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rock and roll reading

A quick email exchange with world-renown Bono haircut expert C. from the always-delightful Scatter o’ Light resulted in this post.

I am very flattered. Muchas gracias, baby.

promo
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what would d.boon do?

what would d. boon do?

Merry Krimble.

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for high fidelity junkies

This would be a lot cooler if it JUST said “Championship Vinyl” but it is a fund-raiser for a good cause (click the link
to find out more).

(Yes, I’m getting one, make the big “L” sign now, thankyouverymuch.)

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Nick Hornby meets Bruce Springsteen

The Observer UK: as you might expect, an interview that is thoughtful and asks a lot of the questions you would if you had the chance. I also like it because there is this undercurrent of “ohmigod I am talking to BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN” even though it’s Nick fucking Hornby doing the talking. It’s humble and sincere and imho makes for great reading. But, then again, I dig Hornby.

Which reminds me, of course, that an article about his shows last month with Marah is long overdue. Moving, and the pesky work thing have been getting in the way of the words lately. Anon.

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the long winters

When people say “Seattle sound,” usually they’re talking about Pearl Jam or Alice In Chains or Soundgarden or Mudhoney or any of the many fabulous bands that got lumped together under the media hype-line “grunge”.

For me, though, the Seattle sound will indelibly mean bands like The Long Winters. My great and talented friend Litsa Dremousis interviewed John Roderick for the next issue of the Believer, and you should all go buy it now, so you can read writing like this:

Henri Langlois once declared of Louise Brooks, “There is no Garbo! There is no Dietrich! There is only Brooks!” Since forming the Long Winters in 2001, singer/songwriter John Roderick has inspired similar hyperbole from music critics and indie-rock fans alike. With a smoked-wood voice, candied-cherry hooks, and lyrics such as “I’m leaving you all of my car parts / I didn’t have the money / or I would have gotten roses,” Roderick’s songs don’t get under a listener’s skin so much as puncture it and remain in the bloodstream.

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quote of the week

Good music is about reporting from the streets, the towns, the country and the city, inside houses, inside minds. It tells you what’s goin’ on. Whether it’s Gershwin, Husker Du, or Andre 3000.
–Greg Dulli

Taken from a great UK fanzine called Blank Stares and Cricket Claps, that you can download in PDF format. Kind of the best of both print and net worlds.

Greg Dulli
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thank god, iggy is still with us

Guardian Unlimited | Arts features | ‘I’m the old git with the chick, the Roller and the rock band’

Great article, although I’m still not buying the idea that Iggy living in Florida is logical. Plus, I miss being able to see him around the East Village on a daily basis… just seems wrong.

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touch me i’m sick

Tonight was the release party for legendary Seattle photographer Charles Peterson’s third book, Touch Me I’m Sick. I was going to say, “If you don’t know Charles’ work…” but it’s hard for me to imagine anyone who cares about and listens to music who isn’t familiar with it. He photographed everyone who was anyone in the halcyon days of the Seattle music scene – Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden – as well as countless others, from Sonic Youth to Sleater-Kinney, and probably hundreds of other lesser known bands. He was practically the house photographer for Sub Pop Records, back in the day.

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richard hell on lester bangs

The Right To Be Wrong, by Richard Hell

Out of seemingly nowhere comes this insightful, thoughtful, gentle (but not apologetic) review of the latest Lester Bangs anthology, in last week’s Village Voice, written by none other than Richard Hell. It’s ostensibly a review of the book, but it ends up being more of a tribute, and an affirmation of Lester’s place in the world of rock journalism.

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for the non-believers

You’ll want to read the Chicago Sun-Times review of last week’s Springsteen show. (And no, this is not an opening for a DeRogatis bitching session, since he didn’t write it.)

It’s an example of an exceptionally great review of a rock show in a daily paper, by someone who’s not a columnist (see above). It’s clear that the writer is most likely a fan, or maybe was a fan; he “gets” Bruce, but also has the critical distance necessary for a general audience piece.

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