This is a fundamental tenet of my beliefs. And I’ve had it dashed. Repeat exposure to old copies of Top Of The Pops, ancient photos revealed in the holy book of Mojo show the fathers of rock n roll, the progenitors of pop flouncing around with clean locks. I feel sick to my stomach. I keep on telling myself I will never believe again. But where did I create this mantra. It was forever in Chuck’s ducktail, Little Richard’s pompadour, Elvis’s Quiff. And blow me down; even...

Comments: 1