“Here was a dude who carried himself like Brando, Dylan, and Elvis. If John Steinbeck could sing, if Van Morrison could ride a Harley-Davidson. But he was something new, too. He was the first whiff of Scorsese, the first hint of Patti Smith, Elvis Costello, and the Clash. He was the end of long hair, brown rice and bell bottoms. It was the end of the 20-minute drum solo. It was good night, Haight-Ashbury; hello, Asbury Park.”
