For too long Dave Davies’ name has been almost as big a punch line in Rock and Roll circles as Tito Jackson’s has been among African American comedians and it’s a terrible injustice. I trace a lot of it to John Mendelsohn of Creem Magazine, who made an epic and ultimately successful effort to argue for the excellence of Ray Davies’ softer more idiosyncratic output of 1966-1972, but in turn, Mendelsohn, who rarely showed up without his trademark snark, never failed to take a shot at Ray’s poor brother Dave, and his someone-strangulated-a-cat singing voice.

At its worst, Ray, whose fights with his brother are legendary, took to introducing his lead guitarist as Dave “Death of a Clown” Davies in mocking reference to Dave’s sort of solo hit.  Which spawned rumors of a solo album that in turn, also became a joke as the years passed.

Well, hopefully, it all ends here because Dave Davies, in sound, style, and lifestyle should instead be known as the first true hard rocker, and his son appears ready to help people remember that. I just listened to Year Long Disaster’s "Leda Atomica" about eight times in a row. Disaster is fronted by Dave’s son Daniel and "Atomica" joins Wolfmother’s "Woman" as one of the best pieces of evidence that Jim Carrey was right, when dressed as a “fat Elvis” version of Jim Morrison at the MTV music awards, he castigated the host network with a mischievous “would it kill you to play a little Foghat every once in a while?”

But what I really heard in "Leda Atomica" was something wonderful that I rarely have been lucky enough to hear, the sound of a freed Dave Davies. I first heard that sound in the mid-80s. The Kinks were out promoting State of Confusion and Dave closed the show with his Little Richard knock off, "Bernadette." I was then hit with four minutes of sheer take no prisoners, yelping, squawking, joyful noise and realized once and for all that all of the attacks on Dave’s voice were one of context, Ray’s context.

During this period in the Kinks’ history Ray Davies was sort of a beaten man. His best work had been ignored and his visions of creating Rock and Roll Broadway turned out to be 20 or so years ahead of its time (Commercial success is never granted to those that are ahead of their time. The big time money instead goes to those who prove to be exactly of their time.) Nevertheless, Van Halen’s cover hit of "You Really Got Me," paved the way for the Kinks to rock out again and embrace the 1965 sound that once made people believe they’d be more popular than the Rolling Stones. It wasn’t a bad idea because they were fun live shows and, after all, what other band had an entire greatest hits album worth of material before their leader entered his more critically respected arty period.

Want to hear "Waterloo Sunset," "Sunny Afternoon," or anything from the now Sainted Village Green Preservation Society, forget it. You were more likely to see Ronald Reagan appear on television with Nancy urging the kids to “Tune in, turn on, and drop out.” It just wasn’t going to happen. Ray was so demolished by his period of failure that he brought a copy of Village Green with him when the reborn Kinks sold out Madison Square Garden, a move I’ve never quite understood. Was he saying “they finally like us again” or was he saying “I’m sorry art, I can’t afford you anymore?”