What could be more lusty than singer DavidCoverdale's macho, breathy, crotch-thrusting, manly vocal delivery? How about bassist Glenn Hughes vying for attention right there alongside him as co-vocalist with his macho, panting, crotch-thrusting, manly vocal delivery?
Yes, it's an approach brimming with hormones. Macho hormones. If I were a woman, this kind of thing might make me feel a little violated.
This being a Deep Purple album and all, fans won't be disappointed by the usual rifferama excellence exemplified by the taut muscular boogie of the likes of Lady Double Dealer or High Ball Shooter, but the album's strength lies in it's looser, (trouser)snake-like deviations, like the bubbling funk of You Can't Do It Right, the sultry and soulful Love Don't Mean A Thing, or Holy Man. And it's this soul aspect laced with tinges of commercial appeal which make this album a treat, guitar supremo Ritchie Blackmore's last until the 80's reunion.
Just don't drop the soap whilst listening, David and Glenn sound a little pent up.
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