Cold Fact

Mysterious 60's hate-folkie Rodriguez put out two albums in the early seventies that rivaled Dylan at his pissiest in their sneering aristocratic contempt for both the establishment and the fading flower-power counterculture. As peace and love give way to madness and burnout, and the American populace learns to hate its leaders, Rodriguez hovers over it all in his black bubble of spite, singing songs of subtle disdain, barely-disguised loathing, and finally outright screaming profanity (not necessarily in that order, but it is possible to re-align the tracklisting along this arc if one needs to angry up one's blood). Sonically, this album is about 10% heavier than Cat Stevens for 70% of its length, 30% heavier than The 13th Floor Elevators 20% of the time, and 50% heavier than Blue Cheer's Outsideinside for the last 10%, the seething volcano of proto-metal "Only Good For Conversation." Got that, hippie?
My statue has a concrete heart
But you're the coldest bitch I know