This quote delivered by Philip Seymour Hoffman in his role as rock critic Lester Bangs remains my favorite line from “Almost Famous.”
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This story the day after Nanci Griffith’s death will always be incomplete, because how can I tell you about the 10-year-old friend I never had?
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A tweet and a song last night sent me down memory lane about writing on an unforgiving deadline, and the things our brains do to try to help.
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John Prine personalized his “Souvenirs” CD for me almost a decade ago, and the layers to that story remind me of his textured songs. Here are a few of both.
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In which I recall being an insufferable know-it-all about one of my favorite singer-songwriters. A story with a plot twist you’ll no doubt figure out!
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There’s nothing like listening to “September Fifteenth” and remembering being on the road to becoming me — in the driver’s seat, not a passenger.
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What does Elton John’s “Sacrifice” have to do with driving on the hilly streets of San Francisco? Nothing, really, but in one vivid memory, everything.
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I was midway through a nearly three-hour drive after midnight. It was raining. At least one other person who was still awake noticed: the DJ at the radio station I picked up at some point after crossing into Texas.
Read More...For me, December can’t happen without my hearing certain music. One such piece is Charles Brown’s “Please Come Home for Christmas.”
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A pause on my Monday morning to post a foreword of sorts to what I plan to be a series of blog posts celebrating and processing the first anniversary of my coming out as transgender.
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