Tag Archives: Jim DeRogatis

A Whole Lotta Links: Twitter Roundup #14

Tweet tweetBelow are the things we’ve posted to Twitter recently. In reverse chronological order, just like Twitter… We’re reposting 206 tweets this time with a total of 146 links to stuff that (mostly) didn’t end up on GLONO.

# “Benchley had hit bottom. I had reached the mythical state of total anti-rock, which I call ‘Train,’ after the band.” http://ow.ly/1Clou 16 minutes ago

# “C-listers are considerably cheaper than hiring the bigger-name musicians who used to pack clubs.” http://ow.ly/1Ck4G via @Lefsetz about 1 hour ago

# “When he leans down to pick it up, the weight of his backpack and his overall wastedness prevent him from doing so.” http://ow.ly/1CiwB about 2 hours ago

# But don’t say “leaked” in your tweet or 4ad will dmca your ass! RT @tipsheet: Stream THE NATIONAL’s New Album Now http://bit.ly/bX44Lg about 4 hours ago

# Twitter deletes dude’s tweet after bogus DMCA takedown notice. #national #highviolet #4ad RT @TartyTart: http://bit.ly/aui6KA about 4 hours ago

Lots more below, and you might consider following us on Twitter if you want to keep up with this stuff as it happens…

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The Killers are "Clarence Clemons on Ecstasy and Viagra"

There’s no question that negative reviews are far more fun to read than their postiive counterparts. Jim DeRogatis clearly agrees, since he edited a collection of disparaging essays about the canonized classic rock albums, Kill Your Idols. And now, DeRo rips it to the Killers in a review in their hometown newspaper:

Alas, working with Stuart Price, the Brit producer best known for Madonna‘s 2005 product Confessions on a Dance Floor, they adorn the simplest ranch house of a melody with the silliest Bellagio excesses, inexplicably littering on steel drums, congas and timbales (“I Can’t Stay” and “Joy Ride,” which would embarrass the Barry Manilow of “Copacabana”), mock South African choirs paired with martial drums (“This Is Your Life”), a ham-handed evocation of Bono fronting a community orchestra (“A Dustland Fairytale”) and everywhere, absolutely everywhere, some of the worst saxophone ever heard in rock ‘n’ roll.

Tell us how you really feel, Jim…

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Whatever happened to the Chicago Alternative Class of 1993?

Chicago Sun-Times pop music critic Jim DeRogatis takes a look back to the promising music scene in Chicago in the mid-90s: The curse of alternative nostalgia: What the heck happened to the Class of ’93? For those of you too young to remember or too otherwise occupied to give a shit at the time, the Class of ’93 included Urge Overkill, Liz Phair, Veruca Salt, and Smashing Pumpkins. DeRo checks back after a decade and a half to see where they are now:

“Alternative to what?” we may once again ask, and finally the answer is obvious: “Absolutely nothing.” Like so many rock bands before them, 15 years down the road, the most promising members of the Class of ’93 are treading dangerously close to that sad but true scene in “Spinal Tap” where the aging metal legends find themselves playing at the state fair.

Of course, this is the same conclusion that famously grouchy Steve Albini came to, well, fifteen years ago in his fantastic letter-to-the-editor of the Chicago Reader in January 1994, Three Pandering Sluts and Their Music Press Stooge:

In your rush to pat these three pandering sluts on the heinie, you miss what has been obvious to the “bullshit” crowd all along: These are not “alternative” artists any more than their historical precursors. They are by, of and for the mainstream. Liz Phair is Rickie Lee Jones (more talked about than heard, a persona completely unrooted in substance, and a fucking chore to listen to), Smashing Pumpkins are REO Speedwagon (stylistically appropriate for the current college party scene, but ultimately insignificant) and Urge Overkill are Oingo Boingo (Weiners in suits playing frat party rock, trying to tap a goofy trend that doesn’t even exist). You only think they are noteworthy now because some paid publicist has told you they are, and you, fulfilling your obligation as part of the publicity engine that drives the music industry, spurt about them on cue.

Does rockcrit get any better than the phrase, “Weiners in suits playing frat party rock”? I’m going to incorporate that phrase into my everyday language.

R. Kelly Acquitted

Apparently, video evidence of the crime, a weak defense, incredible media scrutiny, and really dopey looking hair braids aren’t enough to convict a guy of buggery in Chicago. Six years after being charged with making and starring in a child porn video, R&B superstar R. Kelly was found not guilty today by a Cook County jury. Both Kelly and the alleged victim denied appearing in the video and neither testified in the case.

It seems the whole defense was built around a mole. No, not a mole like a snitch or the subterranean rodent, but a skin discoloration. Never mind that the prosecution had a witness who testified to being involved in a three-way with Kelly and the victim, and could identify both Kelly and the victim in the video, the blurry tape apparently didn’t have high enough resolution so the guy was sprung.

According to the AP, “the prosecution’s star witness was a woman who said she engaged in three-way sex with Kelly and the alleged victim. Defense attorneys argued the man on the tape didn’t have a large mole on his back; Kelly has such a mole.”

And here’s a bit of GLONO trivia: Jake and I were at the WXRT studio when the Sun-Times’ pop critic Jim DeRogatis received word that Kelly was about to be arrested. Jake was asked to talk to Kot and DeRo on Sound Opinions about our posting of Jack and Meg White‘s marriage license and divorce certificate, and how that blew the lid off their whole brother-sister story. DeRo stumbled in late, arms full of fast food, huffing and puffing about the big story that was about to break the following day. He wouldn’t give any details, but the next day his reporting on the arrest broke and so began this whole mess.

Somewhere, Fatty Arbuckle is spinning in his grave.

[NOTE: This post has been edited for clarity and accuracy–.ed]

Flaming Lips Book Contest: Staring at Sound

Staring at Sound

Two lucky winners will receive a copy of Staring at Sound, the new Flaming Lips biography by Jim DeRogatis!

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Milk It: Fanboy Fandango

Milk It!Milk It!: Collected Musings on the Alternative Music Explosion of the ’90s

By Jim DeRogatis, Da Capo Press

DeRogatis must be doing something right as rock and roll reviewer for the Chicago Sun-Times as he has, by his own admission, supplemented by evidence from the aggrieved, pissed people off, including Steve Albini and Billy Corgan (although in the latter case there was apparently a reconciliation: cue the violins). If you don’t raise some ire, then you’re not getting it done, as many angry Comment slingers at GloNo can attest to. Slings and arrows are indeed the stuff of outrageous fortune, at least for those who have been able to cash in on it, as have many that DeRogatis chronicles in this collection of columns and articles culled primarily from the aforementioned daily, as well as from Request, Rolling Stone, and elsewhere. Milk It!, indeed.

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