denying it. In the Eighties, I was a Stevie Ray Vaughan freak. Sure, I bought his albums, but like any other hopelessly addicted drophead, I wanted more, more, more! More mysteriously addictive I-IV-V tunes, more magnetic Texas talent, more pentatonic personality — the kind that just drips off the fretboard when a — something as important and helpful today as it was back then.
