Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms yearning to breathe free.
Dana Spiardi 
Okay, this is a strange story, but yer blogger is a pretty spooky gal, and she’d feel remiss if she didn’t pass on this ghoulish, but essential, piece of trivia regarding Buddy Holly’s possibly avoidable death-by-aircraft on February 3, 1959. The tale begins with a man named Joe Meek, a British songwriter and record producer … Read more
I remember sitting in study hall one day during my senior year of high school, speaking in hushed tones with a couple of friends about a band that was just starting to rear its spike-haired head on the pages of Circus and Creem magazines: The Sex Pistols. Who were they? Or rather, what were they? … Read more
Okay, Rudolph, you’ve gone down in history with that song of yours. And for what? Selling out! So you were born with a shiny red schnoz and had the misfortune of living in a polar ice cap with no access to a plastic surgeon or electrician. And all those big-antlered reindeer jocks and their patent-leather-hoofed … Read more
I heard your footsteps at the front door, and that old familiar love song. ‘Cause you knew you’d find me waiting there, at the top of the stairs. Those lyrics weren’t written by a heartsick bloke waiting for his lover to come home. They were composed by an artist recalling his boyhood days in a … Read more
August 25, 2015: I took a road trip with “Born to Run” yesterday. It’s the 40th anniversary of Bruce’s groundbreaking album, and there’s no better way to experience it than by blasting it in your car, with the windows open and the wind blowing back your hair. Cars and tunnels and backstreets and highways are … Read more