the
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
the
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
Deep in the psychedelic wood, Where a rock-n-roll martyr plays You'll find the enchanted neighborhood Of Brian Jones's drug-haze days. Brian the posh, Brian the posh, A randy little dandy - all fine, divine. He's Brian the posh, Brian the posh, A ritzy little glitzy old soul. I'd hate like hell to be sued by the Disney Empire for parodying…
Between the ages of 13 and 20, yer usually date-less blogger spent many a Saturday night with an impassive middle-aged man sporting plastered hair, leisure suits, gold chains and the occasional sweater vest. His name was Don Kirshner, and he brought the top rock acts of the day into my living room with his syndicated late-night TV show. For many of us growing up in the 1970s, pre-car and pre-cash, the closest we came to attending an actual rock concert was staying up late to hear this pathologically unhip music impresario kick off 90 minutes of authentic live-on-tape rock performances.
Most columnists have had to squeeze one out now and then, so to speak. You have a tight deadline, you rack your brain for a topic that doesn’t require a lot of research or thoughtful analysis, and you dribble out a little essay that you pray won’t be perceived as lightweight or desperate. Yes, a deadline can serve as a…
Does a typewriter qualify as a musical instrument? To Lester Bangs, it did. The brilliant, outrageous rock journalist, who died on this date in 1982 from a cocktail of Darvon, Valium, and NyQuil, once joined the J. Geils Band on stage and proceeded to write/perform a live concert review on his "miked" Smith Corona typewriter.
Imagine the Rolling Stones' classic "You Can't Always Get What You Want," sans the embellishments of the London Bach Choir. Definitely doable, in my opinion. Ponder the Beatles' "The Long and Winding Road," minus the Phil Spector-imposed orchestral strings and choir of angels. Totally preferable. Contemplate Bob Dylan's landmark "Like a Rolling Stone" without those haunting, no-direction-home Hammond organ chords. Absolutely inconceivable. Had it not been for the gutsy gamble of a 21-year old named Al Kooper, Dylan's decade-defining anthem would lack much of its signature, soulful sound. The great Mr. Kooper turned 70 on February 5, 2014.