Wig Bubbles

I have too many CDs.

Recently, I did what I consider to be an especially brutal cull, forsaking sentiment in the name of tossing some long-forgotten discs in the trash, bringing others to the Sally Ann and arranging still more in coffin-like shoeboxes destined for the basement, lest there should one day be a need for those Patti Smith bootlegs or Rivers Cuomo demos. The idea was to leave the office — the storeroom for CDs of note — with only discs of value. Things I could conceivably listen to, were I to listen to CDs anytime soon.

So when singer and songwriter Megan Hamilton got in touch recently about her long-overdue return to recording, I briefly wondered whether her three charming previous releases had made the cut.

I need not have worried. her discs were safely within reach, right there between Herbie Hancock and Merle Haggard. (Evidently, Pete Ham and John Hammond were less fortunate.) Continue reading →

I’ve already legitimized the offspring of one celebrity in recent weeks, by writing of the controversy surrounding his latest hit. I will not mention the name of the young second-generation star that has this month dominated headlines, on the platform heels of a controversial appearance on some music awards show or other. I will not weigh in on the overweight discussion, but allow me to say in her defense that no amount of crass voyeuristic sensationalism can possibly inflict as much damage to contemporary popular culture as her dad did with a single song.

Which I will also not mention by name. Apologies, though, for putting it in your head. I’ll admit that’s rather cruel. Continue reading →