takes an admirable if revolutionary stance that people who write about music should work to write well and have something to say.
I’m sick of the Rolling Stones, Rolling Stone
, and the thought of Woodstock 2 was nauseating enough. I mean those original things (that is, the Rolling Stones, Rolling Stone
and the original Woodstock) were started up as a reaction to pervasive elements in society. Now after over three decades of just the colored 11x17 cover on Rolling Stone week after endless week without so much as a summer break for reruns, isn’t it time to break out the old tombstone chiseling hammer?
Clink, clink, clink. Close up to big sweaty muscular hands holding hammer and chisel like those that indelibly imprinted Mark VII productions on the screen at the end of every Dragnet episode. Rewind, recycle, redo, reduce. Maybe Sgt. Friday and the real cultural policemen will arrive one day and toss Jann into the clinker for a long hard period of self-examination for maintaining such a ridiculous institution. That's just the magazine.
And what about this ... what happened with this?
Writing about music, and what's good about it leads to a brief contemplation:
art: what's it for?