Ultra-Modern Lovers: Sophomoric Seduction In The Big, Red Apple
Bob Spitz, Crawdaddy!, January 1977
NEW YORK — It had been pouring for most of two days, but the rain began to let up about four in the afternoon. As a sliver of sunlight attempted to push through the thick curtain of grey that hung over New York's theater district, a quorum of young punks passing a pint of Orange Mist huddled under the weather-cracked Town Hall marquee. They had been there since early morning waiting for their chance to speak to rock's boy wonder — Jonathan Richman — but he had not made his appearance.
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