MAINLINES, BLOOD FEASTS, AND BAD TASTE

Life & Art Editor

There’s nothing pettier than journalists reviewing journalists and, if you count the intro to Mainlines by John Morthland, a writer for the Texas Monthly, let’s go ahead and add another “reviewing journalists.” The media’s pretty important, huh? The media is pretty self-important, huh? If you don’t think so or want confirmation, swing by Gawker.com or try hanging out with Omar or me for two minutes (change the “or” to an “and” and slice it by one layer of thick Kleenex), or take a commercial-break and focus on Aaron Brown’s smarmy smirk.

Fucking rock ‘n’ roll man. First, you’re driving drunk with friends in high school in old Camaros and Firebirds, laughing, fighting forgotten shadows in college towns as you stumble out of rock dives, then you hear the Sex Pistols, then you read Lester Bangs and realize that, wait, this icon was bitching about today’s rock being lesser than yesterday’s – and nothing is hard enough except for muscle metal – and that’s not what you mean by hard anyway, scoffing at the radio and even rock videos,like clich