In fact, it might be a stretch to call R.E.O. Speedwagon prog at all, if they didn't temper the riverboat-pianoed bonfire-in-the-woods choogle of their first two albums with occasional outrageously ambitious, amp-cranking, Hammond-pumping gloom monsters that, like sundry early Kansas/ Head East / Styx tracks, seemed to owe more than a bit to the majestic post-psychedelic organ-metal funderals of the UK's Uriah Heep.

Getting a ticket is one thing, finding a suitable place from which to enjoy the cinematic splendors can be quite another.

And now as other Fawkners use, I spring a mistresse, sweare, write, sigh and weepe: And the game kill'd, or lost, goe talk, and sleepe.

I having been looking at your pamphlet, and shewing it, but I mention no names. I don't see the use of names, for my part, unless it be to put in asterisks. It is—yes—very, indeed.