How many times in the last 40 years have we all said to ourselves or a companion "that's not Rock n' Roll!!?" Whether listening to a bland recording or in a live setting, what they call "Rock n' Roll" today has become the bashfully blushing bloke who gets all the girls and doesn't want to make a scene. No poetry, no effort and zero throat grabbing charisma. No story at all.
From CBGB's to Whisky A Go Go and in the lonely cafe's, dive bars, and clubs across America there he is furiously strumming his acoustic guitar, stomping stages until the place shakes in hypnotic glory, Kevin Kelly bleeds for his songs. He bleeds for "the toothless men silent this evening in chairs reserved for the dead" and the blanketmen starving for a taste of long lost freedom.
A Kevin Kelly show or album cannot be forgotten. Like a great bluesman, Kevin has been through heartbreak and through the gutter and has lived to tell about it with both a romantic beauty and a primal irreverence. Like Dylan, Springsteen and Tom Petty, his lyrics paint a vivid picture of truth, both his and ours. And he does it in his own inimitable way. Kevin Kelly is the Rock n' Roll traveling poet Troubadour we've all been waiting for all these years, singing, writing verse after verse and thrusting himself upon the savage Hollywood nights like a rabid poet beast avoiding the mortality of sleep and the safety of the calm.