Daley is posed in front of his classic amp (srsly, the case was signed by Hendrix’s guitar tech when he modded it in ’72. It’s as round and mellow as a hundred circles drinking a thousand beers). He has haystack hair and a Fender slung down by his thigh. But for all his cool, he’s all business: a stone-cold professional with 10 gigs left on this tour. Playing behind a bangled chick who was super-excited to put me on the guest list because she imagines I’m some kind of industry connection, and she’d like to show me how Hollywood she is. And did she mention that she’s about to sign a major-label deal?
He works hard at being effortless, and plays like Keith Richards’ younger and purer soul, bending his lanky frame into a question mark to release each note into the world. Then he unplugs, wraps his cables, and heads for a cup of ice water. Ten shows to go.