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If Thin Lizzy had done nothing but bless us with harmonized guitar solos, we would still be forever in their debt. If they had only embodied the streetwise rocker archetype, we would still owe them heavy rotation on jukeboxes the world over. Add to that a fine set of bone crunchers and ballads and I can say it's taken shamefully long to pay them a proper tribute on the 'blague. Here's one from their later days, still full of fire, fueled by booze, and clad in don't-mess-with-me denim.
There are plenty of rock dudes you'd love to go out drinking with. Bob Dylan. Thin Lizzy. Tom Waits + whoever he would've brought along in 1978. I'd even add Belle & Sebastian, because you know those little Glaswegians could probably drink you under the table and smash your smug face if you even mumbled the word "twee."
Then there's Artful Dodger, in whose sweaty company I'm sure you would've had a rollicking, all-American time throwing back cans of crappy beer and enjoying the most indistinct burgers in Wisconsin. Even if you were in Virginia. The boys are long gone and forgotten, but you can conjure the magic with their utterly addictive masterpiece.
If Thin Lizzy had done nothing but bless us with harmonized guitar solos, we would still be forever in their debt. If they had only embodied the streetwise rocker archetype, we would still owe them heavy rotation on jukeboxes the world over. Add to that a fine set of bone crunchers and ballads and I can say it's taken shamefully long to pay them a proper tribute on the 'blague. Here's one from their later days, still full of fire, fueled by booze, and clad in don't-mess-with-me denim.
