The singer walked a line between overt masculinity and brooding sensitivity—fearlessly exploring the dark, wailing with the voice of a man who could sound like he was trying to escape his own body.
Both holy and wholly her own, Amy Grant was the soundtrack to my rebellion. When my church rejected her, what I heard was, “You can’t be a believer and a woman who wants more.”
Stupid lyrics are good for you. Bad lyrics are just bad.
Modern music streaming services are rigorously quality-controlled from the instant the songs are uploaded by labels and artists—there’s no longer any room for happy accidents.
Power broker, sex symbol, and kingpin of the block: reflecting on the rapper, who reconfigured familiar faces into something wholly unfamiliar, 20 years after the release of her debut album.
On the 20th anniversary of the Spice Girls’ first album, I reflect on two decades of defending their commercial approach to feminism.
Leonard Cohen was our man, a guy who joked about eternal life and died a month later.
He laid out every root cause and exposed every broke-ass dream that might spirit us away. There was no continuum, no sliding scale of happiness, just confusions that needed untangling.
Talking with the author of Beatlebone about fictionalizing the life of John Lennon, the hard time Kate Bush gets in the book, and why rock novels are almost always disasters.
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