Is this a test to see if Jason Bonham can cut it behind the kit where his monumentally talented father once sat? Hell yes. And if all goes well, will there be a triumphant tour? Well, that's the question that has everyone holding their breath isn't it? The absolutely…
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Needless to say, I'm not in London waiting in line at O2 arena but that doesn't mean my thoughts, like those of about every other music fan on the planet, aren't turned to what's going to happen this evening when Led Zeppelin ends two decades of silence and lets it rip in what's being billed as a one-off show for charity.
When Philip Pullman wrote His Dark Materials, he thought he might have written a story that would appeal to a "a few clever kids and a few intelligent adults." The series has been translated into 40 languages and has sold 15 million copies. If he was that wrong about that, he's probably wrong about what it's about, too.
Robert Butler's interview with Pullman is full of fascinating details, from how he wrote the book (three pages a day, no more, no less) to why he won't debate his work with fundamentalists ("You can't communicate with people who know they've got all the answers").
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What are the chances of your dying from various causes? Riskometer tells you.
"Why use death (mortality) and not illness (morbidity)?" 'Cause the question fits the data, that's why.
Gosh, I does love me some statistics.
Associate publisher Keith Pray took a small spoonful and gasped: "Oh my god, that's hot!"
"Oh no. Is it really?"
"Yes!"
I despaired. No one will vote for my chili now, I thought.
We were having our third all-staff cook-off. Previous dishes included meatballs and macaroni and cheese. This time, it would be chili. Though my goal had been to achieve the perfect balance of sweetness and spice, it seemed I had gone overboard with the peppers. How could I resist? At the C-Town on Jersey Avenue, the randomly packed, green, red, and yellow peppers were…
Somebody at The Washington Post had the supremely brilliant idea of having Pulitzer Prize winning literary critic Michael Dirda review The Completely Mad Don Martin.
"Back in the early 1960s, any young boulevardier between the ages of 10 and 15 knew that the greatest publication in all the world was Mad magazine. Oh, Sick and Cracked might have their aficionados, but for the true connoisseur of humor and satire these Mad wannabes functioned largely as backups, temporary palliatives to tide one over until next month's Mad appeared at the corner drugstore. In those days an issue cost 25…
Every Tuesday, The Guardian posts John Crace's "Digested Read," which is a parodic review of a book written in the (greatly exaggerated) style of the book itself.
The Digested Reads are almost always at least amusing, but this week's, an evisceration of Neil Strauss' fantasy/autobiography about his life as a pick-up artist, The Game, is a particular delight.
"I didn't want to write this book. In fact, I am as embarrassed to be writing it as you may be to pick it up. But we are embarrassed for different reasons. I'm embarrassed because I'm being paid a wad of cash to write garbage…
Stockhausen's death garnered all the attention, but I'd be remiss if I didn't note the passing of Andrew Imbrie on December 5.
Joshua Kosman's fine appreciation appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle. Robert P.Commanday's appears here. Allan Kozinn's NYT obituary is here.
I first heard Imbrie's music because of New World Records, that noble defender of American music in all its forms. Imbrie's clarity and contrapuntal majesty attracted me, particularly in his songs and his transcendent string quartets.
Yet, according to many, his greatest quality was his ability to teach…
B. R. Myers didn't like Denis Johnson's National Book Award winning Tree of Smoke much.
"Underlying the hype is the silly notion that if a work introduces plenty of characters and traipses after them for enough years and pages, it is ipso facto ambitious. The true mark of an ambitious work is its style and depth. We would recognize Anna Karenina as such a novel even if only its first few pages had survived, because they depict characters with extraordinarily rich and complex inner lives. In contrast, Tree of Smoke starts off with one Seaman Bill Houston shooting a tiny monkey he sees in…
Hey, have you guys heard the new Iron & Wine album, The Shepherd's Dog? It's been out for awhile now, but Robert just let me borrow his copy. I don't know what it is about Sam Beam, but his music has a way of getting me all nostalgic for every love I've ever felt. Then I imagine myself older, looking out of some unfamiliar window, a scene dressed in orange and green and blue, warm air, some trees, alone and feeling alright.
At first, the album seemed odd, patchy. I wasn't sure where Sam Beam was trying to go, wasn't sure what he was trying to say, wondered if he was lacking…
In the middle of my salsa and son craze, Iron & Wine's The Shepherd's Dog has come as a surprise. It got me wondering what other albums I might've missed along the way. Lots, I'm sure. If I end up with some spare cash after the holidays, I think I'll take some time to revisit my indie-pop/folk fascination, starting with the following:
The Bird and The Bee: The Bird and The Bee
The Little Ones: Sing Song
Beirut: The Flying Club Cup
New Pornographers: Challengers
Fiery Furnaces: Widow City
PJ Harvey: White Chalk
Neko Case & Her Boyfriends: Furnace…