An aptly titled album, this, by one of the many scions of the Escovedo dynasty – the romance of the American urban thoroughfare writ in whacking great neon capitals.
Big guitars, chord-to-chord composition, chick back-ups, punk-ass poetry, pointy shoes, the cardio-burp of anthems... Plus brief appearances by Messrs Springsteen and (Ian) Hunter, set against a vast production by Tony Visconti. As tremulously masculine as masculinity gets. Heartfelt as a form of street stance. Lou Reed's New York is a much better record.Reuse content