Bill O’Reilly is obsessed with how long it takes a murder victim to die. In his novel – that’s right, his novel – we find out, for example, that “the soft tissue gave way quickly and the steel penetrated the correspondent’s brain stem. Ron Costello was clinically dead in four seconds.” Or, “Lance Worthington couldn’t feel the razor-sharp box-cutter blade slice through his throat…. it was exactly two seconds before he lost consciousness.” Some deaths come even quicker: “A slab of sizzling white hot metal fell directly on his head. Death for Shannon Michaels came one second later.”
We demand the most from musicians who are also drug addicts. We expect them to give all of themselves to us, to emote fully, to express their vulnerability through their music in the starkest of terms. All this is true, … Read More
Two dark autumns ago, the Arcade Fire made me believe, all over again, in the all-encompassing power of rock and roll. Those were depressingly political times, and the un-political nature of the record offered me an escape. “Funeral” was a triumphant album about loss and renewal, about picking up the pieces in a cold, wintry world; it made me feel that I wasn’t the only one who was strung out and sad and suddenly and pathetically sober.