That's The Boss's imminent album up there, all right. Over at NPR Monkey See this morning, I ask why it -- like pretty much every album Springsteen has made in the last 30 years (except for The Ghost of Tom Joad) -- must have such a terrible, awful, no good, inexpressive and irreducibly goddamn fugly cover.
I wrote a similar, much longer piece examining the covers of Springsteen's entire official catalog five years ago, after the horrific cover of Working on a Dream leaked.
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Lou Reed was one the greatest American artists in any medium. Slate invited me to compile a playlist of 10 of his post-Velvet Underground songs as way for newcomers to sample his 40-year solo catalog. I was honored. You can read that here.
When Rolling Stone reported Lou's death at the age of 71 yesterday morning -- it's not like I knew him personally, but something about his songwriting, especially on The Blue Mask album from 1982 and everything afterward, makes me feel first-name intimacy with him -- I started tweeting my recollections as a longtime admirer. I was introduced to his work and his wry worldview by New York in 1989. I heard the single, "Dirty Blvd.," on the radio, and I got the CD from the Columbia House mail-order club.
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Why yes, I am pretty goddamn pleased with the party mix I cooked up,
at the invitation of managing editor Jon Fischer, for the Washington
City Paper's farewell-to-their-building party on Friday night. Some
local pandering, some classic funk, a few reluctant sops to the 21st
century. Something for everyone! Who is me or reasonably similar!
FULL DISCLOSURE: I am a heterosexual white male in my mid-thirties.
"Full Disclosure," Fugazi, from The Argument, 2001. Track 24.
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