Some movies inform. Some movies entertain. And some pry open your skull and punch you in the brain.
After 12 months of listening, only 10 records remain.
Because album lists shouldn’t happen only once a year. Rounding out the ‘80s, music from the year America chose wrong.
Because album lists shouldn’t happen only once a year. Now arriving within two decades of the present day.
The South by Southwest music festival begins in Austin, Texas, today. Of the hundreds of acts hoping to break big, 763 have offered an mp3 of their still-unknown sound. We listen to them all, all the way through.
Because year-end album lists shouldn’t happen just once a year. In this installment: The lists and timeline converge.
In the past 12 months thousands of albums were released, but there are only 10 you’ll need to remember.
Rosemary’s Baby author Ira Levin died this week—and it wasn’t a lousy book review that killed him.
When the New York Times architecture critic Herbert Muschamp died recently from lung cancer, America lost one of its most riveting writers—one of the best critics we’ve ever had, and quite possibly among the worst.
Emptying out a storage space in Houston means judging sentimental value against what fits in the car.
Even though it wasn’t an election year, in 1985 Alex P. Keaton could have run for president—and won.
It was no Orwellian nightmare; to have nightmares you need to sleep, and you can’t sleep when you lay awake terrified about nuclear war.