Richard Meltzer

One of America's premier rock critics, Meltzer wrote features for the Reader from 1985 to 2000 including:

Dec. 14, 1989, page 16 I, Santa (Meltzer plays Mr. Claus)

March 15, 1990, page 8 Housepets I've in All Likelihood Killed or Maimed

March 11, 1993, page 28 End without End (friendship, death, music)

Dec. 23, 1993, page 30 Meltzer Family Christmas Beer Bust

March 16, 1995, page 46 Arnold, O.J., and the Brain from Planet Arous

Sept. 21, 1995, page 40 Soundtrack for Reading My Novel

Latest Articles

Autumn Rhythm

The joys of geezerology

Haiku #1 where the fuck’s my car? don’t even gotta be drunk no more t’ lose it! Gig Let it be known, to begin with, that I didn’t ask for this, but was asked — ...

Third Spud from the Sun: Cameron Crowe Then and Now

By the time Cameron showed up, Rolling Stone was little more than a highwater marker for self-effacing, slave-drudge careerism: the most conspicuous place, nationally, to have your copy butchered, your ideas reshaped to fit the moment’s market-driven party line.

CD review: Alan Lechusza/Christopher Adler Duo, Pleistocene

There’s nothing wrong with this — it’s great. Oh, okay — so what izzit? Two guys playing, well, one of ’em’s on saxophone, two saxes actually — soprano and baritone — and the other on ...

The Magnificent Meatsticks

CD review: The Magnificent Meatsticks, You can download all of this from, including a little ditty called “Richard Meltzer Is My Fucking Hero” — I kid you not. But it couldn’t be me ...

Wild and Crazy S.O.B

Perhaps it’s a question of semantics, who knows, but I feel incredibly relieved to be done with “family,” “home” — these are things you grow up to leave and be done with, at least as ...

Vinyl Reckoning

Memory at 33⅓ RPMs

Things we’ve saved and saved and SAVED. For all the stupid reasons you or I or anybody saves things. You can’t take them “with you,” not all, not any, but chances are what’s left is ...

Chump change touchstone of nothing

I have no context, no history (other than remote; remoter than remote; wholly, utterly adventitious) to plug into when I listen to classical music, no environment in which to meet and greet it even halfway.

Hey, Mr. Deejay, what's that powder on your face?

Ten minutes later my guest arrives, John Cale, never my favorite member of the Velvet Underground, always struck me as a method actor, ugh, though some people thought of him as a progenitor of punk.


Bukowski: An Appreciation

I got up, went in, pulled down my pants, sat down, thought, fucking often has nothing to do with being “lovers” and fucking seldom has much to do with literature and literature has nothing to ...

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