Is Phil Spector, the Maestro of Musical Mania, a Murderer?
It is the evening of the day.
Half the Beatles are gone. Elvis is oil on velvet. The Stones are flummoxed. Deluded by dotage, they think mugging their way through “Sympathy For The Devil” is rock ’n’ roll. Mick is more than a kiss away as an over-the-hill gigolo, “The Man From Elysian Fields.”
