Rudy's organ complex boasts an array of switches, knobs and dials that gives it the appearance of a 747 cockpit. The only difference in this case, there is only one pilot, and also it will never get off the ground.
I disagree.
Upon listening to Rudy Rosa as he plays his Custom X66 Hammond you soon begin to realize that the author of the album's liner note had it all wrong. Comparing Rudy to the ungainly 747 is a mistake best not made twice.
In fact, Rudy soars.
His eclectic mix of synthesized electric pop shoots straight past the Earth's exosphere and on into space itself. Rudy is the captain and crew of this early 70's esoteric mothership and we, the listeners, are all invited to his inter-galactic party.
I would love to step back in time to bear witness to Rudy as he dons the golden tassels and straps into the cockpit at Manny's Surf and Turf Supper Club on a shaggadelic Saturday night in Fairfax, Virginia. Order up a bleeding rare t-bone steak and an overcooked rock lobster tale; chewy baked tater on the side slathered in sour cream and chives. Down it all with big swigs from endless gin and tonics. If you were there then I would love to know.
See you at Manny's, indeed.
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