Last night at Stade de France on the outskirts of Paris, Bruce Springsteen played the clown. He mugged for tens of thousands of cheering fans like the consummate vaudevillian showman he has always been, alongside his more noted profiles as passionate protest singer and existential troubadour. He laid on top of his fans in the front row, nonchalantly accepting their embraces. He pretended to groom himself in front of his own Jumbotron image. He did the James Brown perform-until-you’re-in-a-mock-stupor-and-can’t-stop routine. And, fittingly for the setting, he led the audience in “oh-oh-oh” sing-alongs, reducing his sometimes tortured commentary on proletarian and small-town life to open-vowel soccer chants. Continue reading
Monthly Archives: June 2013
The most amazing thing about the first writeup of Queens of Noise is how spot on writer David Chiu gets I am trying to give the Runaways their historical due. His thorough and flattering article, including great choice of photos and videos, is all I could hope for. http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-207_162-57587527/the-runaways-rock-and-roll-provocateurs/
It’s ten at night in Madrid and the last rays of the sun have just left the steeple of the church across the street. The people ended their vespers an hour ago, around the same time the men endedtheir all-day vigil at the tables outside the bar across the street and stumbled their way down the narrow calles. It’s our fourth day here in Tetuan, an unpretentious neighborhood nicely distant from tourists, yet easily accessible to the “sights.” Our friends Danny and Beatriz have a cozy, trick penthouse overlooking the church and the bar, a perfect homey spot to ease our transition to new time zones and cultures.
I only have a broken iPad with me for these two weeks in Spain, so excuse my relative radio silence. We’re here, Bud is taking it easy, and I’m shopping and checking out art. Buena noche.
The coffee-table paperback The Riot Grrrl Collection gathers for the first time seminal zines and flyers from that feminist awakening. I reviewed it for the LA Times.
What was strange about Bjork’s fantastic, fantastical show last night at the Hollywood Palladium was the normal. A choir of young women clad in shimmering, diaphanous gowns singing in perfect, beautiful harmonies accompanied their sister Icelander. Harps, techno beats, electronic marimbas, iPads, strange percussion instruments rocking metronomically on the stage like oil cranes – we Bjork fans are used to those kinds of oddities. But the angel choir was something new, something wondrous. Continue reading