You might not necessarily peg Ron Burgundy as a crack guy — it’s not always the classiest drug, even if you flare out your pinkie while lighting the pipe — but things can get real in the back of San Diego jazz lounges when your dear, dear friend from Toronto’s visiting and the bourbon’s not quite getting the job done. Then maybe you both wake up at 4 p.m. the next day, facedown in your shag carpeting, a Loverboy record skipping on the hi-fi. You tuck that away: That’d be a great campaign song for your buddy. You spit out a couple of teeth and write that down before inspiration fades. It’ll come in handy one day.

Oh, btw: flute solo at 2:13.