Rock
The Day the Music (and Joe Meek) Died
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
Not to the Manor Born: Rock Stars in Stately Pleasure Domes
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
The Sex Pistols Invade America. First Stop: Pittsburgh?
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?
Rudolph, You Rock. Now Wise Up, Reindeer!
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 frozen polar ice cap with no access to a plastic surgeon or electrician. And all those big-antlered reindeer jocks and their patent-leather-hoofed cheerleader girlfriends called you names and shunned you because of it. I know, I know…it hurts to be the last one picked for the volleyball team. Bullying sucks. But, Rudolph, you copped out and allowed those conformist reindeer snobs to welcome you into their clique only after you bailed Santa’s ass out of trouble. Man, you should have had more self-respect than that!
Tolerance, Hairdo Envy, and Bad First Dates: Lessons Learned from Frankie & His Bride
Ah, you always remember your first time. There I was, in a dimly lit room…body tense and trembling under crisp sheets…heartbeat wild in anticipation…breaths short and shallow…spellbound by my first glimpse of something big, scary, and invasive…a spectacle that would excite me for the rest of my life: the 1935 classic, “The Bride of Frankenstein.” This cinematic masterpiece introduced me to societal rejection, unrequited love, mob mentality, and the tortured soul of the outcast. It’s the grandest monster flick of all time.