Music
Call It Ludacris: The Kinship Between Talk Radio and Rap by David Segal
If you’re driving alone through the plains of Nebraska and need a little company, you can’t do better than the nationally syndicated maestros of political talk radio. Hour after hour, rant after rant, it is a feast of words and feverish emotion, interrupted only by regular commercials and the occasional call from the awe-struck fan.
Curatorial Casablanca by Christian John Wikane
Gloria Scott may be less known to listeners than Donna Summer but she is a pivotal figure in the story of Casablanca nonetheless. Smoke and Platypus did not scale the charts the way Cameo and Parliament did but their music is still among the funkiest of the era.
Long Live the King: Remembering Michael Jackson by Evan Sawdey
Simply put, Michael Jackson’s legacy cannot be boiled down to a single album, song, or music video—no matter how hard some of us may inevitably try. Likewise, his life cannot be reduced to an individual court case, tabloid story, or television/movie appearance. He’s been the victim of too many punchlines and late-night monologues to count, but even when he was marginalized, never once would anyone dispute his status as one of the most successful recording artists in the history of all of po
Pirate Bay Trial Judge Friend of the Industry by Tobbias Poggats
Recently, a news reporter at Radio Sweden International uncovered the fact that Tomas Norström--the judge of what is known as The Pirate Bay Trial, the all-round calm and levelled guy who sentence the Pirate Bay four to one year in prison each and almost $4 million in damages--had some interesting hobbies. As it turns out, he is an active member of the Swedish Copyright Association.
Splendor in the Grit by James Wolcott
If New York City were to slide back into the crumbling anarchy of the 1970s, as some fear, would that be so bad? The author recalls a time when artists’ lofts were inhabited by actual artists, every subway car held potential drama, and legends–Lennon, Warhol, Garbo–walked the streets.
Alex Chilton is Dead: The Rate of Mammal Extinctions Accelerates by Mark Ames
Alex Chilton died of a heart attack a few hours ago. It’s a wonder his heart held out this long. Alex Chilton’s story always scared me more than the others–I’d figured he was already dead, for some reason–because in the romantic version of Alex Chilton’s life, he would have died decades ago, rather than drag it out the way 99.9 percent of us do.
In a New York State of Mind by Dan Gaymer
Jim rubbed his temple with his left hand, squeezing the cardboard coffee cup. The acrid smell of the cheap black coffee rose into his nostrils, the rising and falling inside the cup as he applied a tiny amount of pressure and then slowly released. The coffee pulsed like the throbbing pain inside of his skull, as if someone had smacked him upside the head with a two by four. In fact the truth was much worse, as the night prior Jim made the fatal mistake of attempting to be sociable.
Tupac Shakur: An Icon in Context by Quentin B. Huff
When Tupac Shakur was murdered in 1996, I was devastated. Not because I viewed Tupac as a “role model”, as is often assumed of young people. Certainly, the horror of murder is reason enough to be upset, but it was also because I felt the loss of Tupac’s potential. Such is the case with anyone who leaves this earth “too soon”, but the loss is especially acute when it involves someone with so much talent.
Inside TED by Joseph Huff-Hannon
A perfect breeze wafts through the outdoor plaza of the four-star Riviera Resort in Palm Springs, Calif., site of this year's TEDActive conference, the slightly less expensive, and less exclusive, overflow conference of the annual TED conference, held in Long Beach. Friend and colleague Andy Bichlbaum and I are sitting with a crowd in an outdoor Jacuzzi, reveling in the balmy weather after having just barely escaped the blizzard on the East Coast.
The Velvet Underground’s Lost Chapter by Crispin Kott
By the time the Clash limped into 1985, they’d all but pissed away their good will from the punk faithful, and allowed suspicion, paranoia and rampant egotism to turn the band into a farce. With Topper Headon’s drug-fueled departure from the drum stool in the wake of the commercial success of 1982’s Combat Rock already cooling their momentum, Joe Stummer and Paul Simonon then convinced themselves that whatever diva pretense was keeping Mick Jones afloat, it was too much to bear any further.
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