Something about the combination of muscular skinhead thug and delicately flavored rabbit tagliatelle in a beautiful back garden in Rome is making me ask myself that age-old question again: Am I a fag?Comments/Enlarge |
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I’m going to wager that a widely understood chronological line of demarcation is drawn in the Matador Records catalog, denoting an “After” good-times vibe and a “Before Slanted and Enchanted” soul-sucking vortex of financial terror. It seems strange to think that records were released by Matador prior to the label’s hitting pay dirt with Pavement’s first proper...
The state of the journalistic interview today has been reduced to these weird cattle-call things where they stick 50 writers from 50 competing publications on a conference call with some shitty noncelebrity such as, say, a nobody who is going to be a new judge...
When Vice approached me about writing a guide to music (and arts!) festivals, the rollicking extravaganzas were the last thing on my mind as I mulled over the ugly prospect of pitching reviews of shatterproof phone receivers to American Jail or of a new line of boat tarps to Boating. I...
