On Pause...

-
Morning,

As of yesterday evening, I'm completely moved into my home. Unfortunately, I'm without internet access for the next week or so, IF everything goes according to plan. In the meantime, I'm hoping that I can get some updating done through my work access. Otherwise, it's going to be a little bit before I can update regularly.

So, be patient and I'll be back soon.

Sincerely,
Letters From A Tapehead

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To Whom It May Interest #1: A Word Or Three About Wire

-
Image
To Whom It May Interest, I’ve been simultaneously reading two books at once for the past month or so. One is a biography about Elvis Presley and his rise to superstardom. The other is “Mainlines, Blood Feasts & Bad Taste” by Philip Seymour Hoffman…er, I mean Lester Bangs. A couple weeks ago, I was paging through Bangs’ compiled ferocity and observation and found a review of Wire’s second opus, Chairs Missing . Direct quote from the man himself: “Wire. Think about that word and what it has meant in your life, perhaps even the lives of your ancestors. Then think just how hot you’d be hoppin’ to get a chance to hear a group whose sound might live up to such euphonious appellation! Wire. The Sound of the ‘70s. Flat. Dead. Dull. Thud. Mud. Plod. Sod. But mebbe with a whiplash on the counterstrike.” Now, having myself only recently opened the door to the wonderful world of Wire’s initial trio of recorded bliss, my reaction to the review was chockfull of “you don’t know what you’re ta...
Read more

“Everybody knows you dance like you fuck” — Vultures of Culture at the Electric Factory

-
Image
Dax Riggs Howlin’ Rain Queens of the Stone Age Electric Factory Philadelphia, PA 9.29.07 After finding my way to the Electric Factory, it was narrow streets and pedestrians until I thankfully parked my car. Around every corner, excitable men with orange flags will wave you into their grasp: “SHOW PARKING! EIGHT DOLLARS!” I wound up spending ten when all was said and done, avoiding the extra gratuity suggested by the toothless crack addict that loudly waved me into my parking spot. My brother and I quickly walked a block or two and made it into the club after a thorough pat-down and a couple ink stamps were applied to the back of our hands, assuring the meathead with the flashlight upstairs that we were both legal to drink. We were ten minutes late for the opening act, a fellow by the name of Dax Riggs . While ordering two expensive Dixie cups of inexpensive beer (Pabst, by the way), we wound up standing in an area where we had no view of the stage. A projection on the wall across...
Read more