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.
Today, as I give thanks for all the people, events and opportunities that have enriched my life, I would also like to acknowledge my gratitude for the cosmic forces that came together in the 20th century to create the music that saved my soul: rock and roll. I am thankful...
Today I extend a lusty black-and-blue birthday greeting - and a bouquet of the finest dead flowers - to Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards, the man who, for the past 50 years, has embodied the true spirit of rock-n-roll rebellion like no other artist. I love lots of rockers for lots of reasons, but Keith will always be my bad-boy fantasy object. "Oh, that old junkie!" you say? "How can you idolize a heroin-loving, speedball shooting hedonist who's snorted everything from the finest cocaine to his dead dad's ashes?" Well, if that's all you know about the man we fans call Keef, then you don't know diddly about the guy who can out-diddle Bo and just about everyone else when it comes to jamming out distinctive guitar licks. Here's my tribute to the seemingly indestructible Mr. Richards.
"Wanted: Charismatic crusader. Someone who can combine smarts, satire, moxie, and adrenaline to combat all that plagues modern society, from gas drilling to corporate pillaging." Well, we have just the man for the job. Too bad he's dead. Attention: this is an important history lesson for all you sweet young things born after the baby boom! The subject is Abbie Hoffman, who died 25 years ago today. He was one of the most colorful pranksters and political activists of the 1960s, and a hero to many. His outlandish behavior inspired many to become politically active, question authority and protest the Vietnam war. Hell, his FBI file consisted of over 13,000 pages.What an adorable little bad-ass Jew!
"Turn the station to Letterman. That guy you like, the one who wears the do-rag, is on the show." That's my mom calling to tell me that Steven Van Zandt is sitting in the guest seat talking to Dave. Good ol' mom...always keeping me abreast of rock star sightings. She may not have remembered the name of that head-wrapped wonder, but she knows I've been infatuated with him for years - as far back as April 12, 1976, when I saw him at my first-ever rock concert. "Who's the sharpie?" I wondered, as I watched this nattily-dressed guy play guitar on stage with his boss Bruce Springsteen at the Cambria County War Memorial Arena in Johnstown, PA. I hadn't seen his picture on any of Bruce's albums. I didn't even know his name. But I knew at that moment that we were going to be soul mates.