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.
"We did it because we loved him." That was the caption under a photo of four smiling Beatles that graced the back cover of a special edition "Paul is Dead" magazine that I bought in 1970. Beatlemania had come and gone, but I wasn't ready to let go - especially of Paul, who was my current favorite. (There's nothing 10-year-old…
’Tis the season to see “Jews for Jesus” popping up around Pittsburgh’s Squirrel Hill neighborhood, the vibrant center of Jewish culture here in the city. Why, just the other day I was strolling to the iconic Little’s Shoe Store, my beloved Bethlehem of Boots, when I saw two spunky dudes dressed in blue “Jews for Jesus” t-shirts (the o in…
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 who pioneered the use of…
"Like Mick Jagger in exact reverse." That's the way Keith Richards has described Mick Taylor, the straight-faced guitarist who was sucked into the carnal vortex of the Rolling Stones at the tender age of 20. He did more than just replace guitarist and founding member Brian Jones, he added a whole new dimension to the Stones' dirty white-boy sound. His bluesy, melodic playing and ability to read a song were crucial to the success of the band's three masterpiece albums: "Let it Bleed," "Sticky Fingers," and "Exile on Main Street." He turns 67 tomorrow.
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? In the early months of…