Joshua Clover's rhapsodic interpellation of Jonathan Richman's most famous song. "Either he's a Fabian with brains or a youthful Lou Reed who can't get over girls," Paul Nelson said of Richman when he saw him perform in 1973 -- Nelson tried to get Richman signed to Mercury Records but the label couldn't get with Richman's faux-naive band leading -- label presidents always want the artist to fire the band, and this was the age, recall, of the rockist search for "the great American Band." Which gives Clover a subject: what's the relation of rock 'n' roll such that he loves the ideology coming out of Greil Marcus to the American exceptionalism that would mansplain Bretton Woods? Maybe it isn't a subject after all. At any rate, Clover finds several songs, by Chuck Berry, by Cornershop, and by M.I.A., that clearly owe their fascination, at least partly, to Richman's song about driving around the Boston "ring road" or outer belt circa 1970 -- a couple of years before rock made its peak and American exceptionalism choked on its gas guzzling. The critic's set of songs are so well-chosen that they seem a historicization of some kind, and the revolutionary Clover wants the fire of heaven alit in the flowing halo of a belching industrialization: "It smells like heaven (thunder)," Richman sings. Seemingly without alienation -- which was always the trick Richman managed to pull off. There's no alienation either in a revolutionary's long-game.