I was dealin’ with was a guy who, even at his most out of control, had passion for music. He loved the stuff. He hated it. Hell, sometimes he hated a record … and then loved it later. And this made perfect sense.
I’m right in the middle of Main Lines, Blood Feasts, and Bad Taste. It’s one of those books that’s gonna go too fast for me. Maybe after that I’ll take a quick dip into Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung.
In any event, if you want to check out one of the true greats of rock criticism, here’s a good place to start.
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