Dan was a perfectionist, a college kid from New York rebopping L.A. Snarled voice, dark wit, gloss, parabolic solos over a steady groove: “Do It Again” was the blueprint. He was canny — perverse.
Exceeding professionalism, he became the douche bag he often sang about — a rich cokehead. Too much time in the booth sterilized him. (Sonic detail was hard to lose.) And the jacket art was tossed off — a crime.
Ironic.
