Keith Richards makes me happy. Ok, so it is probably a good thing that he let Mick do the singing, but you can’t accuse him of being insincere, or lacking heart, and heart is always what has made a good song. This Gram Parsons song is a bleeding heart beauty, made all the more lovely… Read more Love Hurts, Sung by Keith Richards and Norah Jones from the Gram Parsons Tribute Concert.
Outside my window in the alleyway the tinny throbbing beat of old fashioned electro dance rises up into my room with a threatening vibe of the promise of a noisy night. The pipe-heads are dancing in the streets, exchanging lines and white lies, carrying stones and rocks, barefeet, some in socks and no shoes, or… Read more Danse Macabre
Sex positive feminism is not feminism at all (Trigger warning – discussion of paid sex, violence and rape)
We live in a Patriarchal society, one where women are not in any way equal to men, and so there is no way in such an unequal society that sex work can ever be a choice for women, not only this, but sex work is, by it’s very nature, both physically and psychologically harmful to… Read more Sex positive feminism is not feminism at all (Trigger warning – discussion of paid sex, violence and rape)
To be frank, I think the question I should be asking is more will rock and roll ever have the life jumpstarted back into it, to lurch into Frankensteinian vigor, staggering down the halls in Kiss make up and swinging Alice Cooper’s cane. There are a few exceptions, Big Thief, Soko (though I haven’t dug… Read more Will Rock and Roll Survive?
I think way too often about the perfect pop song. The perfect pop song is the preservation of the heart in the amber of four chords and a stuttering beat between them. Three chords hasn’t cut it since doo wop was popular, The Shangri La’s were the coolest chicks in town, and Wild Thing was… Read more Another Girl Another Planet and Sweet Jane: The Search for the most perfect pop song…
Jim slid into the room, back pressed up against the wall, as Sebbek and Jun walked arm in arm ahead. Pressing his back against the wall, he had the distinct feeling of just having passed some permanently soul-fatal test that he never wanted to take in the first place. He wiggled his hips to see… Read more Jun N’Eau 9. Child of Bastet, Child of Light and Other Dangerous Permutations.
I’m hip. I’m cool. I might even be groovy occasionally. I don’t need my music unintelligent, or my noise toned down. I can appreciate Black Angel’s Death Song with the worst of ’em. I paid my dues at the altar of Benzedrine, and have been known to get down with Bacchus and his dirty bottle… Read more The Emperor has no clothes (God Speed you! Black Emperor review)
My Tokyo only lives in the past, my Tokyo has a merry-go-round in Toshimaen, called El Dorado, that had been made in 1909 in Germany, was exported to Coney Island, and finally ended up in Tokyo. I sat on El Dorado’s chariots with little babies, and ate soft serve ice cream on a bench with… Read more Tokyo past
Shintokyo was not particularly clean above ground, but below ground was positively disgusting. Jun hugged the wall of the sewer tunnel avoiding the river of sewage that was running fast down the center of the tunnel. Just why it had to be her Jim bot that had attracted the actual spirit of the Doors frontman,… Read more Jun N’Eau part 8. Here be dragons!
Grit makes oyster words Chewed cud-like, spat out, pearl-wise: My shell is empty! Early heat, late freeze Kills blossoms still on the trees: They don’t get to fall. Wasabi powder Awake dulled senses brightly! I need heat not grit!
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