If you were a white guy of a certain age and sexual inclination in 1977, chances are astronomically good that you had the following posters hanging on your wall: Led Zeppelin, Farrah Fawcett-Majors, and Stevie Nicks. The first two are obvious choices. Stevie was not. The spun-glass songbird was considered hot despite her predilection for silly scarves and New Age mumbo-jumbo -- and the fact that she was doing the nasty with that Lindsey dude, the one with the humongous white-guy ´fro. Thirty years on, Phoenix's own Fairy Queen Rhiannon brings home her trunkload of dotty stagewear and a bulging songbook of pop treasures for a show at Dodge. Trevor Hall opens.
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