Most of the time, this is my favorite rock song from the 60s. It perfectly conveys a whole structure of feeling -- being literally and metaphorically wasted yet still beautiful -- in just under three minutes. Winwood's spooky vocal is perfect, I think his finest (and that's saying a lot): in the pocket, but at the same time, barely there. What did producer Jimmy Miller do to get Ginger Baker's drums to sound that crisp? What ritual magick did he perform to get the sound of that final cymbal splash?
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