Rosecrans Baldwin’s Favorite Mp3s of 2006 “Ain’t No Other Man” by Christina Aguilera I think I’ve several times performed dance routines to this song. » Listen to “Ain’t No Other Man” “Smile” by Lily Allen Why don’t other seasons get songs? The summer afternoon party anthem.
The "record" industry is dead and 99-cent singles are now the rule, and yet terrific, cohesive rock LPs kept appearing every week.
Experts answer what they know. The Non-Expert answers anything. This week we reveal how George W. Bush will nickname every one of his new, non-Republican buddies in Congress.
It’s November, and it’s raining in Brooklyn. Unlike almost every other day, music didn’t feel quite right on the way to the subway. At least none of what I scrolled through on my iPod. Of its many extrasensory qualities, something profound about music is its ability to
When Peter Saville created the artwork for Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasureshe’d never even heard the album now wrapped in what is arguably the work for which he is best known. He also claims he’d only heard a couple of their songs prior to that—and didn’t
The recent E. Coli scare sent many bags of spinach into the trashbin. Now that the FDA says the outbreak is over, how will restaurants assure us what they're serving is safe to eat?
I am writing in regards to your article of July 15, 1977, titled “Gender-Bending Grade-Schooler Attracts Notice,” which reported on my emergence as a leading androgynous figure in the fashion world. I would have written sooner and not allowed the record to stand uncorrected for almost 30 years,
If you lived in Austin right now, you’d have every right to be angry. The reason: last weekend’s Austin City Limits Music Festival, which must be something like the opposite of South by Southwest, given its more mainstream lineup. (Howdy, John Mayer!) As a former Austin resident, I
Now that Labor Day has come and gone, and summertime is officially over, and you’re regaling your friends with tales of Canadian girlfriends and Mexican boyfriends and getting tiny coffins sent to you in the mail, it’s time to ask: What was the jam of the summer? First
Every Christmas morning, my mother would construct elaborate treasure hunts—one for me and one for my brother. We’d get a riddle whose solution would lead us to another spot in the house (or when she got elaborate, the subdivision), where we’d find an envelope that contained another
