I imagine when Bob Dylan sang this tune at the famous Cafe Wha? on Macdougal Street that many a woman approached him later that night at the bar. They may have said something like, “Hi Bob, will you take me home? You don’t even have to sleep with me — we can just hold each other.”

Or perhaps one of the gentelemen smoking a corn cob pipe and wearing a knit hat approached him sheepishly and said, “Uh, hey man, that line about living in a dream. Well, I know what you’re talking about, and sometimes I feel that way too.”

Here’s to yesterday.

Rorschach’s cover of King Crimson’s 21^st Century Schizoid Man is, in this writer’s opinion, one of the all-time greatest covers in the annals of popular and underground music for the past 40 years. Although other heavy bands have covered this song, (Entombed, Voivod, April Wine?!) no version has the stripped naked immediacy that Rorschach brings to the basement with acetylene torch and coat hanger in hand. Beginning with the authoritative/hilarious sound-bite of the Man lecturing on top of overdriven whine, the twin guitars drop a Mossberg pump and confidently steer the riff like a steam roller over hot asphalt, massive, deliberate and smoldering.

The overall production of the record is what really kills. The guitars are massive, static sails, swamping the sonic real estate in place of horns and keys and screws the buzztone rigging to the deck. When compared to the original song which had some attempts at experimental production (telephone vocals etc.) updated technology raises the violence with Charles Maggio’s distorted vocals sounding as though being screamed through a gag from behind a false panel. The lyrics as a front-runner of intelligence in rock based music still hold massive relevance in painting a dark picture of a megalomaniac and Maggio’s delivery burns the slightly “camp” skin of Greg Lake clean off.

The ending / outro / breakdown itself steers clear of trying to keep up with the jazzy histrionics of the original. This is a smart move not because Rorschach is not talented enough, (they are), but because to mimic the original would pander to it like a hessian in a cover band pining to learn a Stevie Ray Vaughn solo note for note. Instead, Rorschach plows their own path and tracks along without all the fancy dress and self-importance. This provides a brooding, disjointed atmosphere just before the final swing on arguably one of the greatest, heaviest riffs in rock music’s lexicon.

–P. Torque

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I want to welcome a new contributing writer, Peter Torque, to the Five Minute Convo family. Torque is a good pal that brings a wealth of experience to the table, and he also cooks a mean ass turkey chili.

In order to put food on his plate, Torque spends his days as a freelance journalist. He has worked for various publications such as Spin, Rolling Stone, Juxtapoz, Maxim and Sports Illustrated. “Reading Torque is like taking a trip through the Prado on ten hits of Crank.” says one of his long-time readers, Eddie Spank.

In his spare time, Torque enjoys buying jeans that are too tight, getting trendy tattoos, drinking PBR and riding the crappiest bicycle he can find. So. let’s all welcome ole’ Torque to the Convo, and come back later to read his first post.