AC/DC has lived the dumbness that the Ramones have only faked all these years.
Gary Allan has long been one of country’s most reliably velvet-voiced beautiful losers.
Ever wonder why people are so determined to reach for white picket fences, supposed normalcy, a nuclear family? Well, try growing up without one.
Few bands in hard rock history have been so adept at balancing the awesome and trivial as Van Halen in their prime.
Mayer Hawthorne’s old school pop-R&B homages are so meticulous that it’s tempting to overrate his pipes.
Music critics are part of the world, and I am part of the world.
I’m that grumpy old guy yelling at all those pesky little Grizzly Bear fans to get offa my lawn.
No band on 21st-century radio has mined pre-grunge hair-metal’s sleaze like L.A.’s Buckcherry. So it makes poetic sense that they’d spend their sixth album tallying all seven deadly sins.
Critics should stick to their convictions.
By the late ’80s, I was already giving up on rap music.
If I am thinking the same as everyone why bother pushing to get it published?
I like critics with strong opinions.
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