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HERE’S THE STORY… THE PHIZZ was playing down at the windy shack, on the corner of Bourbon and Whisky Streets. He calls it the Black Label Moan. Anyhow, it was with some reluctance and much excitement that fat and wealthy philanthropist John G. Rich (who incidentally changed his name to Rich when he became rich) used some of his ill-gotten funds to buy equipment for the group that was headlining that night: The Daggers. One stolen guitar triggered it all off - the wild nights, the orgies, the soul-twisting sounds coming from some distant place… Was it all a dream? I awoke in a fog of memories, unsure as to which decade it was. I was in a hotel room, which did not help, as all of these lingering, blurred, crazy, mental-asylum-white-rooms seemed the same in the end and the hangover painfully familiar. That’s when it hits me. Years have gone by since Phizz stole the shiny red Fender Strat from “Goody”, the pretty young face of The Daggers, and started writing the simple country blues