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Using its choppy, biting fuzz guitar distortions, the Fugitives’ “Blowin’ My Mind” — a half-acid, half-punk trip shot through with bizarre lyrics (e.g. “psychiatric rigmarole”) — was proof a schizoid music group in stylistic turmoil. Had been they the Naugahyde-frocked, Cuban-heeled “Rocks of Sacramento,” as originally they offered themselves, or …
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