It’s the start of 1977, my early days as a rock writer, and I’m up in Black Rock, visiting one of the few label guys who’ll take my calls.
A devout fan of Marc Bolan, David Bowie, and Jim Morrison, he absolutely loathes the Who, so we’ve agreed to disagree about that. He pulls out a white label of Cheap Trick, which Epic is weeks away from releasing.
“Listen,” he says, exuding real conviction – no mean feat for a man who is as sardonic as they come. “These guys are great. They’re gonna be enormous.” I’m pretty dubious about mainstream American rock & roll, at least as represented in the hallway outside by posters of Ted Nugent, Kansas, Wild Cherry, and Meat Loaf, but I try not to roll my eyes.