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Dr John: Voodoo Lounge

Gavin Martin, Uncut, July 1998

MAC REBENNACK, IS SLUMPED ON A chaise longue in an elegant London hotel suite, the ubiquitous walking cane by his side, a straw Homburg tilted just so on his head. The eyelids are heavy and, despite the grey wispy beard, there's something childlike about his big sallow face. He's wreathed in a cloud of smoke, a packet of Nat Sherman's Cigarellos on the table before him.

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