My grandmother was a frustrated artist. I say frustrated not because she was at odds with a search for expression, but because she was never satisfied with her creations. She painted portraits until she found them contemptible, then destroyed every last one.
She painted John F. Kennedy once. Despite pleas…
It’s about time I talked about Iceage — they are the bread and butter of my current musical landscape, devoured daily.
My love for them knows no bounds, I can’t control it and I am pretty sure it is eternal. Though I first heard them years ago, they haven’t left…
Edgar Allan Poe will always be one of my favorite American writers, and not simply because he has a penchant for the grotesque. Poe had an incredibly rich way of storytelling, of shaping the language to meet his vision. …
One cloudless Friday in early summer, I clock out of work and step outside. Two things shock me out of a stupor: warmth washing through my chilled, AC-ridden bones, and the sound of a violin. …
The lost things you need most to find return to you in the best of times, in the best of ways.
I had just finished reading Tom Wolfe’s Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, which I bought at my favorite used bookstore for $4 after watching Magic Trip, Alex Gibney and Alison…
In the summer of 1983, Goth outfit Bauhaus played their final show. In its place, Love and Rockets rose like a spiky-haired phoenix from the ashes of Bela Lugosi.
The dark and stormy persona that helped birth Goth was still there, of course, but Daniel Ash, David J, and Kevin…
I just finished reading Nancy Barile’s “bruises-and-all” punk rock memoir, I’m Not Holding Your Coat. In the 1980s, Nancy was a member of Philly’s under-appreciated punk scene; she managed the Sadistic Exploits, booked DIY shows, and eventually married SSD’s Al Barile.
As a millennial, one thing that amazed me was…
The Velvet Underground is undoubtedly one of the most influential bands of all time. What, don’t believe me? Okay, let me play my hand: you’ve got 1960’s New York, the Pop influence of Andy Warhol, a sardonic lead singer with a literary bent who studied under Delmore Schwartz, an avant-garde…
At last grab for the wheel, grab
for the wheel, that avowed right
to touch the sky.
This town is flesh without blood,
a body without dirt under its nails.
Am I alone in this stripped clock tower,
broomless, hand out for magic?
People below walk there and back, to…
