A song riding the timeline like a leaf floating downstream on the cosmic wind, unfinished, barely formed for 30 years until suddenly its time comes to be and all the pieces coalesce into a sublime whole, ready to be played and sung and stomped along to beating the rhythm on steering wheels and desk tops tapping wingtips on hardwood pool-hall floors as the beat takes over and the words flow around you like a million razor-beaked sparrows. Come on baby I’m a highway machine I’m looking for someone in tight blue jeans and all the rest screaming out like a subversive love letter to all the fast women and good girls on the road, steering themselves into the night or toward the sunrise, depending on their eventual destination. Hot cars hot women hot summer nights hot guitar licks and a sweaty hot drummer keeping the beat. Out on the road is where the loving’s done…
Rev it up and go, cat, go!