there I am in all my youthful splendour, sporting a wizardly white satin mantle and cowboy boots I bought in El Paso, singing about the Milk of Paradise, kingdoms full of hatred and philosophers, ploughmen, blacksmiths and artists. It was only years later that we found the self-confidence to ditch such misguided and desperate attempts at epic haberdashery and simply walk out onstage in our T-shirts and jeans. It took us a while to grok that our music was our image.
