Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms yearning to breathe free.
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
What a treat for a Scorpio girl born in the Season of the Witch! On August 12, 2011, I experienced Alice Cooper live in concert for the first time – just five months after his induction into the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame. It’s no surprise that my childhood love of all things ghoulish – from Vincent Price and Peter Lorre to Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi – would lead to an inevitable attraction to Alice Cooper and his spooky stage show.
Ask me where I would love to have lived in the 1960s, and I’ll say LONDON in a Big Ben minute. The fashions, the music, the clubs! Imagine the chance to sit in on the drug trials of Mick and Keith! Or being able to crawl through Paul McCartney’s bathroom window, as fans once did. Blimey, the bobbies didn’t even carry guns (and still don’t, except for special circumstances). Alas, the swinging times came to an end in the 1970s, as inflation, unemployment, high taxes and strikes eventually made for a very unmerry old England. But when times get rocky, rockers liven things up. And nowhere was this more evident than in London, where artists helped quell the chaos with new sounds and provocative fashion. Here, then, is Part Two of my take on London’s 2012 Olympic games: The 1970s’ British Style Icon Competition.
Forty-five years ago this month I was eating Pillsbury Space Food Sticks, building my own mini lunar module from a kit, and drinking Tang — the beverage of astronauts! Like the rest of the world, I was caught up in Apollo 11 moon-landing mania, as Neil Armstrong took that first giant step on July 20, 1969. The event spawned national pride, crackpot conspiracy theories, and countless innovative spinoff technologies. It also inspired an androgynous young British performer to release a song that would define his career.
“I am an anti-Christ, I am an anarchist.” One of rock’s great original voices, John Lydon – aka Johnny Rotten of The Sex Pistols – screamed those words to the punks, the privileged, and the politicians of England in 1977. He emerged from some Frankenstein-like laboratory on this date in 1956. From his days as a Pistol through his 35-year stint as frontman for Public Image Ltd, he’s enjoyed a long reign as one of rock’s most outspoken figures – quick to criticize governments, the wealthy, the record industry, fellow musicians, the rock press, and conformists of all stripes. Unfortunately, his music didn’t manage to drown out the mellow monotony of The Eagles, the horrible dreck called disco, or the soulless Kansas/Styx/Boston pablum that was quickly devouring our planet by 1976, but he and his fellow punks gave us a great reprieve from the antics of jet-setting cash cows…and reminded us that rock-and-roll should never take itself too seriously.