After all, there’s almost an hour left of Soul Sunday; four of his best songs, performed to perfection.
The musicians bring out a certain rawness of these songs live. The drums sound nasty.
Tim Maia sings like possessed, with lazer in his eyes, coke in his nose, weed in his lungs, whiskey in his gut, fire coming out his pharynx, as if his life depended on him squeezing every last drop of emotional juice out of his material.
Truly inspired and inspirational, this shit right here.