Tag Archives: Records

BOWIE ON RECORD: VINYL FROM THE VAULTS

Much in the same way Miles, Elvis, Aretha, Dylan, Jagger, Jimi, Lennon, Bruce, and Madonna telepathically triggers an instant association, so does that particular arrangement of vowel-heavy letters in “Bowie” conjure an identity, a personae, an attitude, a style (or many of them) — even a perspective and way of looking at the world.

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RPM (Special Hump Day Designation: Radio Perry Music) Goes Live On Boston Free Radio!

Hey everybody! Just a quick head’s up for anyone bored outta their skulls at school, home, or work (but with earbuds/headphones or out of earshot of their bosses) that Wednesday, March 25, between 3-5:30 p.m. “RPM”‘s Yours Truly will be returning as special guest on Host Alan Patterson’s “Voices Of Time” radio show, comin’ atcha and […]

SNAKE PITS & DICKEY RIDES: Musical Memories of The World’s Oldest Rookie Record Store Clerk

The post (way) down below, from the highly entertaining blog, “Dangerous Minds,” got me reminiscing fondly about my own record store daze. During a six-month gap between bidding farewell to my prior life as a news reporter and dipping my purple suede Pumas into the unchartered, untested waters of music journalism — which had been a […]

WHEN RECORDS ARE PEOPLE: Markers Of A Life Amid A Museum of Wax

Chances are, the illness I describe below only afflicts those such as myself, for whom prolonged, protracted exposure to dusty bins, racks, or rows of vinyl can cause a psychologically discombobulating, mildly hallucinatory condition — a disorder where occasional bouts of grandiose euphoria are mistaken for finely honed revelations of clarity. This is known as […]

RAW POWER REVISITED & THE FOREVER FUNHOUSE OF THE STOOGES: A Scott Asheton Salute (1949-2014)

The focal point, of course, was the perpetually shirtless, baboon-limbed lead singer Iggy Pop, born James Osterberg. When Pop bounded on stage for the opener “Loose,” one of a slew of songs on gaudy display from “Fun House” and the Stooges’ self-titled 1969 debut, the singer’s convulsive vitality — the spasmodic leaps, carnival of shrieks, caged-animal prowl (not to mention that freakish sinew-and-gristle physique) — was ridiculously unchanged.

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