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From Chapter 1: This book is about an art form not much in evidence these days, about a moment fast submerging into the recesses of a new generation's collective subconscious. Oh yes, record companies continue to crank out gold disc after gold disc: recession, depression, oil shortage or what, "product" is there. And yes, pop music on the AM radio is as profitable as ever; few stations have reverted to "easy listening" formats, and nobody's breaking rock-n-roll records one by one over the air as some stations did in the late fifties. And yes, there is even a more or less vibrant rock underground on the FM networks. But since the arrival of Richard Nixon in 1968, some fundamental changes have occurred in rock music which make the seventies qualitatively different from the sixties and even the late fifties. Let's face it: Harry Chapin is not Bob Dylan, and the Osmonds are not the Beatles. More important, Chapin does not promise to become another Dylan, and there is absolutely no hope that the Osmonds will blossom as did the lovable Moptops. Most important, there is really nobody producing the quality product generated in the sixties by the Beatles, the Stones, and Dylan, a product which turned lyrics into poetry and music into fine art.---page 1.