Bryan Ferry strolled out in front of a drab York crowd, all bedecked in the latest prog gear. He looked like he belonged in the Louvre; they looked like they belonged in their parents’ garage. He prowled around like a puma, knowing full well that he was in possession of some of the most potently progressive pop songs on record and at the pinnacle of his game. But as Roxy Music roared into the future with a sound so ahead of its time that they’ve…
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