The Quentin Young Band
There were two guitarists who had long hair, one had a Strat, the other a Les Paul, and the latter had a cousin, who played bass, and, in a flood of shows, mostly at Tony’s and the Starlight and New York Ave. in Fort Collins, and a deluge of parties and a shower of jams, they have been a band, in more or less the solid sense of the word, though there were liquid periods when they drifted to this side or the other, when the tide pulled one out to sea and the current dropped the other on some island and the winds pushed the third to farther shores, yet, as if by paths of least resistance, they all arrived in Denver, the delta, where one now has a Seagull and the other has a G&L and the bassist has exactly, most particularly, what he wants to have.
